Some very Bright Humming-Birds
One of the most beautiful of all the Humming-birds (but we can say
that of so many) is the Rainbow Humming-bird. It is very large for a
Humming-bird, so what _will_ you think when I say that its body is
about the size of a little wren's, a bird which, perhaps, you had been
thinking was the smallest bird there is. Why, a Humming-bird that is as
big, or almost as big, as a wren is a very big Humming-bird indeed--in
fact quite a gigantic one. But now, the tail of this Humming-bird is
very different to a wren's, and makes it look still bigger because
it is so long--three to three and a half inches, I should think--and
such a wonderful shape. It is forked, so you must think of a swallow
first if you want to imagine it; but then you must imagine that the two
feathers which make the fork of a swallow's tail are curved outwards
like two little scimitars, so that their tips are six inches apart
from each other. Indeed they gleam as brightly as any scimitar does
in the sun, but it is not like steel that they gleam, for they are of
the most lovely deep, rich, violet-blue that you can imagine, such a
colour as was never seen anywhere else out of the rainbow; and now I
come to think of it, what these lovely feathers are most like is two
little violet rainbows set back to back. You can think how lovely they
look as they go darting through the air, and I must tell you that the
beautiful violet-blue sends out gleams of other kinds of blues--lighter
ones--which are just as beautiful as the violet itself. On the opposite
page you see the picture of a Humming-bird that is a good deal like
this one. But it is not the same, so the tail is not _quite_ the same
either.
Now of course you will think--and you will be quite right to think
so--that a bird that has a tail like two little violet rainbows will
have the other parts of him beautiful as well. Well, the back of this
bird is all green--a beautiful, shining, gleaming green, and his head
is green too--at least it seems to be when you see it first; but, as
you look at it, all at once the green changes into a heavenly violet
blue, to match the heavenly violet blue of its lovely rainbow tail.
Under the throat it is green like the rest, but just in the centre of
it there is a tiny little drop--just one or two little feathers--of the
very loveliest amethyst. Ah, fancy seeing a bird like that flying about
and hovering over the flowers. Only you would not _see_ him, for you
would not be able to see his wings--at least not properly--they would
move so fast. What you would see, would be a little circle of hazy
brown mist, and, right in the middle of it, a little sparkling sun, and
on the other side, gleaming through the mist, two sweet little violet
rainbows. Then all at once there would be a trail of light in the air,
and it would all be somewhere else--another sun and rainbows over
another flower. Of course, really, a Humming-bird would have flown from
one flower to another, but what it would look like would be a gleam of
light--a sunbeam--with a jewel-flash at each end of it.
[Illustration: TRAIN-BEARER HUMMING-BIRD]
Another Humming-bird--the Sappho Comet--is about the same size as the
last one, and he is a lovely gleaming green, too--an emerald green,
I think--on his head and neck and shoulders, but his throat is light
blue--the colour of a most beautiful turquoise. But _such_ a turquoise!
There is no other one in the world that ever gleamed and flashed and
sparkled in that way, because, you know, turquoises do not sparkle at
all--at least nowhere else--it is not their habit. But I think that
some of the very finest of them--at least the lovely colours that were
in them--must have flown into that Humming-bird's throat and begun to
gleam and flash and sparkle there. Perhaps they begged to be allowed
to as a very special favour. Then the tail of this Humming-bird is
forked too, like the other one's, but not in quite the same way. It is
more like the fork of an arrow than two little rainbows turned back
to back, and instead of being violet it is all ruby and copper and
topaz, with a broad band of velvet black at each tip. I cannot tell
you how brilliant those colours are--the ruby and the copper and the
topaz. They are so brilliant that, if you were to take them into a dark
room, I really almost think they would light it up like a lamp or a
candle. Oh, it is a wonderful tail. You might think and think for quite
a long time and yet you would never be able to think how bright--how
wonderfully bright--it is.
But listen to what the Indians say. They say that once that
Humming-bird was out in a thunderstorm, and the lightning got angry
with him because he flew so fast, and tried to strike him. It was
jealous of him, that was the reason, for the lightning likes to think
itself faster than anything else. But although the lightning chased
that Humming-bird for a very long time, it could only just touch his
tail, and there it has stayed--a little flash of it which was not
enough to hurt--ever since. You know how bright the lightning is; that
will help you to think what that Humming-bird's tail is like. And you
know, now, what his throat is like. Fancy seeing them both together,
flashing, sparkling, gleaming, beaming, glancing, dancing in the
glorious, glowing sunshine of South America.
