ÆSTHETICISM
"The man that hath not music in himself, nor is not moved with concord
of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils." The above
quotation is the thought of one of the most acute, profound, and
accurate psychologists that ever lived. That which he observed to be
true among men, strangely enough, a long and systematic course of
observation leads me to believe to be equally true among the lower
animals; for wherever it can be observed that animals evince an
appreciation for musical sounds, or show discrimination in their
perception of harmonious tonal vibrations, such animals, with a single
exception--the spider--will be found to be of kind disposition, and not
given to "treasons, stratagems, and spoils" other than those required by
their struggle for existence. So true is this rule, that the single
exception--the spider--proves the verity of the deduction or conclusion.
For, like many men, the spider's love for the beautiful, not only in
music but in decorative effects as well, is intimately associated with
murder-lust; it kills for the love of killing. Many examples of the
association of great cruelty and profound love for the beautiful in
nature and the arts might be given; it is necessary for my purpose,
however, to give but two--Nero and Catherine de' Medici.
That spiders appreciate musical sounds, and that they can differentiate
between those sounds that are pleasing and those that are disagreeable
to them, I have not a scintilla of doubt. The following facts bearing on
this point came under my own observation or were told me by people in
whose veracity I believe implicitly, or are vouched for by scientists of
world-wide fame.
During one entire summer until late in autumn, a large, black hunting
spider (_Lycosa_) dwelt in my piano. When I played _andante_ movements
softly, she would come out on the music rack and seem to listen
intently. Her palpi would vibrate with almost inconceivable rapidity,
while every now and then she would lift her anterior pair of legs and
wave them to and fro, and up and down. Just as soon, however, as I
commenced a march or galop, she would take to her heels and flee away to
her den somewhere in the interior of the piano, where she would sulk
until I enticed her forth with _Träumerei_ or Handel's _Largo_.
On one occasion, while standing beside an organist who was improvising
on the swell organ with _viol d'amour_ stop drawn, a spider let herself
down from the ceiling of the church and hung suspended immediately above
his hands. He coupled on to great organ and commenced one of Guilmant's
resonant _bravura_ marches; immediately the spider turned and rapidly
climbed her silken thread to her web high up among the timbers of the
ceiling. The organist informed me that he had noticed, time and again,
that spiders were affected by music. Several days afterwards I went to
the church for the special purpose of experiment; I seated myself at the
organ and commenced to improvise on the swell organ with _flute_, _viol
d'amour_, and _tremulant_ stops out. In a few moments the spider let
herself down from the ceiling and hung suspended before my eyes. So
close was she that I could see her palpi vibrating rapidly and
continuously. I suddenly dropped to great organ and burst into a loud,
quick galop; the spider at once turned and ascended towards the ceiling
with the utmost rapidity. Again and again I enticed her from her home in
the ceiling, or sent her scurrying back, by playing slow _piano_ or
quick _forte_ compositions. She clearly and conclusively indicated that
loud, quick music was disagreeable to her. Professor C. Reclain of
Leipsic, once, during a concert, saw a spider descend from one of the
chandeliers and hang suspended above the orchestra during a violin solo;
as soon, however, as the full orchestra joined in, it quickly ascended
to its web.[59] This fact of musical discrimination in a creature so
low in the scale of animal life is truly wonderful; it indicates that
these lowly creatures have arrived at a degree of æstheticism that is
very high indeed.
[59] Reclain, _Body and Mind_, p. 275; quoted by Romanes, _Animal
Intelligence_, pp. 205, 206; compare Rabigot, Simonius, and Von
Hartmann.
