if only threatened, and also to quizzing and teasing, the baboon
in question could never refrain from tormenting, annoying, and even
ill-treating other animals. Our crabbed old badger-dog was lying
comfortably in the sun enjoying his mid-day nap. The baboon saw this,
slipped quietly up to him, looked with a sly twinkle of her little
eyes into the dog’s face to make sure that he was really asleep,
then suddenly seized the sleeper’s tail and brought him back with a
violent pull from dreamland to reality. The dog angrily rushed at the
disturber of his peace to avenge the insult. But the monkey escaped
the threatened punishment with a single leap over the advancing dog,
and in the next instant she had seized the tail and repeated the
outrage, obviously enjoying the powerlessness of her furious opponent,
until the latter, almost beside himself with anger and excitement,
unable even to bark, but gasping and foaming, tucked his tail between
his legs and fled, leaving the enemy in possession of the field. If
the baboon could have laughed, the parallel between her behaviour
and that of a mischievous boy would have been complete. As it was,
the scorn and ridicule with which the vanquished dog was overwhelmed
were intelligible enough. The baboon herself took teasing very ill,
would even become furious if laughed at by an unprivileged person, and
never omitted to take her revenge on the first opportunity, even if
that should not occur for weeks. But then she was a monkey, and felt
herself such, therefore regarded a dog as a creature of a lower order,
her insolence towards which was as pardonable as that of every other
creature towards herself was reprehensible and worthy of punishment.
Of this self-esteem, or rather over-esteem, the dog-like monkeys give
daily proofs to every careful observer. The baboon in question, like
all monkeys, was exceedingly fond of pets, and in particular of a
long-tailed monkey which shared her cage, and could be trusted even
out of the cage with it, because it was always by the baboon’s side
as if under a charm. It slept in her arms, and obeyed her slavishly.
The baboon expected such obedience and took it as a matter of course;
but she demanded the most absolute subjection at meal-times. While the
good-natured and obedient long-tailed monkey unresistingly allowed its
foster-mother to pick out all the titbits, the latter only left for
the little one what was absolutely necessary, and if it did succeed
in storing something in its pouches, simply opened these again and
appropriated the contents to her own use.
Unbounded as is the arrogance and self-esteem of the dog-like monkeys,
they are thoroughly well aware when they have done wrong, that is,
have done something deserving of punishment. Schomburgk gives a most
instructive example of this. In the Zoological division of the Botanic
Gardens at Adelaide an old sacred macaque lived in a cage with two
younger members of the same species, over whom, as a matter of course,
he ruled despotically. One day, irritated by something or other, he
attacked his keeper and wounded him dangerously by biting through an
artery on the wrist. For this Schomburgk condemned him to death, and
commissioned another keeper to carry out the sentence by shooting
him. The monkeys were quite accustomed to fire-arms, which were often
used in the gardens for killing injurious animals, and though they
knew their effect they were not disquieted in the least when these
were brought into their immediate neighbourhood. The day after the
misconduct of the old tyrant the two young monkeys remained quietly
at the food-trough on the appearance of the keeper intrusted with the
execution of their comrade, but the criminal himself fled with the
utmost haste into his sleeping cage, and no amount of coaxing could
entice him out of it. An attempt was made to lure him forth by setting
down food; but he did what he had never done before, saw his two
subjects eat up the dainty fare and did not venture to take part in
the meal. Not till the suspected keeper had retired did he venture to
creep forth, seize a few crumbs, and retire in fear and trembling to
his hiding-place again. At length he was persuaded to come out a second
time, and the door of his retreat was closed. When he saw the keeper
with his weapon approaching, he knew that he was lost. Frantically he
threw himself on the door of his sleeping cage to open it if possible,
and not succeeding he rushed through the whole cage examining every
corner and space in the hope of finding a means of escape; at last,
seeing that there was no possibility of flight, he threw himself
despairingly on the ground and surrendered himself, his whole body
trembling and shuddering, to the fate which overtook him a moment later.
