widest acceptation of the term. Our domestic cock contents himself
with strutting proudly about, crowing and flapping his wings; his
companions in the yard, the peacock and the turkey, do more, for they
dance. Much more vigorous dancers than either of these are all the
grouse-like birds and some pheasants. Whoever has watched the dance of
the capercaillie in the grey morning hours, has listened to the liquid
cooing of the black-grouse, has seen the willow-grouse dancing on the
snowy plains of the tundra in the dusk of a northern spring, will agree
with me that such homage as these cocks offer to the hens must be as
irresistible as that paid by our own peacock when he transforms his
chief ornament into a canopy for his desired mate. More remarkable than
all the rest is the behaviour of the male tragopans or horned pheasants
of Southern Asia, magnificently decorative birds, distinguished by two
brightly-coloured horn-like tubes of skin on the sides of the head, and
by brilliantly-coloured extensible wattles. After the cock has walked
round the hen several times without appearing to pay any attention to
her, he stands still at a particular spot, and begins to bow. More
and more quickly the courtesies follow each other, the horns meantime
swelling and tossing, the wattles dilating and collapsing again, till
all are literally flying about the head of the love-crazed bird. Now
he unfolds and spreads his wings, rounds and droops his tail, sinks
down with bent feet, and, spitting and hissing, lets his wings sweep
along the ground. Suddenly every movement ceases. Bent low, his plumage
ruffled, his wings and tail pressed against the ground, his eyes
closed, his breathing audible, he remains for a while in motionless
ecstasy. His fully-unfolded decorations gleam with dazzling brightness.
Abruptly he rises again, spits and hisses, trembles, smooths his
feathers, scratches, throws up his tail, flaps his wings, jerks
himself up to his full height, rushes upon the female, and, suddenly
checking his wild career, appears before her in olympic majesty, stands
still for a moment, trembles, twitches, hisses, and all at once lets
all his glory vanish, smooths his feathers, draws in his horns and
wattles, and goes about his business as if nothing had happened.
With head slightly bent, with wings and tail spread out, the former
moving tremulously, the wagtails trip with dainty steps about their
chosen mates, bowing, advancing, and retreating again; the fire-finch
looks like a brilliant flame of incense as he turns about, singing
gaily and spreading his beautiful feathers in the sunlight, on the
top of an ear of the Kaffir millet, among which he and his loved one
have made their home; tenderly, with mouth pressed to mouth and breast
to breast, like the children of men, the dove and his mate together
execute a slow dance; the cranes dance passionately, with nimble leaps;
not less ardently, even in sight of apparently admiring spectators,
does the beautiful cock of the rock of Tropical America disport
himself; even the condor, whose powers of flight are of the first
order, who sails through the air thousands of feet above the highest
peaks of the Andes, whom one would scarcely expect to conduct his
wooing otherwise than with his wings, ventures on a little dance, and
with head sunk upon his breast, and with wings fully spread, circles
slowly and with mincing steps around his mate, to an accompaniment of
strange drumming, murmuring sounds.
Other birds, again, instead of dancing, spring impetuously up
and down, and hop hither and thither among the branches, at the
same time displaying whatever beauty they possess: thus, the male
birds-of-paradise assemble in crowds on certain trees during the early
morning hours, and with the aforesaid movements and tremulous quivering
of their wings, display their wonderful plumage in honour of the other
sex. Others even build bower-like structures, which they decorate with
all kinds of coloured, shimmering, and glittering objects, and within
which they perform their dances. Finally, a few birds with no special
accomplishments either of voice or of flight or of dance, make use of
their bills to produce singular sounds. Thus all the storks woo by
quickly clapping the two halves of the bill together, so producing
a clatter which makes up for their lack of voice; thus, too, the
woodpeckers hammer so fast on a dry tree-top or branch that the wood
flies about in splinters, and a drumming sound is caused which resounds
throughout the forest.
[Illustration: Fig. 40.--The Strutting of the Tragopan in Pairing-time.]