Spiders are decorative artists of no little ability. I saw one which
spun a web, beautifully adorned it with a broad, silken pathway, and
then used it as a pleasure resort; I also saw a spider which
intentionally beautified its web by affixing to it hundreds of minute
flakes of logwood dye;[60] thus we see that the æstheticism of spiders
is not confined to the love of music, but extends to other fields. In
passing, I may state that once, while confined to my room for a long
time by sickness, I became intimately acquainted with a wolf-spider
which seemed to take an æsthetic delight in her toilet. This lycosid
became so very tame that she would crawl upon my finger and allow
herself to be brought close to my eyes, so that I could observe her deft
and skilful movements while beautifying her person. She learned to know
me personally, rapidly running away and hiding herself when visitors
entered my chamber, but never showing fear when I alone was in the room.
This spider also showed an appreciation for certain musical sounds (the
instrument used was the paper and comb mouth-organ of childhood); low,
soft music would always entice her from her den beneath the table-lid,
while loud, quick sounds seemed to frighten and disgust her.
[60] Mr. Willard Bates, a druggist of Owensboro, Kentucky, in whose
store this instance of decorative æstheticism occurred, called my
attention to the insect, which was busily engaged in beautifying her
web.
Among animal music-lovers this chapter does not embrace those natural
musicians, the crickets, grasshoppers, locusts, frogs, and birds, whose
love-songs form such a large part of the æsthetic in nature; yet the
instance I am about to relate cannot be omitted, for it clearly
indicates a love for musical sounds other than those produced by the
creature itself or its mates.
A gentleman,[61] formerly living in the country, but now an
attorney-at-law and residing in the town in which I live, told me that,
on one occasion, he succeeded in raising two quails from eggs placed
beneath a brooding barnyard fowl. These birds grew to maturity, and,
what is rare indeed, became so exceedingly tame that they ran about the
house and yard with the utmost freedom, showing not the slightest fear,
and, seemingly, taking the greatest pleasure in the caresses bestowed
upon them by the children of the household. This gentleman comes of a
musical family, and, on pleasant summer nights, he and his sisters and
brothers were in the habit of going to the stiles some distance away
from the house and there singing and playing on the guitar and violin
for several hours. The quails roosted on a dresser in the kitchen, but,
as soon as the music began, they left their roost and flew to the stiles
no matter how late in the night it might be, and there they would stay,
perched on the shoulders of the musicians, until the concert was over;
they would then go back to roost. They seemed to be passionately fond of
the singing voice, and would seek out a singer wherever he or she might
be, whenever they heard the sound of singing. In _timbre_ the human
female voice is more nearly akin to that of the quail than to that of
any other animal. When a lad, "before my voice changed," I could call up
these birds at will by giving their various calls; I did not whistle the
songs; I _sang_ them. The peculiar quality of the female voice referred
to above may be considered by some to have been the cause that
influenced these birds; yet my informant distinctly states that _the
voice of an adult male equally attracted them_.
[61] Martin Yewell, Esq., Owensboro, Kentucky.
The opening movement of Chopin's _Marche Funébre_ affects me very
disagreeably. The music is, to me, absolutely repugnant. The beautiful
melody in the second movement is, however, to me exceedingly agreeable
and affords me intense pleasure and gratification. The lower animals are
likewise agreeably or disagreeably affected by certain musical sounds.
Close observation has taught me the fact that certain musical keys are
more agreeable to dogs than others. If a composition in a certain key,
the fundamental note of which is agreeable to a dog, be played, he will
either listen quietly and intently to the sounds, or will, sometimes,
utter low and not unmusical howls in accord or "in tune" with the
fundamental note. If the music be in a key not pleasing to him, he will
either show absolute indifference, or will express his dissatisfaction
with discordant yelps not in accord with the fundamental note of the
key.
The bell of a certain church in my town sounds G. A collie, which lives
next door to the church, when the bell is rung, never fails to express his
delight in the sound. He listens intently while the bell is ringing,
occasionally giving utterance to low howls, the notes being either B-flat,
E-flat, or some other note in accord with G. This dog visits a house next
door to another church, the bell of which sounds F. He never shows the
slightest interest when this bell is rung. When I play compositions in
F-sharp, an English fox-terrier of mine will lie on the floor and listen
for an hour at a time. If I change to the key of E-flat, B-flat, or G, he
will soon leave the room.
