About all Birds of Paradise, and Some Explanations
As I have told you, there are some forty or fifty different kinds of
Birds of Paradise, and they are all of them as beautiful, or nearly as
beautiful, as those that I have described, each one in its own special
way. Of course you must know yourself, or your mother will tell you,
that all this wonderful beauty has not been given to these birds for
nothing, and I have told you that the male Birds of Paradise, who alone
have it, show it off to the poor hen birds, whose plumage is quite
sober in comparison--though you must not think that _they_ are not
pretty birds too--because they are pretty, though in a quieter style.
So they are not _really_ "poor" hen birds, that is only just a way of
speaking. They are happy enough, you may be sure, for they have their
husbands' fine clothes to look at. But what is so interesting, is that
each of these different kinds of Birds of Paradise has some different
way of arranging and showing off his fine clothes--for, of course, a
bird's feathers are his clothes just as much as our coats and dresses
are ours. And, besides that, each one of them puts himself into some
peculiar attitude, which he thinks is the best one to let his plumage
be seen as he would like it to be. We may be quite sure of this,
because it is what all birds do that have beautiful plumage; and many
of them have regular places that they come to, to run or jump about in,
just as soldiers come into a park or common to march about in it, and
show off their nice pretty uniforms. There will always be a great many
hen birds round these places, to look at the beautiful males, and there
are always a great many ladies round the park or common, to look at the
beautiful soldiers.
Now, would it not be interesting if we knew what all these different
Birds of Paradise did, and how they arranged their plumage, and what
attitudes they went into, and whether they ran or jumped or flew or
did all three, and all the rest of it? If only there was somebody who
knew all that, I think he could write a very interesting book, and if
only some one would go out into those countries, with a pair of glasses
(or even a pair of eyes) instead of with a gun, and whenever he saw a
Bird of Paradise would just look at it through the glasses (or with
his own eyes, if it was near enough) instead of shooting it, I think
_he_ might write an interesting book. I am sure _I_ should find it
interesting, and I _think_ you would too. Depend upon it, if any one
could tell people what a Bird of Paradise did, he would interest them
very much more than by telling them how he shot it. That is not at
all interesting, how he shot it. Do you think it would be so _very_
interesting for people to know how you broke a very handsome ornament
in your mother's drawing-room? Why, I don't think it would interest
even your mother--much; but she would be very sorry you broke it. And
that is just how _I_ feel (and I think some other people do too) when
a person tells me how he shot a Bird of Paradise. Things of that kind
interest the little demon. If they interest any one else, I am afraid
it is only _because_ of that little demon, because of his wicked
powders and his having sent the Goddess of Pity to sleep.
But I am sorry to say that there is hardly anybody who knows anything
about all these Birds of Paradise, anything about their habits and how
they live and how they dance and the way they arrange their wonderful
plumage, so as to make it look as beautiful as possible. Perhaps there
are a few people who know just a little--a _very_ little--about some
of the more common kinds, but as for all the rest, if any one knows
anything about them, it must be those black or yellow people that we
call savages, who live in the same countries that they live in. That
is because, when a traveller from Europe goes out to those countries he
always takes a gun--not glasses (or if he does take a pair of glasses
he does not use them, or his eyes either, in the right way), and when
he sees one of these rare Birds of Paradise, he shoots it, or else
frightens it away, as I told you. Then, when he comes back, he writes
his book and tells you how he shot it, or tried to shoot it, and then
he says: "Unfortunately, nothing whatever is known of the habits of
this species." It is not very wonderful that _he_ knows nothing of
them, is it? And yet this traveller, with his gun, almost always calls
himself a _naturalist_. Now a _real_ naturalist is a person who loves
nature. But is not that a funny way to love her--to shoot her children?
Depend upon it, that one of those little bottles that the demon keeps
his powders in, is labelled "Natural History" or "Love of Nature." You
know that _his_ bottles have generally a false label on them.