Although it cannot be said that the female coquettishly repels any
advances and declarations of love, it is only in cases of necessity
that she accepts a suitor without exercising selection. At first she
listens to the tenderest love-songs apparently with the greatest
indifference, and looks on unconcernedly at all the play of wings,
the dances executed in her honour, and all the beauty displayed to
do her homage. For the most part she behaves as if all the display
of fascinations on the part of the males had no relation to her at
all. Leisurely, and seemingly quite uninterested in their doings, she
goes about her daily business of seeking food. In many, though by
no means in all cases, she is ultimately enticed by the song in her
glorification, the dances to her praise, but by no action does she give
a sign of complaisant response. Many female birds, especially the hens
of all polygamous species, do not even come to the “playing” grounds
of the cocks, though they are anything but coy, and often by their
inviting cries inflame the strutting cocks to the height of passion.
If a male becomes more importunate than is agreeable to the female she
takes refuge in flight. In very rare cases this may perhaps be meant in
earnest, but it is usually continued with such energy and persistence
that it is not always easy to determine whether it takes place without
any secondary intention or whether it is merely a pretence. If it
aims at nothing, it certainly achieves something: a heightening of
the desire, a straining to the utmost of all the powers and resources
of the wooing male. More excited than ever, regardless of all
considerations, and bent only on attaining his object, he pursues the
flying female as if he meant to force her to grant his suit; he sings
with more fire, struts, dances, and plays with more agility than ever,
and exercises his arts of flight whenever the female stops to rest, and
more eagerly than ever he follows her if she takes to fresh flight.
Probably the females would be more compliant than they generally are if
one male were the only suitor. But the fact that the males are in most
species in the majority gives the female bird the boon of freedom of
choice. Several males, sometimes even a considerable number of them,
pay court to her at the same time, and thus justify her deliberation
and selectiveness. Intentionally or unintentionally, she obeys the
law of selection; among several she tries to pick out the best, the
strongest, the healthiest, the most excellent in every respect.[63] She
can afford to be fastidious. The reaction of her conduct on the males
finds expression in boundless jealousy, which results, not unnaturally,
in prolonged, often mortal, combat. Every bird, harmless as he may
appear to us, is a hero in fighting for his loved one, and everyone
understands so well how to use the weapons he is provided with, whether
bill, claws, spurred feet, or even wings armed with horny spines, that
the battle in many cases comes to an end only with the death of one of
the combatants.
The combat takes place in the air, on the ground, among the branches,
or in the water, according to the species of bird. Eagles and falcons
fight their adversaries in the air with beak and talons. Magnificent
curves, rival flights to attain to a height suitable for attack, swift
thrust, brilliant parry, mutual persecution and courageous persistence
are the chief features of such duels. If one of the kingly champions
succeeds in seizing his foe, the latter strikes his talons into his
opponent’s breast, and both, unable properly to use their wings, fall
whirling through the air. When the ground is reached the fight is,
of course, interrupted; but, as soon as one rises, the other follows
him, and hostilities begin anew. If one becomes exhausted, perhaps in
consequence of wounds received, he beats a retreat, and, hotly pursued
by the victor, flies hastily and without attempting resistance, beyond
the limits of the domain which the female bird has chosen for herself;
but, in spite of defeat, he does not finally relinquish the strife
until she has declared decidedly in favour of the conqueror. Such duels
sometimes, though not very often, have a fatal issue, for the eagle,
whose jealousy is provoked by love and ambition, shows no mercy towards
a conquered foe, but remorselessly kills the adversary who has been
incapacitated for further combat or for flight. Even those apparently
most harmless creatures, the swifts, occasionally kill their rivals,
for in their struggles, which are precisely like those of the eagles
and falcons, they strike their sharp claws into the breasts of their
foes, and tear the flesh so that the death of the wounded one often
results.