A question naturally obtrudes itself here in the matter of the dog which
barks in accord with the church-bell. Does he do this knowingly
(consciously), or is it simply an accident? I believe the former, and
consider it the result of an acquired psychical habitude.
That the dog is conscious (self-conscious) that his voice is in accord
with the bell, I will not venture to assert, for, knowledge on this
point, I take it, is beyond the power of man to acquire. I mean by the
word, "knowingly," when I say that the dog knowingly pitches his voice
in accord with the bell, not that he has any knowledge whatever of
harmony, such as an educated musician possesses, or such even as the
inherited experiences of a thousand years of music-loving ancestors
would naturally impress upon the mind of a civilized European of to-day,
but that he has an acquired imitative faculty (a faculty possessed by
some of the negroes of Central Africa as well as by many other savage
races), of attuning his voice to sounds which are pleasing to his ears.
In support of this proposition I instance the fact of the dog's acquired
habit of barking, which has been developed since his domestication. In
his wild state the dog _never_ barks.
Man himself has done much toward arousing and cultivating the imitative
faculty in the dog (which, in the beginning, impelled this highly
developed animal to _answer_ his master, thus originating the first
vocables--barking--in the canine language), by conversing with him. In
all probability, it is only an "anatomical barrier and a psychical
accident" at best, which prevent the dog from addressing his master
through the agency of speech itself!
The dog's voice is exceedingly pleasing to himself, and, most
frequently, when "baying the moon," he is listening to his own singing,
_not_ (as is generally supposed) as it pours forth from his throat, but
in a more pleasing manner, as it is breathed back to his listening ears
from the airy lips of Echo!
That dogs have discovered that pleasing phenomenon, the echo, I do not
question for a single instant. If a dog which is in the habit of "baying
the moon" be watched, it will be observed that he invariably selects the
same spot or spots for his nocturnal concerts. If you happen to be
standing in the neighborhood, you will also notice that there is always
an echo, more or less distinct, of his barking; and, if you will observe
closely, you will see that the dog listens for this echo, and that he
will not resume his song until it (the echo) has entirely ceased. That
this is the true explanation of "baying the moon" (where there is not
another dog in the distance whose clamorous barkings have aroused a like
performance on the part of the animal under observation), the following
instance, coming under my own observation, would seem to indicate.
I had frequently noticed that a spaniel crept under a honeysuckle bush
in my front yard whenever he gave one of his serenades. Time and again I
tried to hear the echo, but in vain, and an almost verified fact seemed
in danger of total annihilation. Finally, it occurred to me to
dispossess the dog and take his place beneath the bush. I called him out
and succeeded with much difficulty in getting beneath the bush, from
whence I, imitating his voice, sent several howling barks. My theory was
no longer merely theory, but was, instead, a verified fact, for, sharp,
clear, and distinct, the echoes of my voice came back from some
buildings an eighth of a mile away! Some peculiar acoustic environment
made it impossible to get the echo at any place, as far as I could
discover, other than beneath the bush.[62]
[62] These observations are original, and, while I am fully convinced
of their truth, I would yet like to have them substantiated by other
observers. This habit indicates a high degree of æsthetic feeling in
the dog.
It is highly probable that the susceptibility of rats and mice to the
influence of musical sounds has been known for ages. The legend of the
Pied Piper of Hamelin is by no means recent, nor is it confined to
European peoples alone; in one form or another it exists among Asiatic,
Indian, and Indo-Malayan races. In all the legends, the rats or mice are
drawn together by sounds emanating from some kind of musical instrument.
A celebrated violinist told me that, at one period of his life, he lived
in a house that fairly swarmed with rats. He noticed that these
creatures were peculiarly susceptible to minor chords, or to
compositions played in minors, and that quick, lively music would bring
them forth from their lurking-places in great numbers. A few abrupt,
dissonant discords would, invariably, send them scurrying to their
holes.