But now in the Splendid-breasted Humming-bird all the glory is upon
his breast, his throat. Once, I think (at least the Indians say so),
he must have flown very high--yes, right up to heaven, and the door
was open and he tried to fly in. But he could not, they turned him
away; but the glory of heaven had just fallen upon his breast and he
flew back with it there, to earth. It is green--that glory--the most
marvellous, light, gleaming green, but all at once, as you look at it,
it has changed to blue, an exquisite light, turquoise blue, and then,
just as you are going to cry out, "Oh, but it is blue, not green,"
it is green again, and then blue again before you can say that it is
green, and then, all at once, it is both at the same time, for each has
changed into the other.
It is the throat-gorget (you know I explained to you) on which this
glorious colour falls, but this bird has such a large one that it
covers the breast as well as the throat, and goes up quite high on
each side, till it meets the deep, rich, velvety black of the head. Of
course this deep, velvet black makes the wonderful green and blue look
all the more wonderful, for it is a dark background for them to shine
out against, and your mother will explain to you what a background is.
Then, on the back this Humming-bird is green too--in fact you might
call him the emerald Humming-bird--but it is darker than that other
green (if anything so bright _can_ be darker) and without the lovely
turquoise-blue in it. It is a glory, but not _such_ a glory as the
one on his breast; not the glory of heaven that fell upon him at its
gates--perhaps it is his memory of it as he flew away.
But now I feel sure you will ask why the same brightness which streamed
out of heaven, and spoilt the plumage of the Birds of Paradise, should
have made the plumage of this Humming-bird so beautiful. Well, it is
a difficult question, but perhaps it is because the Humming-bird was
thinking of heaven, and wishing to get into it, whilst the Birds of
Paradise had got tired of being in heaven and were only thinking of
earth. That might have made a very great difference. And _perhaps_ you
will say, "If the Humming-birds are sunbeams that have been changed
into birds, why should some of them have been made more beautiful
afterwards in other ways?" Well, as to that, there are a great many
different kinds of Humming-birds (more than four hundred, as I told
you), so perhaps they were not quite all of them sunbeams first, and
besides, even when a bird has been a sunbeam first, something else
might happen to it when it had become a bird. At any rate, if one
explanation does not seem satisfactory, there is always the other, and
one of them must be the right one--until you are a clever person, which
will not be yet awhile. So now we will go on, for there are some other
Humming-birds with other explanations waiting.
The Glow-glow Humming-bird (I do like that name) is smaller than any
of the other three we have talked about, for it is less than half the
size of a little wren. Its head and its back are shining green (you
will be thinking all the Humming-birds are green, but wait a little!),
its breast is white, but its throat--oh, its throat!--what is it? What
can it be called? It is a rose that has burst into flame. No, it is a
flame trying to look like a rose. No, it is neither of these. It is
one of those stars that are of all colours, and change from one to the
other as you look at them--from green to gold, from gold to topaz,
from topaz to rosy red. Only _this_ star changed into every colour at
once, which was wonderful, and as he did that (and this was still more
wonderful) he flew all to pieces, and little bits of him were scattered
through the whole air, and when the sun rose and shone upon them, they
were all Humming-birds, flying about with wings and feathers, and with
long Latin names, so that there should be no doubt about it. It was
wonderful, wonderful; but yet it was not quite so wonderful as the
colours upon this Humming-bird's throat.
The Little Flame-bearer (there is a name for you!) is a still smaller
Humming-bird than the last one--indeed his body, without the feathers,
would not be _very_ much larger than a _very_ large humble-bee. Here,
again, all the wonder is on its throat, which is topaz and green and
copper, all glowing and sparkling together, as if they were all married
to one another and each of them was trying to get the upper hand. Ah,
was there ever such a sweet little gem-bird? He is a jewel mounted
on wings and set in the air. Only sometimes, when he hovers just
underneath a flower, he seems hanging from its tip like a pendant.
Costa's Coquette (that means that some one named Costa--some Portuguese
gentleman--was the first to write about it) is larger than the Little
Flame-bearer (though not half so big as a wren), and he _tries_ to
be brighter. Whether he _is_ brighter I am sure I can't say. To tell
properly, one ought to see them both hovering under the same flower,
or, at least, very close together, and even then one would only feel
bewildered. But this one's head and throat are all one splendour, one
marvellous gleam of rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta. Only
if you _say_ that that is what it is, it will change into violet and
contradict you, and then, if you say it is violet, it will change into
topaz and contradict you again. So you had better say nothing--for one
does not want to be contradicted--but just hold your breath and watch
it. It will change quite soon enough, even then, long before you are
tired of its rosy, pinky, rosy-pink, pinky-rose magenta, which is a
colour you have not seen, and which I have not told you about before.
