just hatched or still slumbering within the egg, which compels the
female of monogamous birds to change her widowhood for a new alliance
more quickly than the male can console himself for the loss of his
wife. Whether her grief is really less than the widower’s may be
doubted, emphatically against her though appearances are. Other female
birds act exactly like the stork on the Ebensee. A pair of magpies
brooding in our garden were to be killed because we feared for the
safety of the numerous singing-birds which we protected and encouraged
in the same garden. At seven o’clock in the morning the male bird was
shot, and barely two hours later the female had taken another mate;
in an hour he too fell a victim; at eleven o’clock the female had
contracted a third alliance. The same thing would have occurred again,
but that the alarmed female, with her last-annexed mate, flew away from
the garden. One spring my father shot a cock partridge; the hen flew
up, but soon alighted and was immediately wooed by another cock, whom
she accepted without more ado. Tchusi-Schmidthofen took away no fewer
than twenty males from the nest of a black redstart within eight days,
and only then left the twenty-times widowed and just as often consoled
bird to the undisturbed enjoyment of her connubial bliss.
Exactly the opposite of such apparent inconstancy is seen in the case
of a male bird that has lost his mate. Screaming loudly, complaining
piteously, demonstrating his grief by voice and actions, he flies
about the corpse of his loved one, touches it perhaps with his bill
as though he would move it to rise and fly away with him, raises anew
his heart-rending cries, which are intelligible even to man; wanders
within his range from place to place, pausing awhile, calling, coaxing,
and complaining, now in one favourite spot, now in another; neglects
to take food, throws himself angrily on other males of his species
as if he envied them their happiness and would make them share his
own misfortune; finds no rest anywhere, begins without finishing, and
acts without knowing what he does. So he goes on for days, perhaps
weeks, in succession, and often he remains as long as possible on the
scene of his misfortune, without making any expeditions in search of
a fresh mate.[65] Certain species, by no means only those parrots so
appropriately named “inseparables”, but finches and others, even horned
owls, after such a severe blow lose all joy in life, mourn quietly, and
literally pine away until released by death.
One of the chief causes, if not the sole cause, of such deep grief may
be the great difficulty, sometimes the impossibility, of finding and
winning another mate. The female has often no time for grief, for,
sooner or later, sometimes immediately, new suitors appear and so
overwhelm her with attention and tenderness that she must let herself
be consoled whether she will or not. And if, in addition, anxiety about
her brood fills her motherly heart, all other thoughts give place to
that, and no room is left for enduring grief. But if she, too, has a
difficulty in replacing her loss, she expresses her sorrow no less
distinctly than the male. But sometimes she does even more, for she may
voluntarily forego a new alliance. A sparrow widow, carefully observed
by my father, though she had eggs to hatch, and, later, young ones
to rear, accepted none of her suitors but remained unmated, and fed
her clamouring brood alone with indescribable toil. Another touching
incident proving the grief of widowed birds is vouched for by Eugen
von Homeyer. The wedded bliss of a pair of storks, nesting on the roof
of that experienced naturalist’s house, was brought to a sudden end by
one of those detestable bird-shooters or would-be sportsmen who killed
the male. The sorrowing widow fulfilled her maternal duties without
choosing another mate, and migrated in autumn to Africa with her brood
and others of her species. The following spring she reappeared on
the old nest, unmated as she had left. She was much wooed, but drove
all suitors away with vicious digs of her bill; she mended her nest
busily, but only to preserve her right to occupy it. In autumn she
migrated with the rest, returning in spring, and proceeding as before.
This occurred eleven years in succession. In the twelfth, another pair
attempted to take forcible possession of her nest; she fought bravely
for her property, but did not attempt to secure it by taking another
mate. The nest was seized, and she remained single. The interlopers
retained and made use of the nest, and the rightful owner was seen
no more, but, as afterwards transpired, she passed the whole summer
alone in a district about ten miles distant. Scarcely had the other
storks departed, when she returned to her nest, spent a few days in it,
and then set out on her journey. She was known throughout the whole
district as “the solitary”, and her misfortune and behaviour won for
her the friendly sympathy of all kind-hearted men.