[Illustration: Fig. 46.--Macaque or Bonnet-monkey (_Macacus sinicus_)
and Snake.]
It must be admitted that no mammal of any other order, not even the
dog, who has associated with us, and been educated, and, strictly
speaking, formed by us for thousands of years, acts in the manner
described, or exhibits such a high degree of intelligence. And yet a
wide gulf lies between the dog-like monkeys and the anthropoid apes, of
which I have said that they rise even above the average of monkeyhood.
By the anthropoid apes we understand those which in their structure
most resemble man, but are externally distinguished from him by the
very prominent canine teeth, the relatively long arms and short legs,
the structure of the hand, the ischial callosities present in some
species, and the hairy covering of the body. They inhabit the tropical
countries of Asia and Africa (the former being richer in species),
and they are divided into three families, of which one is confined
to Africa. Each of these families embraces only a few species, but
probably we do not know nearly all of them as yet.
The structure of the anthropoid apes points to an arboreal life;
they are most excellent climbers, though by no means slaves to the
tree any more than the langurs, long-tailed monkeys, and macaques.
Their movements, however, both among the branches and on the ground,
are quite different from those of all other monkeys. In climbing up
a tree, particularly a smooth trunk without branches, they take the
same position as a man would do, but, thanks to their long arms and
short legs, they make much more rapid progress than the most expert
human climber; and when they have reached the branches they put every
gymnast to shame by the variety and security of their movements. With
outstretched arms they seize one branch, with the feet they clasp a
parallel one, about half their height lower down, and, using the upper
branch as a rail, they walk along the lower one so quickly, though
without the least sign of effort, that a man walking underneath must
exert himself vigorously to keep pace with them. On reaching the end of
the branch, they seize any available bough or twig of the next tree and
proceed on their way in the same manner, with undiminished speed, yet
without hurry. In ascending they seize hold of any branch strong enough
to bear their weight, and swing themselves upwards with equal ease
whether they are holding the branch with both hands or only with one;
in descending, they let themselves hang with both arms and search about
for a new foothold. Sometimes they amuse themselves by swinging freely
for some minutes; sometimes, clasping a branch with arms and feet,
they walk, for a change, on its lower surface; in short, they assume
every imaginable position, and execute every possible movement. Quite
unrivalled masters of climbing are the long-armed apes or gibbons,
anthropoid apes with arms so disproportionately long that, when
outstretched, they measure thrice as much as their upright bodies. With
incomparable speed and security they climb up a tree or bamboo-stem,
set it, or a suitable branch swinging, and on its rebound spring over
spaces of from eight to twelve yards, so lightly and swiftly, that they
seem to fly like a shot arrow or an alighting bird. They are also able
to alter the direction of a leap while actually springing, or to cut
it suddenly short by seizing a branch and clinging to it--swinging,
rocking, and finally climbing up by it, either to rest for a little,
or to begin the old game anew. Sometimes they spring through the air
in this manner three, four, or five times in succession, so that one
almost forgets that they are subject to the law of gravity. Their
walking is as awkward as their climbing is excellent. Other anthropoid
apes are able to traverse a considerable distance in an upright
position--that is, on their feet alone, without special difficulty,
though when in haste they always fall on all-fours, resting on the
inturned knuckles of the fingers and the outer edges of the feet, and
throwing the body laboriously and clumsily forward between the extended
arms. But the long-armed apes move in an upright position only in cases
of extreme necessity, and then they hop rather than walk. When the
distance to be covered is a short one they raise themselves to their
full height, and preserving their balance by extending their arms,
now more, now less, spread out the great toes as far as possible, and
patter pitiably along with short, quick steps. Their power of movement
must therefore be characterized as one-sided, for their superiority
over the other anthropoid apes in climbing does not counterbalance
their helplessness on the ground.
[Illustration: Fig. 47.--The Hoolock (_Hylobates leuciscus_), one of
the Gibbons.]