Only if you _must_ say something about it whilst you are looking at
it--something besides "Oh!" I mean--say it is a Humming-bird. That
will be quite sufficient, and not one of its colours can be offended
with you then for not mentioning them and mentioning the others. Now,
I must tell you that the feathers of this little bird's throat--of
that wonderful, gleaming throat-gorget--grow out on each side into two
little peaks, two little pointed tongues of rose-pink magenta flame
(but hush!), and he can spread them out and shoot them forward, as well
as the whole of the gorget, in quite a wonderful way. When he does
that, what he _seems_ to do is to strike a great number of matches at
the same time, and from each one, as he strikes it, there bursts out
hundreds and hundreds of bright, sparkling jewels of flame. Ah, you
should see him strike his jewel-matches--all together, all the jewels
that there are, all struck in one second, as he whizzes about in the
air. His back is all green, and _so_ bright, if only you cover up his
head and throat. If you don't cover them--or as soon as you uncover
them again--you hardly seem to see it. It is no brighter then than a
glow-worm is when a very bright star is shooting through the air.
Now we come to the Splendid Coquette, a little bird not half the size
of a golden-crested wren, which is the smallest bird that we, in this
country, know anything about, smaller, even, than the common wren.
_He_ has a crest, too--this little Humming-bird--a very fine one of
chestnut feathers, not sticking up on the top of the head, as so many
crests do, but going backwards after the head has come to an end, so
that it makes a little chestnut feather-awning for the neck to be
under. But just where they spring from the head each of these chestnut
feathers is black, and at their tips, too, they have all a little black
spot, and this makes them look still prettier than if they were all
chestnut. When the little bird spreads out this fine crest of his, like
a fan--for he can do that--all the feathers in it stand out separately
from each other, and then he looks like a little sun in the centre of
his own rays.
Yes, a sun, because he is so very bright. He has a gorget (or perhaps
you would prefer to call it a lappet) of feathers on his throat and
breast, of the most glorious, radiant green colour, and from it there
shoot out--one on each side--a pair of the very loveliest and most
delicate little fairy-wings that ever you _never_ saw--for I feel sure
that you never _have_ seen anything at all like them. I do not mean, of
course, that they are real wings, to fly with, no--it would be funny
if a bird had _two_ pairs of _that_ kind--but ornamental ones, wings
for the little hen Humming-bird, who has none, to look at and say,
"How beautiful! How _extraordinarily_ becoming!" Each of these dear
little wings is made by a few delicate, long, slender feathers of a
light chestnut colour, the same as the feathers of the crest, only,
instead of being tipped with black, these ones are tipped with a spot
of the same lovely green that there is on the throat and breast. The
longest of them, which is in the middle, is nearly an inch long--which
is very long indeed when you think how small the little birdie is--and
it stands out a quarter of an inch beyond the two next longest ones on
each side of it, and these are almost a quarter of an inch longer than
the ones that come next. If you hold out your hand with the fingers
spread out, and imagine the middle one a good deal longer and the
little finger and thumb much shorter, then you will know the shape
of these dear little fairy-wings; only, of course, feathers are much
more elegant than fingers--even than pretty little fingers. Think
how pretty something in muslin or puff-lace, like that, on a dress
would be!--but it is ever, oh, _ever_ so much prettier on a little
Humming-bird, in little chestnut feathers with little green spangles at
their tips. And that is why I call them "fairy-wings," for I think if
any pair of wings that are _not_ a fairy's could be pretty enough _for_
a fairy, those would be the ones.
And I think if you saw this sweet little Humming-bird hanging in the
air, with his breast all flashing and sparkling, and with his chestnut
crest spread out above it, and his little chestnut and star-spangled
wings flying out on each side of it, you would think him almost as
pretty as a fairy could be. You would think his fairy-wings the real
ones that he was flying with, because you would see them, whilst the
other ones would be moving so quickly that they would be only like a
mist or haze--a little night that he had made for himself for the star
of his beauty to shine in.
Now just try to imagine how lovely that little Humming-bird must be.