So, I am afraid I cannot tell you much about what the Birds of Paradise
do, or how they show off their beautiful feathers. Indeed, it is very
much the same with most other beautiful birds, and for the very same
reason that I have been telling you, because people _will_ shoot,
instead of looking and watching. Just the little that we know about
the Great Bird of Paradise, how he has a special tree that he comes
to, to have those dances that the natives call "Sácalelis," and how he
flies about with his plumes waving, or sits underneath them as if he
were in the spray of a falling fountain, that I have told you; but,
besides this, I can only tell you just a very little about a Bird
of Paradise that I have not said anything about, because, you know,
there are so many of them. The little I can tell you is this. Two
gentlemen--one of them a Mr. Chalmers and the other a Mr. Wyatt--were
once travelling in the part of New Guinea where this Bird of Paradise
lives, and one morning, when they were up early, they saw four of the
cock birds and two of the hens, in a tree close by them. This is what
one of these gentlemen says about them (if there is any word too long
for you, or that you don't understand, you must ask your mother to
explain it):--
"The two hens were sitting quietly on a branch, and the four cocks,
dressed in their very best, their ruffs of green and yellow standing
out, giving them a handsome appearance about the head and neck" (yes,
I feel sure of that), "their long flowing plumes so arranged that
every feather seemed combed out, and the long wires" (he means the
"funny feathers") "stretched well out behind, were dancing in a circle
round them." (Just fancy!) "It was an interesting sight." (I should
_think_ so!) "First one and then another would advance a little nearer
to a hen, and she, coquette-like" (you will have to ask your mother
what _that_ means), "would retire a little, pretending not to care
for any advances. A shot was fired, contrary to our expressed wish,
there was a strange commotion, and two of the cocks flew away" (you
see what shooting does), "but the others and the hens remained. Soon
the two returned, and again the dance began, and continued long. As we
had strictly forbidden any more shooting, all fear was gone; and so,
after a rest, the males came a little nearer to the dark brown hens.
Quarrelling ensued, and in the end all six birds flew away."
Fancy seeing all that! I think it is wonderful that any of the birds
stayed after the shot had been fired, and if another one had been,
no doubt they would all have gone. Those travellers, you see, were a
little better than most travellers are. They did not kill the birds
(perhaps _they_ were _not_ naturalists), and the consequence is they
have had something interesting to tell us about them. Still, I think
if I had been there I should have had a _little_ more to say, and
instead of just saying that the cock birds were dancing, I should have
described _how_ they were dancing, and what sort of attitudes they
put themselves into. And I think I would have waited at that place,
and gone to those trees again very early next morning, all by myself,
to see if those birds came back to dance there. Still, what these
travellers do tell us is very interesting, very much more interesting
than if they had only written, "Here we shot," or "Here we obtained
another specimen of Paradisea Something-elsea"--which, of course, would
be the Latin name. Naturalists like to tell us the Latin name of the
animals they shoot. If they only had an English name I don't think they
would care nearly so much to shoot them. How sorry we ought to be that
animals have Latin names!
But, now, how is it that it is only the cock bird--the male--of all
these Birds of Paradise who is so beautiful, whilst the poor hen--the
female bird--is quite plain, in comparison? Well, I must tell you,
first, that this is not only the case with Birds of Paradise, but
that it is just the same with other birds as well. In most, if not
all, of the beautiful birds I am going to tell you about, it is the
male bird that is so _very_ beautiful, so that perhaps you will begin
to think that this is the case with _all_ beautiful birds, and that
there is no hen bird that has _very_ splendid or brilliant plumage.
But this is not so at all. You would make a great mistake if you were
to think that. In most of the parrots--those brightly-coloured birds
that you know so well--the male and female are alike, and if you
were to see a kingfisher--the star-bird that I told you about in the
first chapter--gleaming and glancing up a river, you would not know
whether it was the one or the other. The feathers of the female scarlet
flamingo are almost--if not quite--as scarlet as those of the male; the
cock robin's breast is not more red than the breast of the hen robin,
at least you would find it difficult to tell the difference; male and
female pigeons--and some of them are very splendid--are as bright as
each other, and so it is with a very great number of other birds.