Another violinist informs me that several mice living in his room are
influenced by the music of his violin; when he plays an _andante_
movement very softly, they appear to listen intently and to enjoy the
music; but when he plays an _allegro_ in quick time and loud, they
quickly run away. The organist of the First Presbyterian Church of
Owensboro, Kentucky,[63] tells me that when he lived in Cuba, New York,
a mouse dwelt beneath a bookcase in his room, and that he often
performed the following experiment: Seating himself at the piano, he
would begin improvising softly. In a few moments the mouse would come
from beneath the bookcase, approach the centre of the room, and,
standing on its hind feet, would listen intently to the music. A loud
chord on the piano would send it scampering away to its home. He would
then resume his _pianissimo_ improvisation, and the mouse would soon
return to its former station near the centre of the room, only to vanish
again as soon as the loud chords were struck.
[63] Professor L. J. Quigley.
A violinist of Louisville, Kentucky, Mr. Karl Benedik, told me, on one
occasion, that he had repeatedly noticed that several mice, which lived
in his room, were influenced by the music of his violin. When he played
an _andante_ movement _pianissimo_, they would appear to listen with
pleasure; but when he played an _allegro_ in quick _tempo_ and _forte_,
they immediately ran away.
Mice not only enjoy the music of others, but sometimes make music
themselves. My father enjoyed nightly concerts or serenades, for a long
time, from some "singing mice" in his library. I was fortunate enough to
hear this novel concert on one occasion. The mice, two in number, came
out from beneath the casing of the fireplace. They took places on the
hearth, several feet distant from one another, and first one, and then
the other, sang. Their songs were low and musical, not unlike the song
of the canary, though there were no cadenzas or _fioritura_ passages.
They seemed to use six notes, these notes being repeated in melodious
sequences. I noticed, several times, a run of four notes in ascending
scale. On another occasion, in my bedroom, I heard a mouse sing his
pleasing little song over and over again.
Miss Ada Sterling, editor of _Fashions_, writes me as follows:--
"... Anent your paper ... I have had some curious experiences of a
similar nature; one was in an uncarpeted room, the house being deserted
at that time. I stood still, planning certain things and humming softly
to myself. Presently, a shadowy something caught my eye, and I
discovered a little mouse, very young evidently, then another and
another, until four were near. I did not attribute their tameness to
music, and in surprise turned to see if there were others about.
Instantly they scampered off, my action having frightened them.
"When I finally arrived at the conclusion that music had attracted them,
I sat down and began to hum, this time with an open sound instead of a
closed tone, and in a second the little creatures were out again,
standing perfectly still, as if the sound gave them delight. Gradually I
swelled the tone, and yet they were undisturbed until I became too bold
and gave a clear, sharp, full sound, and this at once frightened them.
"_I experimented in this way for more than a month, never missing my
audience once_, and by this time the little creatures, grown so fat and
bold as to cause serious damage, were ruthlessly caught and killed.
"I heard Kate Field, about four years ago, when, as the guest of Mr.
Stedman, she told several interesting stories, relate an experience of
her own, wherein, one night early in her life, she had leaned against
the walls of the Campanile, gray and phantom-like in the moonlight, and,
singing softly to herself, was surprised at discovering several little
lizards lying about on the stones, their heads held alertly in the air
as if entranced by the sound of her voice. She, too, experimented with
the varying sounds, and from time to time, and evidently looked back
upon the experiment as one of rare interest to herself."
Tree lizards will listen completely entranced to the music of a good
whistler, and will allow themselves to be captured while thus
inthralled. Some lizards are fairly good musicians themselves, notably
the tree lizards of the East Tennessee mountains. I have repeatedly
heard them singing on the slopes of Chilhowie and adjacent peaks.
Burroughs writes very entertainingly of a singing lizard, or, rather,
salamander: "... Approach never so cautiously the spot from which the
sound proceeds and it instantly ceases, and you may watch for an hour
without hearing it again. 'Is it a frog,' I said--'the small tree-frog,
the piper of the marshes--repeating his spring note but little changed
amid the trees?' Doubtless it is, but I must see him in the very act. So
I watched and waited, but to no purpose, till one day, while bee-hunting
in the woods, I heard the sound proceeding from the leaves at my feet.