And such behaviour is only the movement of a machine obedient to some
external guiding force? All these expressions of a warm and living
emotion which we have depicted occur without consciousness? Believe
that who can, maintain it who will. We believe and maintain the
opposite; the conscious happiness of the love and wedded life of birds
appears to us worthy of our envy.
APES AND MONKEYS.
Sheikh Kemal el Din Demiri, a learned Arab, who died at Damascus about
the year 1405, according to our reckoning, relates in his book, _Heiat
el Heivan_; or, _The Life of Animals_, the following wonderful story,
which is based on one of the Prophet’s utterances:--
“Long before Mohammed, the Prophet and Messenger of God the
All-merciful, had kindled the light of Faith, before Issa or Jesus
of Nazareth had lived and taught, the town Aila, on the Red Sea, was
inhabited by a numerous population who professed the Jewish faith.
But they were sinners and unrighteous in the eyes of the Lord, for
they desecrated continually the sacred day of the All-merciful, the
Sabbath. In vain did pious and wise men warn the sinful inhabitants
of the godless city; they disregarded the command of the Almighty
as before. Then those who had warned them forsook the unholy place,
shook the dust off their feet, and resolved to serve Elohim elsewhere.
But, after three days had passed, the longing for home and friends
drove them back to Aila. There a wonderful sight met their gaze. The
gates of the town were shut, but the battlements of the walls were
unguarded, so that they were not hindered from climbing over them. But
the streets and market-place of the unhappy town were deserted. Where
formerly the restless sea of human life had surged and swelled, where
buyers and sellers, priests and officials, artisans and fishermen, had
mingled in a motley throng, gigantic baboons now sat and crouched,
ran and climbed; and from the windows and recesses, the terraces and
roofs, where dark-eyed women had tarried, she-baboons now looked
down upon the streets. And all the giant monkeys and their comely
mates were sad and downcast, and they gazed with troubled eyes on the
returned pilgrims, pressing closely to them with complaining moans and
prayerful cries. With surprise and sadness the pious pilgrims gazed
upon the strange sight, until to one of them came the comfortless
thought that these might be their former relatives degraded to
monkeys. To make certain, the wise man went straight to his own house.
In the door of it, likewise, there sat a baboon; but this one, when
he saw the righteous man, cast his eyes with pain and shame to the
ground. ‘Tell me, by Allah the All-merciful, O Baboon,’ said the wise
man, ‘art thou my son-in-law Ibrahim?’ And sadly the baboon answered,
‘Eva, Eva’ (I am). Then all doubt vanished from the mind of the pious
man, and he recognized that, by God’s heavy judgment, the impious
Sabbath-breakers had been transformed into ‘monkeys’.”
Sheikh Kemal el Din does not indeed venture to call this miracle in
question, but as a thinking man he cannot refrain from expressing the
opinion that perhaps the baboons may have existed before there were any
Jews.
We, for our part, prettily imagined and related as the story is,
accept this interpretation the more readily, that the apes with which
the pious zealots of Aila may have had to do are old acquaintances of
ours. For in Arabia there occur only the Hamadryas or sacred baboons;
and we find the same excellently depicted on very ancient Egyptian
monuments. It was the arrangement of their hair which appeared to the
ancient Egyptians so remarkable that they chose it as a model for their
sphinxes; while to this day it serves as a pattern for the coiffure of
the dusky beauties of the Eastern Soudan. The sacred baboon holds a
very important place in ancient Egyptian theology, as we learn, among
other things, from Horapollon, interpreter of hieroglyphs. According
to him the monkey was kept in the temples and embalmed after death.
He was considered the inventor of writing, and was therefore not only
sacred to Thoth or Mercury, the founder of all science, but a near
relative of the Egyptian priests, and, on his ceremonious entrance into
the sanctuary, he was subjected to an examination, in which the priest
thrust a writing tablet, ink, and pen into his hand, and called upon
him to write, that they might see whether he were worthy to be received
or not. It was also maintained that he stood in secret relations with
the moon, and that the latter exercised an extraordinary influence over
him; and, finally, he was credited with the faculty of dividing time in
so obvious a manner, that Trismegistus took his actions as the model
after which he constructed his water-clock, which, like the monkey,
divided day and night into twelve equal parts.