Can you understand any one _wanting_ to kill him? But now that I have
told you about that wretched little demon with his charms to send
people to sleep, and those two bad bottles of his, or, rather, the
powders inside them--apathy and vanity--I daresay you can understand
it. If I had not told you about _him_ I don't think you would have
been able to.
Princess Helen's Coquette (how proud he ought to be of a name like
that!) is a little Humming-bird something like the last one. He is a
little smaller, I think, but whether he is a little prettier, too, or
not _quite_ so pretty, or only _as_ pretty, all that I shall leave to
you; it is you who will have to decide. His back is all of a golden
green, and his head, which has a forked crest at the back of it like
a swallow's tail, is a beautiful, rich, dark, velvety green, so that
would make a pretty little bird--would it not?--even without anything
else. But he _has_ something else--two or three other things in
fact--which are so--oh, so _very_ pretty. First, on each side of the
back of the head--just under each fork of the little swallow-tailed
crest--there is a little delicate tuft of feathers, which rise up and
spread out upon each side in such a graceful little curve. But these
feathers are not like other feathers. They are _something_ like the
"funny feathers" that the Birds of Paradise have, for they are quite
thin, like threads, and an inch long, which (although it is not quite
so long as those) is yet a good length when you think of what a little
thing this little Humming-bird is. These pretty little feathers are of
a deep velvety green colour--the same colour as his swallow-tailed
crest--and there are three on each side, three little velvet green
feather-threads, floating out on each side behind his head. On his
throat there is a gorget of gleaming, jewelly green, much lighter
than the other greens--more like emerald, but with a goldeny, bronzy
wash in it, as well. Just think how beautiful that must be! And then,
lower down on his throat, underneath the green gorget--as if all that
were not enough for him--this Humming-bird has something else--we will
call it a tippet--which flies out all round his neck, and, especially,
on each side of it. A tippet or a ruffle--perhaps that is rather a
better word--a ruffle of velvet black feathers in front, and of light
chestnut feathers with velvet black stripes--like a tiger--on each
side. As for his tail, it spreads out into a dear little fan, and the
fan is chestnut and black too, broad stripes of chestnut and narrow
stripes of black, with a broad patch of black where it begins, which
looks like the handle of the fan. What a pretty, pretty bird! Fancy
a little birdie that is only about two inches long, and has a crest
like a swallow-tail on his head, a gorget--or lappet--on his throat, a
tippet--or ruffle--just underneath the gorget, and a little spray of
feather-threads on each side of his head, just underneath the crest!
Fancy killing such a little fairy-bird as that! Fancy _wanting_ to kill
him! But it is all the little demon. It is he who has blown about
his nasty powders and frozen the hearts of the _poor_ women, who are
_really_ so kind--at any rate they _would_ be if only he would let them.
Did I say, "Such a little fairy-bird"? I think I did, and I was quite
right, for it is just this very little Humming-bird that the fairies
are so fond of riding on. They go two at a time, sometimes. One sits on
his back, and another lies on the broad fan of his tail, and the one on
the back uses the little feather-threads as reins. It is so grand! The
Humming-bird dashes up at the fairy's own flower-door, and hovers there
till she is ready to come out, and then dashes away with her to another
flower, where another fairy lives. And that is how the fairies call
upon each other in countries where there are Humming-birds. Perhaps you
will think that a Humming-bird--even quite a little Humming-bird (and
they are none of them big)--is _rather_ a large gee-gee for a _fairy_
to ride on. But you must remember that in tropical countries fairies
grow to quite a remarkable size.
Well, that is eight Humming-birds that I have tried to describe to
you (though it is very like trying to describe a sunset to some one
who has never seen one), and perhaps you think I have chosen all the
most beautiful ones first, and that there are no more left which are
_quite_ so pretty. But I think I can find just one more that is not
such a _very_ plain bird, not a bird you would call ugly if you were
to see it hovering about over a bed of geraniums or under a cluster of
honeysuckle, some bright spring or summer morning when you happened to
go out into your garden. So we will take that one, and, if he is not
pretty enough, you must just try to put up with him.