Keeping entirely quiet, the little musician presently emerged, and
lifting himself up on a small stick, his throat palpitated, and the
plaintive note again came forth. 'The queerest frog that ever I saw,'
said a youth who accompanied me and whom I had enlisted to help solve
the mystery. No, it was no frog or toad at all, but the small red
salamander commonly called lizard."[64]
[64] Gibson, _Sharp Eyes_, pp. 105, 106; quotation.
The sound of the piccolo is very pleasing to these little creatures, and
I have frequently collected about me as many as ten or a dozen by
sounding this instrument in the still depths of a wood which I knew
these salamanders frequented.
Certain snakes are very susceptible to the charm of harmonious tonal
vibration; witness the performance of the Hindu snake charmer, who,
while handling that deadly poisonous creature, the cobra-de-capello,
plays continuously on flageolets, fifes, or other musical
instruments.[65] I, myself, have often held tree lizards completely
entranced until grasped in my hand, by whistling shrilly and
continuously.
[65] It has been claimed by some that the cobra is not influenced by
the music, but by movements of the Hindu performer, who dances,
salaams, etc., continually while giving exhibitions. Very recently,
however, Momsen has proven the contrary by actual experiment.
I remember, on one occasion, when I was quite young, that a large black
snake crawled through a ventilating hole in the wall of the "quarters"
or row of brick cottages occupied by the negroes, and took shelter
beneath the floor. It was seen by myself and some of my dusky playmates,
who immediately carried the tidings to the negro gardener. He called one
of the hands from the field, and, after placing him with a loaded
shotgun at one side of the hole in the wall, took his station just
behind him and commenced to play on his fiddle. In a few moments the
snake came out, and was killed by the discharge of the gun in the hands
of the other negro. I have been informed, time and again, by negroes
that they could charm snakes from their holes with music, but the
instance related above is the only one of the snake being led to its
death by the bewitching power of musical sounds that has ever come under
my immediate personal observation.
Before dismissing the subject of the influence of music on animals, I
wish to call attention to the fact that Romanes declares that pigeons
and parrots evince an æsthetic enjoyment of musical sounds.
"Moreover," writes he, "the pleasure which birds manifest in musical
sounds is not always restricted to the sounds which they themselves
produce."
Bingley quotes John Lockman, the celebrated composer, who declares that
he once saw a pigeon which could distinguish a particular air. Lockman
was visiting a Mr. Lee in Cheshire, whose daughter was a fine pianist,
"and whenever she played the air of _Speri si_ from Handel's opera of
'Admetus,' a pigeon would descend from an adjacent dovecot to the window
of the room where she sat, 'and listen to the air apparently with the
most pleasing emotions,' always returning to the dovecot immediately the
air was finished. But it was only this one air that would induce the
bird to behave in this way."[66]
[66] Romanes, _Animal Intelligence_, p. 282; quoted by Bingley,
_Animal Biography_, Vol. II. p. 220.
A correspondent writes me that he has a cock which is passionately fond
of the sound of the violin. This bird always flies to the window of the
music-room as soon as he hears the sound of the violin, where he will
quietly remain perched as long as the music continues. As soon as the
music ceases, he flies down from the window.
Horses very frequently show an appreciation for musical sounds,
especially when they are produced by a band of brasses.
Amusement and pastime are, unquestionably, æsthetic psychical
characteristics, hence, when we see evidences of these mental
operations, we must acknowledge the presence of æstheticism in the
animals in which they are to be noticed.