Among all birds with voices the combat is preceded by a definite
challenge. Even the song of a singing bird is a weapon with which
he may gain a bloodless victory; the pairing-cry, which so well
expresses wooing, always excites jealousy. Whoever can imitate the
call of the cuckoo may entice the usually cautious bird to the very
tree under which he is standing. Whoever can adequately mimic the
complex whistle of the golden oriole, the cooing of the wild pigeon and
turtle-dove, the drumming of the woodpeckers--in a word, the wooing
song or call-note of any bird--may achieve a similar result. When a
second suitor appears on the scene he announces his arrival by calling
or singing. But he soon proceeds to action; and thenceforward there
rages between him and his rival a strife as violent as those already
described. In mad fury, calling, screaming, and screeching, one chases
the other hither and thither, high in mid-air or in lower strata of the
atmosphere, between tree-tops or among the bushes, and just as in the
pursuit of the female, so in this chase one male provokes the other to
passionate rage by challenging calls, and even by song, by displaying
his decorations, and by other mocking behaviour. If the pursuer
succeeds in catching his flying foe, he pecks him so hard with his bill
that the feathers fly about; if he lets him go, the pursued one turns
in a trice and renews the attack; if neither gives way they maul one
another thoroughly, whether they are in the air, among the branches, or
on the ground. Among them, too, the struggle is finally abandoned only
when the female declares for one or other of the combatants.
[Illustration: Fig. 41.--Cock Chaffinches Fighting.]
Ground-birds always fight on the ground, swimming-birds only in the
water. How obstinately the gallinaceous birds may do battle is known
to everyone who has watched two cocks fighting. Their duels, too, are
a matter of life and death, though a fatal result does not often take
place except when the natural weapons have been sharpened and the means
of protection weakened by man’s cruel interference. Rival ostriches
fight with their strong legs, and, striking forwards, tear deep wounds
with their sharp toe-nails in the breast, body, and legs of their
opponent. Jealous bustards, after spending a long time challenging
each other with throat inflated, wings and tail outspread, and much
grumbling and hissing, make use of their bills with very considerable
effect. Sandpipers and other shore-birds, particularly the fighting
ruffs, which fight about everything, about a mate or about a fly, about
sun and light, or about their standing-ground, run against each other
with bills like poised lances, and receive the thrusts among their
breast-feathers, which in the case of the ruffs are developed into what
serves as a shield. Coots rush at each other on an unsteady surface of
water-plants, and strike each other with their legs. Swans, geese, and
ducks chase each other till one of the combatants succeeds in seizing
the other by the head and holding him under water, till he is in danger
of suffocating, or at least until he is so much exhausted that he is
unable to continue the struggle. Swans, like spur-winged birds, seem
also to use the hard, sharp, thorn-like horny quills at the angle of
the wing to give effective strokes.
As long as the female has not decided for either of the combatants, she
takes no part in such struggles, does not appear even to be interested,
though she must observe them closely, as she usually declares for the
winner, or at least accepts his suit. How her decision or declaration
is actually brought about I cannot say, I cannot even guess. While
the battles described are in progress she makes her choice, and
from thenceforward she gives herself unreservedly to the favoured
male, follows him wherever he goes, accepts his demonstrations of
affection with obvious pleasure, and returns his caresses with the
most self-forgetting tenderness. She calls longingly after him, greets
him joyously, and submits unresistingly to his desires and fondlings.
Parrot pairs sit with their bodies closely pressed together, though
hundreds may have settled on the same tree; the most complete unison
is observable in all their doings; they are as if guided by one will.
Does the husband take food, the wife takes it too; does he seek a new
perch, she follows him; does he utter a cry, she joins her voice to
his. Caressingly they nestle in each other’s plumage, and the passive
female willingly offers head and neck to the eager male, thus to
receive proofs of his tenderness. Every other female bird receives the
caresses of her mate with similar, if somewhat less obvious devotion.