The voice-power of the anthropoid apes is very noteworthy. We find that
the most active and agile species have the loudest voices, while those
of the more widely developed, though less nimble, anthropoid apes are
capable of greater variety of expression. I do not say too much when I
assert that I have never heard the voice of any mammal--man, of course,
always excepted--which was more full-toned and sonorous than that of a
long-armed ape which I observed in captivity. I was first astonished,
then delighted, with these deep notes, uttered with full strength, and
by no means disagreeable, because perfectly clear and well-rounded. In
one species the ringing call, which I should describe as a song rather
than a cry, begins on the key-note E, ascends and descends in semitones
through the chromatic scale for a full octave, sometimes ending with a
shrill cry, which seems to be uttered with the animal’s whole strength.
The key-note remains audible throughout, and serves as a grace-note
to each of the succeeding ones, which, in ascending the scale, follow
each other more and more slowly, in descending more and more quickly,
at last with extreme rapidity, but always with perfect regularity. The
notes of some species of the group are said to be less clear, but all
are so loud that, in the open air, one can hear them distinctly at a
distance of an English mile. The same correlation between agility of
motion and voice-power can be observed in other anthropoid apes. The
slow-moving, awkward-looking orang-utan utters, as far as I know, only
a strong, deep throat sound; the lively, active, sprightly chimpanzee,
with only a few notes, understands so well how to give them variety of
emphasis and intelligible expression that one is tempted to concede
to him the power of speech. He does not indeed speak with words, but
with sounds, and even syllables, of the constancy of whose meaning the
observer who has much acquaintance with the chimpanzee can have no
doubt. Other anthropoid apes of the same family are probably not far
behind him in this respect.
Anyone who wishes to learn to what a height the mental qualities of
a monkey may reach must select the chimpanzee or one of his nearest
relatives for observation, and must associate closely with it for a
lengthened period, as I have done. He will then discover with wonder
and amazement, perhaps with slight horror, how much the gulf between
man and beast can be diminished. The other anthropoid apes, too, are
highly gifted creatures; they, too, surpass all other monkeys in this
respect; but the talents of the long-armed gibbons or the orang-utans
do not attain to the same universally intelligible expression--I may
say, the same impressiveness, as those of the chimpanzees and their
relatives. They--the pongos, the gorilla, the _tschiego_, and the
chimpanzee--cannot be treated as animals, but must be associated
with as men, if their mental powers are to be known and appreciated.
Their intelligence is not far behind that of a rude, undisciplined,
uneducated human being. They are, and remain animals, but they behave
so humanly that one can almost lose sight of the beast.
For years in succession I have kept chimpanzees, have observed them
closely and, as far as possible, without prejudice, have associated
intimately with them, taken them into my family, brought them up as
playmates for my children, let them eat at my table, taught and trained
them, waited upon them in sickness, and not forsaken them in the hour
of death. I have therefore a right to believe that I know them as well
as anyone, and that I am justified in pronouncing an authoritative
opinion. For these reasons I select the chimpanzee, in order to show to
what height the mental power of an animal may rise.
The chimpanzee is not only one of the cleverest of all creatures,
he is a being capable of deliberation and judgment. Everything he
does is done consciously and deliberately. He imitates, but he does
so with intelligence and on due consideration; he allows himself to
be taught, and learns. He knows himself and his surroundings, and
he can appreciate his position. In association with man he yields
submission to superior intelligence; in his relations with animals he
exhibits a self-conceit similar to our own. What is merely hinted at
among other apes is quite pronounced in him. He regards himself as
better, as standing higher than other animals, even other monkeys; he
rates even human beings exactly according to their standing; thus he
treats children quite differently from grown-up people; the latter he
respects, the former he looks upon as comrades and equals. He shows
an interest in animals with which he can form no friendship or other
tie, and also in objects which have no connection with his natural
wants; for he is not merely inquisitive, he is greedy of knowledge;
an object which has attracted his attention increases in value in
his eyes when he has found out its use. He can draw conclusions, can
reason from one to another, and apply the results of experience to new
circumstances, is cunning, even wily, has flashes of wit, and indulges
in practical jokes, exhibits humours and moods, is entertained in one
company and bored in another, enters into the spirit of some jokes and
scorns others, is self-willed but not stubborn, good-natured but not
wanting in independence. He expresses his emotions like a human being.