I propose to show that animals low in the scale of life--animals so low
and so minute that it takes a very high-power lens to make them visible,
have their pastimes and amusements. Also, that many insects and even the
slothful snail are not so busily engaged in the struggle for existence
that they cannot spare a few moments for play. In our researches in this
field of animal intelligence we must not attribute the peculiar actions
of the males in many species of animals when courting the females, to
simple pastime, for they are the outward manifestations of sexual
desire, and are not examples of psychical amusement. I have seen, in
actinophorous rhizopods, certain actions, unconnected with sexual desire
or the gratification of appetite, which lead me to believe that these
minute microscopic organisms have their pastimes and moments of simple
amusement. On several occasions while observing these creatures, I have
seen them chasing one another around and around their miniature sea.
They seemed to be engaged in a game of tag. This actinophrys is not very
agile, but when excited by its play, it seems to be an entirely
different creature, so lively does it become. These actions were not
those of strife, for first one and then another would act the pursuer
and the pursued. There were, generally, four or five actinophryans in
the game.
One of the rotifers frequently acts as if engaged in play. On several
occasions I have observed them perform a kind of dance, a _pas seul_,
for each rotifer would be alone by itself. Their motions were up and
down as if exercising with an invisible skipping-rope. They would keep
up this play for several minutes and then resume feeding or quietly
remain at rest. This rotifer goes through another performance which I
also believe to be simply a pastime. Its tail is armed with a double
hook or forceps. It attaches itself to a piece of alga or other
substance by this forceps, and then moves its body up and down in the
water for several minutes at a time.
The snail (_H. pomatia_) likewise has its moments of relaxation and
amusement. The following instance of play may be considered to be
gallantry by some, but I do not believe that I am mistaken, however,
when I consider it an example of animal pastime. Two snails approached
each other, and, when immediately opposite, began slowly to wave their
heads from side to side. They then bowed several times in courtly
salutation. This performance they kept up for quite a while and then
moved away in different directions. At no time did they come in contact,
and careful observation failed to reveal any excitement in the
genitalia. I have witnessed the embraces of snails, and the performance
described above does not resemble, in the slightest degree, the
manoeuvres executed at such times by mating individuals.
Swarms of Diptera may be seen on any bright day dancing in the sunlight.
Naturalists have heretofore considered this swarming to be a mating of
the two sexes. This is not the case, however, in many instances. On
numerous occasions, and at different seasons of the year, I have
captured dozens of these insects in my net and have examined them
microscopically. I found them all to be unimpregnated females; I have
never yet discovered a male among them. In some of the Diptera the males
emerge from the pupa state after the females; I therefore believe that
the females await the presence of the males, and, while waiting, pass
the time away in aërial gambols.
Forel, Lubbock, Kirby, Spence, and other naturalists have declared that
ants, on certain occasions, indulge in pastimes and amusements. Huber
says that he saw a colony of _pratensis_, one fine day, "assembled on
the surface of their nest, and behaving in a way that he could only
explain as simulating festival sports or other games."[67] On the 27th
of September last, the males and females of a colony of _Lasius flavus_
emerged from their nest; I saw these young kings and queens congregate
about the entrance of the nest and engage in playful antics until driven
away by the workers. The workers would nip their legs with their
mandibles until the royal offspring were forced to fly in order to
escape being bitten. The inciting cause of these movements may have been
sexual in character, but I hardly think so.
[67] Büchner, _Geistesleben der Thiere_, p. 163; quoted also by
Romanes, _loc. cit. ante_, pp. 87, 88.
On the 19th of July, 1894, I saw several _Lasius niger_ come out of
their nest accompanied by a minute beetle (_Claviger foveolatus_); the
ants caressed and played with this little insect for some time, and then
conducted it back into the nest.[68]
[68] On one occasion several years ago, I saw a number of young ants
of _L. niger_ brought out of the nest by five or six old ants, which
watched over the young and kept them from straying away. The young
ants played about the nest entrance for some time, and were then
conducted back into the hive by the old ants.--W.