She knows neither moods nor vexatious humours, neither sulking nor
anger, neither scolding nor upbraiding, neither displeasure nor
discontent--nothing but love, tenderness, and devotion, while the male
thinks of nothing but his happiness in his newly-acquired treasure,
and has no desire but to retain it. While he sometimes arranges or
decides for her, he yields to the wishes of his mate; when she rises,
he, too, leaves his perch; when she wanders abroad, he follows her;
when she returns, he also comes back to the home of his youth. Little
wonder that the wedlock of birds is happy and blameless. If the birds
united for life grow old themselves, their love does not grow old with
them, but remains ever young; and every spring-time fresh oil is poured
upon the flame; their mutual tenderness does not diminish during the
longest wedded life. Both mates faithfully take their share of the
domestic cares at the time of nest-building, hatching the eggs, and
bringing up the young. The male devotedly assists the female in all the
labours required by their brood; he defends her courageously, and will
unhesitatingly rush into obvious danger, even to death, to rescue her.
In a word, from the beginning of their union they share each other’s
joys and sorrows, and, except in unusual circumstances, this intimate
bond lasts throughout life. There is no lack of direct evidence in
proof of this. Keen-eyed naturalists, who have observed certain birds
for many successive years, and have at length come to know them so well
that they could not confuse them with others of the same species, have
given us their guarantee for the birds’ devotion, and all of us who
have given special attention to the birds which have come under our
notice must be led to the same conclusion. A pair of storks on the roof
of a house give the owner so many opportunities for observing them and
distinguishing them from other storks that error is almost out of the
question; and whoever watches his storks will find that the same pair
occupy the nest every year as long as both live. And every naturalist
or sportsman, who carefully notes wandering bird-pairs, or shoots them
if the differences of sex are not readily distinguishable, will find
that they are really male and female. In the course of my travels in
Africa I often saw pairs of migrating birds which there, too, lived in
the close fellowship so characteristic of bird-wedlock, and were as
inseparable as in the thicket at home, doing all and enduring all in
common. Pairs of booted eagles were easily recognizable as mates even
when they travelled or took shelter in company with others of their
species; the whistling swans which I saw on the Menzaleh Lake in Egypt
appeared in pairs and flew away again in pairs; all the other united
pairs which I observed on my way illustrated the same habit. That they
share misfortunes as well as pleasures together, I learned from a pair
of storks I observed on a pool in South Nubia, to whom my attention
was attracted because they were there at a time long after all others
of their species had sought a refuge in the interior of Africa. To
discover the cause of this prolonged stay I had them shot, and I found
that the female had a broken wing which prevented her travelling
farther, and that the male, himself thoroughly sound, had remained,
for love of her, in a region where all the conditions of comfortable
wintering were awanting. The close and faithful bond between pairing
birds is severed only by death.
This is the rule, but it is subject to exceptions. Even among
monogamous birds unfaithfulness occurs sometimes, though rarely.
Firmly as the females are wont to keep faith with their mates, and
little as they are inclined to cast furtive glances at other males,
or even to accept them as friends when they obtrude themselves, the
specially brilliant gifts of some stranger may exercise a seductive
influence. A master-singer who far surpasses the husband in song, an
eagle who excels in all or at least in many respects the one selected
by a female, may seriously disturb the happiness of a nightingale
or eagle marriage, may perhaps even entice the female away from her
rightful spouse. This is evidenced by the bachelors who fly about
before and during the brooding-time, intruding audaciously into the
domain of a wedded pair and boldly sueing for the favour of the female,
and by the jealous fights which begin at once between the lawful
husband and the intruder, and which are usually fought out without
the aid of the female. The conduct of a suddenly widowed female, who
not only immediately consoles herself by pairing again, but sometimes
even accepts the assassin of her first mate, points, at least to a
certain extent, in the same direction. On the roof of the manor of
Ebensee, near Erfürt, there brooded for years a pair of storks who,
though they lived in complete harmony, were never without contests,
suffering perpetually from the intrusion of strangers, who attempted
to get possession of nest and female. One spring there came upon the
scene a male who far surpassed all previous suitors in assertiveness
and persistence, and forced the paterfamilias to be always fighting,
or at least to be constantly on the watch. One day, wearied with his
struggles, he sat upon the nest apparently asleep, with his head
under his wing, when suddenly the intruder swooped down upon him,
transfixed him with his bill, and hurled him lifeless from the roof.