When in a gay mood he smirks with satisfaction, when depressed his
face is drawn into wrinkles which speak for themselves, and he gives
utterance to his grief by plaintive sounds. In sickness he behaves
like one in despair, distorts his face, screams, throws himself on his
back, beats with his hands and feet, and tears his hair. To a friendly
voice he responds with sounds expressive of pleasure, to chiding with
cries of distress. He is active and busy from morning till late in
the evening, seeks constant occupation, and when he comes to an end of
his usual employments he invents new ones, even if it should only be
slapping his feet with his hands, or knocking against hollow boards,
and thus producing sounds which give him evident pleasure. In a room
he occupies himself with carefully examining everything that attracts
his attention, opens drawers and rummages among their contents,
opens the stove door to look at the fire and shuts it again, holds a
key properly, stands before the mirror and amuses himself with the
reflection of his own gestures and grimaces, uses brush and duster as
he has been taught, puts on blankets and clothing, and so on.
[Illustration: Fig. 48.--Chimpanzee (_Troglodytes niger_).]
His acuteness of observation is strikingly proved by his almost
unfailingly correct judgment of persons. Not only does he recognize
and distinguish his friends from other people, but well-meaning from
evil-intentioned persons so thoroughly that the keeper of a chimpanzee
was convinced that anyone with whom his _protégé_ refused to make
friends was really a good-for-nothing or a scoundrel. A thorough but
accomplished hypocrite who deceived me and others was all along a
horror to our chimpanzee, just as if he had seen through the red-headed
rascal from the first. Every chimpanzee who has been much in human
society likes best to be a member of a family circle. There he behaves
as though he felt himself among equals. He carefully observes the
manners and customs of the house, notices immediately whether he is
being watched or not, and does in the former case what he ought to, in
the latter what pleases him. In contrast to other monkeys, he learns
very easily and with real eagerness whatever is taught to him, as, for
instance, to sit upright at table, to eat with knife, fork, and spoon,
to drink from a glass or cup, to stir the sugar in his tea, to touch
glasses with his neighbour, to use his napkin, and so on; with equal
case he becomes accustomed to clothing, beds, and blankets; without
great difficulty he gains after a time an understanding of human speech
which far surpasses that of a well-trained dog, for he follows not
merely the emphasis but the meaning of words, and executes commissions
or obeys commands with equal correctness. Exceedingly appreciative of
every caress and flattery, and even of praise, he is equally sensitive
to unfriendly treatment or blame; he is also capable of deep gratitude,
and he expresses it by shaking hands or kissing without being asked
to do so. He evinces a special fondness for children. Being neither
spiteful nor vicious, he treats children with great friendliness as
long as they do not tease him, and behaves to helpless infants with
really touching tenderness, though towards others of his own species,
monkeys of a different species, and animals generally, he is often
rough and harsh. I lay special stress on this characteristic, which I
have observed in every chimpanzee I have brought up, because it seems
to prove that the chimpanzee recognizes and respects the human even in
the youngest child.
The behaviour of a sick and suffering anthropoid ape is most touching.
Begging piteously, almost humanly, he looks into his keeper’s face,
receives every attempt to help him with warm thanks, and soon looks
upon the physician as a benefactor, holds out his arm to him, or
stretches out his tongue as soon as he is told, and even does so of
his own accord after a few visits from the physician. He swallows
medicine readily, submits even to a surgical operation, and, in a word,
behaves very like a human patient in similar circumstances. As his end
approaches he becomes more gentle, the animal in him is lost sight of,
and the nobler traits of his character stand out prominently.