Now does not this seem funny, that some male birds should be so much
handsomer than their wives, whilst some _hen_ birds should be just
as handsome as their husbands? Is there any way of explaining this,
or, rather, do we know how to explain it? for there _is_ a way of
explaining everything--a right way, I mean, of course. The difficult
thing is to find it out. Well, there are some clever people who have
been thinking about this funny thing, and they try to explain it in
this way.
Of course, when the male Birds of Paradise (and it is the same with
other birds) show off their fine plumage to the hen birds, it is
because they want to marry them, which is just the same as with people;
for, you know, when a gentleman wishes to marry a lady he dresses as
nicely as he can, and sometimes he goes into attitudes as well. Now,
the hen Birds of Paradise--so these clever people say--always choose
for their husbands the birds that have the finest feathers, and the
other ones, whose feathers are not so fine, have to look about for
another wife. Of course, after the Birds of Paradise have married, they
make a nest, and very soon there are eggs in it, and then the eggs are
chipped and little Birds of Paradise come out of them. Some of these
little Birds of Paradise will be males and some females, and the male
ones will grow up with feathers like the cock birds, and the females
with feathers like the hen--just as with us, the boys sometimes grow up
like the father, and the girls sometimes grow up like the mother--only
with Birds of Paradise it is always so. But now, amongst these young
Birds of Paradise, though all will be beautiful, some will be more
beautiful than the others, more beautiful even than their father,
perhaps, and you may be sure that those will be the ones who will
find it most easy to marry, and who will have the greater number of
children. Some of those children will be more beautiful than _their_
fathers, and then _they_ will marry and have children that are still
more beautiful than themselves, and so it will always be going on.
The young male Birds of Paradise will always have feathers like their
fathers, and gradually they will get more and more beautiful, because
their wives will always choose them for their beauty. But the young
female Birds of Paradise will always be like their mothers, and will
not become more beautiful than they are, because hen Birds of Paradise
are not chosen for their beauty, but only for their good qualities.
Now, if this is true, it shows how sensible the Birds of Paradise must
be, for all _sensible_ persons would choose their wives for their good
qualities, and not just for their beauty. The worst of it is that there
are so many _persons_ who are not _quite_ sensible. Still, even with
us, there are a good many wives who must, I think, have been chosen,
like the hen Birds of Paradise, for their good qualities--which, of
course, is what they _ought_ to be chosen for.
That is how some people explain why the male Birds of Paradise, and
other beautiful male birds, are so much more beautiful than the
females. They say that they have gradually got more and more beautiful,
whilst the hens have remained plain, and that once upon a time there
was not so very much difference between them. And if you ask them
why the males and females of other birds are both as beautiful as
each other, they will tell you that the children of _those_ birds
were always like the father, so that, as the father birds became
beautiful--for they were chosen in the same way--all the little
daughter birds became beautiful too, as well as the little sons.
But I am afraid the people who explain it all in this way must have
forgotten how the Birds of Paradise, at any rate, used once to live
in Paradise, where, of course, they were all as beautiful as each
other, and though their plumage got spoilt when they came out of it
(beautiful though it seems to us) in the way I told you, yet it does
seem funny that the hens should have had it spoilt so much more than
the cock birds. But you know it was spoilt by the glory which streamed
out of the gates of Paradise, and which was so bright and burning that
it burnt off all the most beautiful parts of it, and scorched and
singed the rest. Now, of course, the nearer any bird was to the gate of
Paradise when it opened, the worse he would have got scorched, and so
if the cocks flew faster than the hens--and I am sure they did--they
would have got soonest away, and the hens would have suffered most.
_That_ explanation seems much more simple; but, you see, these _clever_
people do not believe about the Birds of Paradise having once lived
in Paradise. They have their own explanation of it all (which I have
just told you), and they like to believe in that. Then which of the
two are you to believe in? Well, I think the simpler one--which is
prettier as well--would be the best for you to believe in _now_, but
later on--when _you_ are a clever person--you can try the other. Now,
you know, you are only a little child, and something that is simple and
pretty is the right thing for a little child. But a clever person wants
a different kind of explanation to _that_. _He_ wants a clever one, and
as soon as you feel that _you_ have become a clever person, there will
be a clever explanation all ready for you.