Many such little animals are kept by the ants as pets. Lubbock says of
one of them, a species allied to _Podura_, and for which he proposes the
name _Beckia_, "It is an active, bustling, little being, and I have kept
hundreds, I may say thousands, in my nests. They run in and out among
the ants, keeping their antennæ in a perpetual state of vibration."[69]
I have frequently noticed an insect belonging to the same genus as the
above in the nests of _F. fusca_ and _F. rufescens_. They reminded me
very much of the important-looking little dogs one sees running about in
the crowd on election day.
[69] Lubbock, _Ants, Bees, and Wasps_, p. 74.
The females of _Coccinellæ_ ("lady-bugs") frequently congregate and
indulge in performances that cannot be anything else save pastimes. A
beech tree in my yard is called "lady-bug tree" because, year after
year, these insects collect there and hold their curious conventions.
They caress one another with their antennæ, and gently "shoulder" one
another from side to side. Sometimes several will get their heads
together, and seem by their actions to be holding a confidential
conversation.
These conventions always take place after oviposition, and careful and
repeated observation has shown me that they are not connected with
procreation or alimentation. I have witnessed many other instances of
true psychical amusement in the lower animals, but do not think it is
necessary to detail them here. Suffice it to say that I believe that
almost every living creature, at some period of its existence, has its
moments of relaxation from the cares of life, when it enjoys the
gratification of amusement.
Some birds evince æsthetic taste, notably in the building of their
nests, which they ornament and decorate in a manner very pleasing to the
eye.
The snakeskin bird gets its name from its habit of using the cast-off
skins of snakes for decorative purposes. Not long ago I found a nest in
a small wood, not far from the town in which I live, which was
beautifully ornamented with the exuviated skin of a black snake
(_Bascanion constrictor_). This skin must have been at least five feet
in length, and the little artists had woven it into the walls of their
nest in such a manner that its translucent, glittering scales contrasted
very beautifully with the darker materials of their home.
Humming-birds use bits of lichen and moss to decorate their tiny nests.
These materials serve a twofold purpose: they not only render the nest
beautiful, but they also serve to protect it by making it resemble the
limb on which it is placed. It takes a very acute and discriminating
eye, indeed, to locate a humming-bird's nest.
Probably of all the lower animals, the male satin or bower bird of New
South Wales has the decorative feeling the most developed. This bird
builds a pleasure resort, a summer-house, or, rather, dance hall, which
he ornaments profusely with every glittering, shining, striking object
that he can carry to his bower in the depths of the forest. This bower
is built of twigs, and, when completed, is an oblong, sugar-loaf-like
structure, open at both ends. The bird decorates his dancing hall (for
he comes here to perform love-dances during the courting season) with
bright-colored rags, shells, pebbles, bones, etc.
I once saw a pair of bower birds in captivity (they were owned by Mr.
George Hahn of St. Louis), which constructed the dance hall from
materials furnished by their owner.
The love of personal cleanliness is, probably, the root and beginning of
much that is æsthetic among the lower animals.
When quite a small lad, one of the first lessons set down in my
copy-book, after I had graduated in "pot-hooks and hangers," was the
trite old saw, "Cleanliness is next to godliness." My Yankee governess,
a tall, angular spinster, from Maine, made the meaning of this copy
clear to my infant mind, pointing her remarks by calling attention to
the Kentucky real estate which had found a resting-place beneath my
finger-nails, and which seemed to decorate them with perpetual badges of
mourning. I have never forgotten that lesson and firmly believe in its
truth.
The love of cleanliness seems to be inherent in the lower animals, with
but few exceptions. We have all noticed the cat, the dog, the squirrel,
the monkey, and the birds at toilet-making; and we know that they spend
a large portion of their time in cleansing and beautifying their bodies.
Some of them are dependent on their own ministrations, while others are
greatly assisted by humble little servants, whose only remuneration is
domicile, the cast-off clothing, or the garbage and refuse from their
host's table.