The chimpanzee which I kept longest, and with the help of an
intelligent, animal-loving keeper educated most carefully, was taken
ill with inflammation of the lungs, accompanied by suppuration of the
lymphatic glands of the neck. Surgical treatment of the glands was
found necessary. Two surgeons, friends of mine who were on good terms
with the chimpanzee, undertook to open the tumour on the neck, the more
readily that the monkey believed that to be the cause of his suffering,
and continually guided the surgeon’s hand towards it. But how was the
necessary operation in such a dangerous spot to be performed without
imperilling the monkey’s life? Anæsthetics were out of the question
because of the lung disease, and the attempt to have the chimpanzee
held down by several strong men had to be abandoned because of his
intense excitement, and the strenuous resistance he offered. But where
force failed persuasion succeeded. When the monkey was quieted and
reassured by the coaxing and endearments of his keeper, he allowed
a further examination of the swelling, and even submitted, without
twitching an eyelid or uttering a complaint, to the use of the knife,
and other painful treatment, including the emptying of the opened
tumour. When this was done the distressingly laboured breathing became
instantly less oppressive, an unmistakable expression of relief passed
over the sufferer’s face, and he gratefully held out his hand to both
physicians, and embraced his keeper, without having been asked to do
either.
Unfortunately, the removal of the one trouble did not succeed in saving
the animal’s life. The neck wound healed, but the inflammation of the
lungs increased and killed him. He died fully conscious, gently and
peacefully, not as an animal, but as a man dies.
These are features of the character and conduct of anthropoid apes
which can neither be misunderstood nor cavilled at. When one considers
that they can be observed in all anthropoids not yet full-grown but
beyond the stage of childhood, one must undoubtedly grant those animals
a very high place. For the opinion expressed by some one incapable
observer, and thoughtlessly repeated by hundreds, that the monkey loses
mental power with increasing age, that he retrogrades and becomes
stupid, is completely false, and is disproved by every ape which is
observed carefully, and without prejudice, from youth to age.[73] Even
if we knew nothing more about full-grown anthropoids than that they
erect shelters resembling huts rather than nests, in which to pass a
single night, and that they drum on hollow trees for amusement, it
would be enough to lead us to the same conclusion as we have arrived
at by observation of the young members of this group; that is, that
they must be regarded as by far the most gifted and highly developed of
animals, and as our nearest relatives.
And the ape question? I might say that I have just answered it in what
I have said; but I have no hesitation in expressing a more definite
opinion.
Everyone must admit that man is not the representative of a new order
of being, but is simply a member of the animal kingdom, and every
unprejudiced person will also describe apes as the creatures most
resembling man. If we compare them with one another, and then with
man, the conviction is forced upon us, however we may strive against
it, that there is a greater difference between the marmosets and the
anthropoid apes than between the latter group and man. Zoologically,
therefore, one cannot even relegate the apes and man to different
orders of the highest class of animals. This has indeed been done,
and is still done, man being classed as two-handed and monkeys as
four-handed animals, but this leaves the most important aid to the
classification of a mammal, the dentition, out of the question. For the
dentition of man and monkeys is so essentially similar that it points
imperatively to the necessity of placing the two types together. Nor
is the distinction between two-handed and four-handed tenable, for
although as regards the structure of hands and feet man and monkeys
are certainly different, the difference does not imply any opposition;
and the monkeys are just as much two-handed as we are. If we keep to
the basis of classification adhered to without exception elsewhere,
we are forced to place both in one order. I have given to it the name
_Hochtiere_.
But though the characteristics which belong to all the higher animals
as members of one order correspond thus accurately, a closer comparison
reveals differences between man and apes which absolutely forbid a
fusion of the two groups such as has been attempted in modern times.
The symmetry of form, the comparative shortness of the arms, the
breadth and mobility of the hands, the length and strength of the
legs, as well as the flatness of the feet, the naked skin, and the
less-developed canine teeth are external marks of man which must not be
under-estimated, for they are important enough to justify putting him
and the apes in different families, perhaps even different sub-orders.
If, in addition, we take man’s endowments into due consideration,
compare his movements, his articulate speech, his mental capacities
with the corresponding gifts in the ape, the need for insisting on the
boundaries between the two is confirmed.