It is worthy of note that, while the ancient Egyptians regarded a
relationship with the monkeys as probable, they did not deem it
possible that they should be descended from a monkey stock. Such a view
of the degree of relationship between man and monkey is first met with
among the Indians. From very ancient times until the present day there
has prevailed among them a belief that at least a few royal families
are descended from one of the sacred monkeys, the Hanumân or Entellus,
which, in India, is held as sacred, in a certain sense even as divine,
and that the souls of departed kings return to the bodies of these
monkeys. One of the reigning families, in particular, shows its pride
in this descent through its adopted title of honour--“tailed Rana”.[66]
[Illustration: Fig. 42.--Entellus Monkeys (_Semnopithecus Entellus_).]
Similar views to those prevailing among the Indians have come into
vogue among ourselves in recent times, and the monkey question, which I
should like to discuss shortly, yet so as to be generally understood,
has raised much dust. A scientific question, of little general interest
to the laity, has not only fanned pious anger to blazing flames, but
has divided serious naturalists into two different parties who defend
their respective positions with excited warmth. Circles, altogether
alien to scientific investigation, have taken up the strife, without
knowing or suspecting its real import and bearing, have even carried
it into realms where it could only be productive of mischief, and have
thereby caused a confusion which will not readily be cleared up. To
discuss monkeys at all has therefore become a bold undertaking, for,
in speaking of them, one runs a risk either of degrading the reputed
ancestor, or, through him, of offending the supposed descendants--to
say nothing of the inevitable abuse of the most pitiable kind which
ill-mannered fanatics, blindly struggling against the spirit of the
age, hurl at him who ventures to utter the word monkey. Nevertheless,
the monkey question will not readily disappear from the order of the
day; for these animals, so evidently our nearest relatives in the
animal kingdom, are much too deserving of our sympathy, to allow of our
being deterred by sentimental considerations from investigating their
life and habits and comparing them with our own, that we may so enlarge
our knowledge at once of monkeys and of men.
The following is a contribution to such knowledge:-
A general life-picture such as I wish to sketch is not easily condensed
into few words, since the different species of monkeys vary so widely.
There are about four hundred, or, at any rate, considerably more
than three hundred species, and they inhabit every part of the world
with the single exception of Australia; but they are found chiefly
in the countries within the tropics. In America their range extends
from twenty-eight degrees of southern latitude to the Caribbean Sea;
in Africa it stretches from thirty-five degrees southern latitude
to the Straits of Gibraltar; in Europe their occurrence is limited
to the Rock of Gibraltar, where, from time immemorial, a troop of
about twenty magots or Barbary macaques have existed, and are now
protected and preserved by the garrison of the Fort.[67] Forests and
rocky mountains, which they ascend to a height of more than 8000
feet, are their favourite habitats. In such places they remain, with
the exception of a few species, year in year out, giving heed to the
rotation of the seasons only to the extent of undertaking more or less
extensive expeditions through the forest in search of ripening fruits,
or ascending the mountains at the beginning of the warm season, and
descending again before cold weather sets in; for, though they may be
met with even in snow-covered regions, they are as fond of warmth
as they are of abundant and varied diet. Something to bite and crack
there must be if they are to remain permanently or for any length of
time in a place; failing that, they shift their quarters. Woods in
the neighbourhood of human settlements are to them a paradise; the
forbidden tree therein troubles them not at all. Maize and sugar-cane
fields, orchards, banana, plantain, and melon plantations they regard
as their rightful and peculiar feeding-grounds, and districts where
they are protected by the piety of the inhabitants they also consider
very agreeable places of abode.