He is called the Sun Beauty. Perhaps you would think him dark at first,
for his head and back and shoulders are of such a rich, deep, velvety
green that it almost goes into black velvet--all except one little
spot on the forehead, just above the beak, and that never can look
_quite_ black. Sometimes it does _almost_, just for one second, but
the next second it flashes into green again, and oh, how it gleams and
sparkles and throws out little jewels, little splashes of sun-fire all
round it! What a wonderful green it is!--at first, and then--oh, what
a wonderful--but really there is no proper name for _that_ colour. I
was going to say "blue," and perhaps it is more like blue than anything
else, but nothing else is quite like it. Then, just at the beginning
of this Humming-bird's throat--just under the chin--there are a few
feathers that are like a kind of dusky-smoked-magenta-bronze-jewelry,
and a little farther down they gleam into ruddy bronze and coppery
topaz, and then--oh, what _is_ that? The very sun himself has flashed
out from his throat, from his gorget--yes, a little flake of the sun,
a sunflake instead of a snowflake. Oh, it is _such_ a gorget, a gorget
of golden topaz, of coppery gold, of green gold, of silver gold, of
silver, of gleaming white, of all these together, and it spreads out
on each side like a wonderful fan, and shoots out in front of all the
other feathers. Such a gorget! The feathers in it are not feathers at
all--I do not think they _can_ be feathers--they are sunflakes, as I
have told you.
That is what this Humming-bird is like on the throat. Underneath the
throat, on the breast, he becomes green again, not the dark velvet
green of the back, but a still more glorious green, gleaming and
brilliant, but soft and rich at the same time. It is a green that
changes, too--changes almost into blue. I will tell you how that is.
Once this green--this wonderful, lovely green--did not think itself
lovely enough (which was funny), so it said to the blue of the violet
and the turquoise and the amethyst and the sapphire: "Come and make
part of me, but I must be the greater part." "That is not fair," cried
the blues of all those lovely things; "we will come, since you have
invited us, but we intend to have the upper hand." "Come then," said
the green, "and let us fight for the mastery. Whichever wins, the
other will be improved by it. We will struggle together, and we will
see which is the strongest." So they came, those blues of wonder,
from the violet, the turquoise, the sapphire, and the amethyst--yes,
and from the sky, the stars, and the sea as well--and they fell in
a glory on that glorious green that had been there before them, and
fought with it to possess the breast of that Humming-bird. And they
are fighting to possess it now. They gleam and flash and sparkle and
glow, and try to out-glory each other; but I think that that wonderful
green is the strongest, although he has such a lot of blues to fight
against. But stronger than any and than all of them is the sun on that
Humming-bird's gorget, that gorget of gold and topaz, and copper and
bronze, and silver and gleaming white.
That is what that Humming-bird is like, and that is how he got some of
his wonderful colours; so, at least, the Indians say, only some of them
say that it was the blues who were there first, and asked the green to
come. But always, in history, you will find that there are different
opinions about the same thing. People are not _all_ agreed, even about
the battle of Waterloo.
So, you see, we have been able to find one other handsome
Humming-bird, at any rate. And then there is the Hermit Humming-bird.
I must just describe him. His head and neck are--brown, the whole of
his back is--brown, his wings, his throat, and his breast are--brown,
and all the rest of him is--brown. Why, then, he is all brown, without
any colours at all, unless there are some lying asleep, and ready to
wake up and dart out all of a sudden, in the way I have explained to
you. No, there are no colours, either asleep or awake, or, at any
rate, hardly any. Compared to the Humming-birds I have been telling
you about, this one is just a plain, dull bird, as plain and as
dull, almost, as his wife, for that, you know, is what the wives of
Humming-birds are like. Then is he a Humming-bird at all? Surely he
is not one; he must be some other bird. Oh no, he is not. He is a
Humming-bird, but he is a Hermit Humming-bird. I have not told you
before--but now I will tell you--that there are some Humming-birds--in
fact a good many--that have no bright colours at all, and _they_ are
called hermits. A hermit, you know, is a person who lives in a cell or
cave, and wears a long, brown gown, with a hood at one end of it for
his head, and never dresses gaily or goes out to see things, but has
what _we_ should consider a very dull life; only as _he_ likes it that
makes it all right--for _him_. So these dull-coloured Humming-birds
are called hermits, not because they live in cells, because, of
course, they do not, but because they have no bright things to wear,
but only brown gowns, like hermits. But now as Humming-birds used
once to be sunbeams, and are still _living_ sunbeams that have been
changed into birds, how does it happen that any of them have become
hermits, with nothing showy about them? That is a thing which requires
an explanation, so it is lucky that there is one all ready for it in
the next chapter. Not all the things that require an explanation are so
lucky as that. Some of them go on requiring one all their lives, and
yet never get what they require. I have known several of that sort.