And the widow? She did not drive the infamous assassin from her, but
unhesitatingly allowed him to fill his victim’s place, and went on with
her brooding as if nothing had happened.
This and the facts already mentioned are not to the credit of the
females, but I should like to emphasize that they are so much
outweighed by the evidence on the other side, that they must be
considered as exceptions which prove the rule. And if the females
should be judged apparently or actually guilty, it must not be
forgotten that the males, with far more reason to be faithful than
the less numerous females, sometimes forget their conjugal ties.
Whoever thoroughly knows pigeons, which are erroneously regarded as
the type of all conceivable virtues, is aware that they are far from
deserving the reputation which has been handed down in the legends of
the ancients. Their tenderness is captivating, but it is not constant;
their faithfulness to wife and children is extolled, but it does not
stand a test. Quite apart from their unfatherliness, the male pigeons
are only too often guilty of transgressions against the inviolable
laws of marriage, and not seldom employ the time in which their mates
are brooding in dallying with other females. Drakes are even more
blamable, and the male red-legged partridges are no better. As soon
as the ducks have settled down to brood, the drakes assemble and pass
the time together as best they can, leaving their mates to toil, and
worry, and undertake all the cares for the coming generation, and only
returning to the ducks, perhaps not to their own mates, when the young
have grown big and self-reliant and no longer need their help. But
the red-legged partridges, and probably our partridges also, during
the pairing-time, put in an appearance wherever another cock announces
himself in order to fight a round with him, and they are often allured
and killed by the Spaniards, with the help of tame cocks of their own
species. Later, however, when brooding has begun and they have no
longer any inclination to fight, they respond to the call of the hens,
if possible, more readily than before.
But, as has been said, such cases form exceptions to the rule, and
cannot be compared in any way with what occurs among polygamous birds.
Many have tried in vain to explain the polygamy of cowbirds, cuckoos,
pheasants, woodcocks, turkeys, quails, peacocks, and ruffs, but as
yet no satisfactory explanation has been offered. To say that the
cuckoo and its nearest relations do not brood nor live in wedlock
and rear their own offspring because they must always be ready to
direct their flight towards a caterpillar horde, wherever that may
appear, is to talk at large, not to explain--for the cowbirds, too,
intrust their brood to the care of foster-parents; and with regard to
the supposition that polygamy, occurring among a few exceptionally
persecuted species of fowl, is a provision of Nature for securing to
these a numerous progeny, it is difficult to see why that end might not
have been attained in the same way as among other fowls, which, though
monogamous, are not less prolific.[64]
While employing the expression polygamy, I am quite aware that it is
usual to speak of plurality of wives among birds. Such a state is
unknown to me, and its existence, to my knowledge, is not corroborated
by any observations of indisputable accuracy. For the passion is
mutual, and the longing of the females is as boundless as that of
the males. The female cuckoo mates with one male to-day and another
to-morrow, may indeed bestow her affections on several in the course
of an hour, and the hen yields herself to one cock as readily as to
another. It is simply out of the question to talk of mating among
them at all. The males only concern themselves temporarily about the
females, and the females about the males; each sex goes its own way,
even separating entirely from the other, and taking no interest in
its lot beyond the limits of the pairing-time. Boundless desire, and
consequently excessive jealousy, imperious demands submissively acceded
to, mad wooing readily accepted, and thereafter complete indifference
towards each other, are the main characteristics of the intercourse
between the sexes of these birds. These explain, too, the fact that
among them much oftener than among other birds crossing takes place,
and mongrels or hybrids are produced, which lead a miserable existence,
and either pine away without progeny, or, by mating with the true
offspring of the race, lead back to the type again. Cross-pairing does
indeed occur among other, that is monogamous, birds, but only when
the absence of a mate of their own species impels them to seek one of
another; whereas among polygamous birds chance and tempting opportunity
seem as determinative as such a dilemma.