All monkeys, with perhaps the exception of the so-called anthropoid
apes, live in bands of considerable strength under the leadership
of an old male. The occupant of this post of dignity rises to it by
recognized all-round ability; the strongest arms and longest teeth
decide the matter. While among those mammals which are led by a
female member of the herd the rest obey willingly, the monkey-leader
is an absolute despot of the worst type, who compels his subjects to
unconditional obedience. If anyone refuses submission, he is brought to
a sense of his duty by bites, pinchings, and blows. The monkey-leader
requires the most slavish submission from all the monkeys of his herd,
females as well as males. He shows no chivalry towards the weaker
sex--“In Sturm erringt er der Minne Sold”.
His discipline is strict, his will unbending. No young monkey dare
presume to make love to one of the females of his herd; no female
may venture to show favour to any male except himself. He rules
despotically over his harem, and his seed, like that of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob, is like the sand of the sea-shore for multitude.
If the herd becomes too large, a troop separates itself, under the
leadership of a full-grown male, to form a new community. Till then
the leader is obeyed by all, and is as much honoured as feared. Old
experienced mothers, as well as young scarcely grown-up females, strive
to flatter him; exerting themselves especially to show him continually
that highest favour one monkey can render to another--cleansing his
hairy coat from all things not appertaining thereto. He, on his part,
accepts such homage with the demeanour of a pasha whose favourite
slave tickles his feet. The esteem which he has been able to evoke
gives him confidence and dignity of bearing; the battles in which
he has constantly to take part give him watchfulness, courage, and
self-control; the necessity of maintaining his authority develops
circumspection, astuteness, and cunning. These qualities are certainly
used in the first place for his own advantage, but the rest of the
community also benefit by them, and his unchallenged supremacy thus
receives some justification and stability. Ruled and guided by him, the
herd, though violent storms may rage within it, leads on the whole a
very secure, and therefore a comfortable life.
All monkeys, except the few nocturnal species, are active by day and
rest at night. Some time after sunrise they awake from sleep. Their
first business is to sun and clean themselves. If the night is cold
and inhospitable, they attempt to improve their comfortless couch by
thronging together in a heap, or rather a cluster; but are still so
cold in the morning that a long sun-bath seems absolutely necessary. As
soon as the dew is dry, they leave their sleeping-places, climb to the
tree-top or to the highest point of the rock, select a sunny seat, and
leisurely turn themselves about on it till every part of their bodies
has been exposed to the sun. When the fur is dried and thoroughly warm
it is ready for cleaning, and each monkey sets to work eagerly and
carefully, or requests and receives from one of his fellows the service
which he, in his turn, is always ready to do to others.
When the fur has been cleaned, and, if necessary, brushed into
sleekness, the monkeys begin to think of breakfast. This presents no
difficulty, for they refuse nothing that is edible, and a tax is levied
on the animal and the vegetable kingdom alike. Forest and mountainous
districts afford fruits, leaf and flower buds, birds’ nests with eggs
or young, snails and grubs; gardens yield fruit and vegetables, fields
supply cereals and pulses. Here a ripening ear is broken off, there a
juicy fruit is gathered, in the tree a bird’s nest is plundered, on the
ground a stone is turned over, in a settlement a garden is stripped or
a field robbed, and something is carried away from all. If he has time,
every single monkey destroys ten times as much as he eats, and can
therefore very materially damage the produce of the farmer, gardener,
or fruit-grower. At the beginning of an expedition each monkey, in
his anxiety to secure himself a meal whatever may happen, devours
almost indiscriminately whatever he can reach; then, if he possesses
cheek-pouches, he stuffs these as full as possible; but as soon as his
most pressing necessities are relieved, he selects and criticises every
bite, carefully examining and smelling every fruit he plucks, every ear
he breaks, before eating it, and indeed in most cases simply throwing
one thing after another carelessly away to seize something different,
which as often as not is rejected in its turn. “We sow, and the monkeys
reap,” the inhabitants of the Eastern Soudan complained to me, and
with justice. Against thieves like these, neither fence nor wall, lock
nor bolt, are sufficient protection; they climb the first, and open
the last; and what they cannot eat they carry away. It is at once
amusing and painful to watch them feeding, for then, as at all times,
their behaviour is a mixture of boldness and artfulness, bravado and
cunning, love of enjoyment and caution, and indeed also of trickery and
spitefulness, impudence and malevolence. All their skill and dexterity
is brought into play when an undertaking seems dangerous. They run,
climb, leap, if need be even swim to overcome obstacles; but in no case
do they forget their care for their individual safety. The commander
always leads the way, and coaxes, calls, chides, warns, cries, scolds,
and punishes as seems to him good; the herd follows and obeys, but
without ever entirely trusting him. In danger every member of the
herd looks out for its own safety, rejoining the leader after that is
assured; the mothers with a young one at their breasts, or on their
backs, are an exception, for they are, or seem to be, less concerned
about their own safety than that of their child.