For instance, the common domestic fowl is greatly assisted in its toilet
by certain little animals belonging to the family _Liothe_. These little
creatures carefully scrape away and eat the scarf-skin, and other
epidermal débris that would otherwise impair the health of their
hosts.[70] Some of the fish family are entirely dependent on the
ministrations of mutualists, as these little hygienic servitors are
called, in matters of the toilet. Notably, the gilt catfish, which would
undoubtedly die if deprived of its mutualist, the _Gyropeltes_. This
remarkable little creature does not live on the body of its host, but
swims free in the water, and only seeks him when it is hungry. The skin
of the gilt catfish secretes a thick, glairy, mucous exudate, which, if
left to itself, would imperil the health of the fish. The Gyropeltes,
however, regards this exudate as delicious food and rapidly removes and
devours it.
[70] Van Beneden, _Animal Parasites and Messmates_, pp. 71, 72.
All insects devote some of their time to the toilet, and there is
probably no one who has not, at some time or other, noticed the fly, or
some other insect, thus engaged. The greatest lover of bodily
cleanliness in the whole insect tribe, however, is, I believe, my pet
locust, "Whiskers"--so named by a little niece, on account of her long,
graceful antennæ. "Whiskers" is one of the smallest of her family, and
is a dainty, lovely, agile little creature, light olive-green in color,
with red legs. She was reared from the egg, and has lived in my room all
her short life. She is quite tame and recognizes me as soon as I
approach, often hopping two feet or more in order to light on my
coat-sleeve or outstretched hand.[71]
[71] Shortly after the above was written, this interesting little
creature met an untimely fate at the hands of an Irish chambermaid,
who was a recent importation and who did not understand that all life
was held sacred in my house.--W.
The first thing she does, after reaching my hand, is to seek my little
finger and try her jaws on a diamond ring. The diamond seems to puzzle
her greatly. She sometimes spends several minutes closely examining it.
She will stand off at a little distance and pass her antennæ over every
portion of it. Then she will come closer and make a more minute
examination, finally essaying another bite with her powerful jaws. A
great water drinker, she evidently thinks the stone is some strange kind
of dewdrop, hence her persistent efforts to bite it.
"Whiskers" has developed cannibalistic tastes, for the hardened skin
around my finger-nails is a favorite _morceau_ which she digs out with
her sharp jaws and masticates with seeming delight. She nips out a
piece of skin, cocks her head on one side, and, looking up at me with
her clear, emerald-tinted eyes, her masticatory apparatus working like a
grist-mill, she seems to say, "Well! old fellow, this is good."
She passes most of her time on a bit of turf, in a box on my table,
where the sun shines bright and warm. She is fond of water, however, and
makes frequent excursions to the water-pitcher across the room. How she
discovered that it contained water is more than I can tell; but she did,
and she visits it often.
It is in her habits of bodily cleanliness, however, that "Whiskers"
outshines all other insects. I have watched her at early dawn and have
always found her at her toilet. This is her first undertaking, even
before taking a bite to eat. She makes frequent toilets during the day,
and it is her last occupation at night before sinking to rest on a blade
of grass. Her method of procedure is very interesting. She commences by
first carefully cleansing her antennæ, drawing each of them through her
mouth repeatedly. Then she treats her fore-legs to a thorough scrubbing,
going over every portion with her tongue and jaws. With her fore-legs,
using them as hands, she then cleans her head and shoulders, if I may
use the latter term. Her middle legs and her long "vaulters" are then
subjected to the same careful treatment. Her back and the posterior
portion of her abdomen are next rubbed down, she using the last pair of
legs for this purpose. Finally, standing erect and incurvating her
abdomen between her legs, she cleans it and her ovipositor with her jaws
and tongue. Her toilet is made twenty or thirty times a day. Invariably,
after one of her excursions to the water-pitcher, as soon as she returns
to her box this is her first occupation.
Now, having seen that the lower animals possess æsthetic feeling, it is
reasonable to suppose that some of them possess some of the acquired
higher emotions, such, for instance, as parental affection. The evidence
seems to indicate that some of the lower animals do evince such
affection, as I will now endeavor to point out.