But now, whilst you are still a little child, I can give you another
explanation of why the males and females of some birds are as beautiful
as each other, whilst the males of some other ones are ever so much the
most beautiful. This other explanation will do in case the one about
the cock Birds of Paradise flying faster than the hens is not the right
one, for, of course, we cannot be quite sure that they flew faster. I
did say I was sure, but that was just a little mistake of mine. One
is not _really_ sure of a thing until one knows it, and I don't quite
_know_ that it happened like that, however much I may think it did.
Besides, this new explanation that I am going to give you will do for
all other birds as well as for the Birds of Paradise, and, of course,
the more anything explains the better explanation it is. So now I will
give it you, and, if you like it better than the other, you can take it
instead, and if you only like it as well, then you will have two nice
explanations instead of only one. Here it is.
In the old days, a long, long time ago, the males and females of all
the birds were as beautiful as each other, and they were all in love
with each other. Only the question was which of them were the most in
love, and, as to that, they often had disputes. "We love you better
than you love us," said the male birds to the females; "you love us
only for our beauty, you do not love us for ourselves, as we love you."
"If you think so," said the female birds (the beautiful hens), "give us
your beauty, and you shall find that we love you just as well, without
it." But the male birds, who were quite content, _really_, to be loved
for their beauty, and who did not wish to part with it, made haste to
change the conversation. "But _you_ love _us_ for _our_ beauty," said
the hen birds (for they soon got round again to the same subject);
"it is not for ourselves that you love us, but only because we are
beautiful." "If that is your idea," said the male birds, "bestow your
beauty upon us, and you shall soon be undeceived." Then the female
birds, who only wished to be loved for themselves and not for what
they looked like, gave all their beauty to their beautiful husbands,
and remained without any. So now, of course, the male birds were twice
as beautiful as they had been before, whilst the poor hens were not
beautiful at all, and would even have been quite ugly if they had not
been birds, for a bird _cannot_ be ugly. And now it was found that,
whilst some of the male birds had loved their wives so much that they
went on loving them still, in spite of the change in their appearance,
others (and I am afraid they were the greater number) left off loving
them, as soon as they had left off being beautiful, and were not able
to love them again, although they tried ever so hard. You see, they
had only loved them for their beauty, not for themselves, so as soon
as there was no more beauty, there was no more love. So those male
birds who had loved for love only, and not because their wives were
beautiful, kept this beauty and added it to their own. Their wives did
not want it back again, for love was enough for them. But the ones
who had loved their wives, only because of their beauty, had to give
it them back, for otherwise they would not have been able to go on
loving them, and that would have been very awkward indeed. That is why,
in some birds, the males and females are as beautiful as each other,
whilst in others, the males are twice as beautiful as the females. As
I told you, this is an explanation which does as well for any other
bird as it does for the Birds of Paradise, and, if you like it, you can
believe in it till you have grown up from a simple little child into a
complicated clever person.
So now there are six Birds of Paradise that your mother has promised
not to wear in her hats, not in any hat that she buys or has given to
her, whether it has the whole skin of one in it, or only just a few
feathers, or even one. She will not buy such a hat, and she will not go
into a shop to ask the price of it. She will have nothing to do with it
whatever, because she has promised.
But now, do you not see that, as your dear mother has only promised
about six kinds of Birds of Paradise, and as there are some forty or
fifty kinds in the world, she might easily buy a hat that had some kind
of Bird of Paradise in it, without its being any of these six? How much
better it would be, then, if your dear, dear mother were to promise
never to wear a hat that had any kind of Bird of Paradise in it. And I
am sure she will, now that you have explained to her about the wicked
little demon, and how much more beautiful these Birds of Paradise are
when they are alive, and how happy they are, too, and how their wives
want them, to look at, and how there will be no more of them left,
soon, if people keep on killing them, just to put into hats. Just talk
to her about it a little, and then throw your arms round her neck and
say: "Oh mother, do _promise_ never to wear a hat that has the feathers
of _any_ Bird of Paradise in it." There! And now she has promised.
Well, you see how easy it is.