When their expeditions are not attended with danger they often rest,
and give the young ones opportunity to amuse themselves together; but
when there is any danger they finish their expedition and then enjoy
a period of rest and relaxation, during which they often indulge in
a siesta to help their digestion. In the afternoon they set out on
another foraging expedition; towards sundown they repair to their
usual sleeping-place, which is as far as possible out of the reach of
beasts of prey, and, after prolonged wrangling and disputing, scolding
and brawling, they seek their well-earned rest.
Apart from occasional compulsory or apparently profitable migrations,
the order of the day above described suffers little change.
Reproduction, which brings about such marked changes in the lives
of other animals, has very little influence on that of the monkeys,
for it is limited to no special time, and the mothers carry their
young ones with them wherever they go. The young ones, of which
most species produce only one at a birth, come into the world as
well-developed creatures, with open eyes, but according to our ideas
they are extremely ugly, and, notwithstanding their comparatively
advanced development, very helpless creatures.[68] They appear ugly
because their wrinkled faces and wide open, lively eyes give them the
expression of an old man, and their short hair makes their long fore
limbs look longer than they really are; they show themselves helpless
in that they can make no use of these limbs except to attach themselves
to their mother’s breast. Here they hang, with arms and hands round her
neck, legs and feet round her hips, without seeming to move anything
but their heads for weeks together, and the mother is therefore able,
without being appreciably burdened, to go about her ordinary affairs,
and wanders as usual along the most breakneck paths, or indulges in
the boldest leaps. After some time, rarely within a month, the little
ones begin to attempt some movements, but perform them so awkwardly
that they excite pity rather than laughter. Perhaps because of this
very helplessness, the little monsters are watched and handled by their
mothers with such tenderness that the expression “monkey-love” is fully
justified. Every monkey mother finds constant occupation in looking
after her baby. Now she licks it, now cleans its coat, now lays it to
her breast, now holds it in both hands as if she wished to feast her
eyes on it, and now she rocks it as if to lull it to sleep. If she
sees that she is watched she turns away, as if she grudged anyone else
a sight of her darling. When it is older and able to move about it is
sometimes allowed to leave its mother’s breast for a little, and to
play with others like itself, but it remains meanwhile under strict
control, and, if it does not obey instantly, is punished with slaps
and pinches. The maternal care extends even to the food. Greedy as the
mother generally is, she divides every bite with her young one, yet she
does not allow it to hurt itself by too hasty or immoderate eating, but
interferes, in such a case, with motherly prudence. But there is rarely
any necessity for such interference or for severe punishment, for the
monkey-child is obedient enough to be held up as an example to many a
human one. Very touching is the conduct of the mother when her little
one is obviously suffering; if it dies she is in despair. For hours,
even days, she carries the little corpse about with her, refuses all
nourishment, sits indifferently in the same spot, and often literally
pines to death.[69] The young monkey itself is incapable of such deep
grief, and it is also better taken care of than most other animals if
it loses its mother. For the next best member of the band, whether male
or female, possessed by that love of mothering something, which is
strong in all monkeys, takes charge of the little orphan and caresses
it warmly. Unfortunately, however, the foster-parent is often at war
with its better self about its beloved food, and it may leave a young
one, not old enough to help itself, to pine with hunger, perhaps even
to die of starvation.