The GREY PARROT exhibits only two colours in its plumage. The tail is of
a deep Cinnabar red, and all the other feathers are ash-grey or greyish
blue, bordered with a lighter shade; near the head and neck the light
borders of the feathers are somewhat wider than elsewhere. The beak
is black, the eyes light brown, the bare places round the latter of a
whitish colour. The male and female do not differ in hue, and but little
in size, the male being the largest; its average measurement is twelve
inches in length and twenty-five inches across the wings, the tail three
inches and a half, the wing from shoulder to tip eight inches and a half;
when folded, the wing extends some lines beyond the tail.
Very little is known of these birds in their wild state, although they
are brought to Europe in far greater numbers than any other species. We
learn from Heuglin that the habitat of the Jako extends from the western
coast of Africa, deep into the heart of that continent, and reliable
naturalists have seen it in great numbers in Wan and Bongo, up to 8°
north latitude. It does not appear to penetrate further east, and is
quite unknown in eastern Soudan; how far north and south it is found is
at present doubtful. It is worthy of remark that these birds were not
many years ago imported from Guinea to Madagascar, where they became
naturalised and increased so rapidly, that at the commencement of the
eighteenth century their numbers rendered them a perfect scourge to the
inhabitants of the island of Bourbon and the Mauritius. The Grey parrot
is one of the most highly-prized of our domestic favourites, and well
merits the esteem in which it is held. Its praises have been sung in all
languages, and every work on natural history relates some anecdotes of
its surprising cleverness.
Perhaps the most celebrated of the species is one which lived for many
years in Vienna and Salzburg, and luckily found an exact and industrious
observer of its performances.
The Count Courcy Droitaumont was the first who, in the year 1835, in
Oken's "Isis," gave us such particulars of its attainments as awakened
astonishment in all quarters. This account has been attested by the
late possessor of the parrot, President Kleimayrn, at the wish of Lenz,
who afterwards published the following narrative:--"Jako noticed and
criticised everything that passed before him, gave the proper answer to
a question, did as he was bidden, saluted people who entered the room,
and made his adieux to those who were taking leave; he wished you good
morning and good night at the proper times, and asked for food when he
was hungry.
"He called all the members of the family by name, and preferred some
of them to others; if he wanted me (his master), he called out 'Papa,
come here,' and whatever he said, sang, or whistled, was done as a human
being would do it. There were times when he seemed inspired like an
improvisatore; his voice then sounded like that of a speaker heard from a
distance, when too far off to enable you to understand the words.
"Sometimes he would be marvellously polite--'Good morning, reverend
sir!' 'An almond, if you please, reverend sir!' 'Do you want an almond?'
'Should you like a nut?' 'Shall I have some food soon?' 'Have you got
something?' Occasionally he would threaten--'Be off, you rascal; are
you going home or not?' 'Be off, you thief, or wait till I come!' 'You
idiot!' 'You clown!' At times he was self-complacent--'Good little
prattler!' 'You are an excellent little parrot!' 'Take time, neighbour,
take time!' &c. If any one knocked at the door he would call very loudly
and distinctly (just like a man) 'Come in! Come in, Herr B.!' 'What
orders have you?' 'I am your humble servant!' 'I am delighted to have the
honour! quite delighted to have the honour!' Or he would tap on his cage
and say the above to himself.
"He could imitate the cuckoo excellently. Occasionally his conversation
was rather discursive. 'Look out!' 'Come out!' 'Come up!' 'My dear
little parrot!' 'Bravo, bravissimo!' 'Are we not going to dinner?' 'Let
us go to the window!' 'Hieronymus, stand up!' 'I am going!' 'Long live
the Emperor!' 'Where have you been?' 'Will you kindly excuse me, but I
thought you were a bird?' Whenever he bit or spoiled anything, he would
say, 'Don't bite!' 'Be quiet, do!' 'What have you been doing?' 'Wait a
minute, you rascal; what have you been doing?' 'I am coming after you!'
'How are you, you little chatterer?' 'Have you got something to eat?' 'I
hope you will enjoy it!' 'Hush, hush, good night!' 'Pretty Poll may go
out; so come, come shoot, Poll, shoot!' and then he would shoot, calling
loudly 'Puff!' 'There, there, there!' 'Go home, come march, go home
directly!' 'I'm coming after you!' He would ring a bell that was placed
in his house, and say, 'Who's that ringing? who's that ringing?' 'Why,
here's a little dog! a pretty little dog!' Then he would whistle to the
dog and say, 'Whistle, little dog!' and ask, 'What does the little dog
say?' and then bark. If told to fire, he would say 'Puff!' and give the
word of command, 'Halt; right about face; make ready; present; fire!
Bravo, bravo!' He never said 'Bravo!' in connection with his faults.
[Illustration: THE JAKO (_Psittacus erithacus_).]
"Sometimes he would cry out, 'What are you shaking me for? What are
you doing to me?' and scream for help, as though being shaken, and
call out again, 'Don't shake me, you rascal! Ah! that's the way of the
world! alas! alas! Don't shake me, you rascal!' and then laugh with
great distinctness. If anything ailed him, he would exclaim mournfully,
'Poor Poll is ill; poor little parrot!' If annoyed, his tone became
defiant--'Wait a minute; I'll come and punish you!' If ever he saw the
cloth being laid, or heard from a distance that preparations were making
for a meal, he would immediately call out, 'Let's go to dinner!' When
the family were at breakfast he would ask, 'Am I to have anything? I
should like some chocolate!' He would remain quiet as long as his master
slept; but if in another room would begin singing and whistling at break
of day. In order to see if it would be possible to teach Jako to sing,
we selected such words as he could say, and he was soon able to sing a
verse of a song; he could put in harmonies, and readily run up and down
the scales, and learnt to whistle many scraps and shakes. He never kept
to the same key, but would take the air half a tone higher or lower, and
yet never utter a false note. Whilst at Vienna he was taught an air from
'Martha,' and on being shown a dance, tried to imitate it by raising
one foot after another, and putting his body into dancing attitudes.
Kleimayrn died in 1853, and Jako fell ill, as it would seem, from pining
after his beloved master. In 1854 he was so weak that he had to be laid
in a little bed and carefully tended; he continued, however, to talk
incessantly, and after saying, 'Your poor little parrot is ill!'--died."
A young lady has given us the following particulars about another
"Jako:"--"The parrot of which I am about to speak was given me by a
man who had lived for many years in the East Indies. The bird at first
knew nothing but Dutch, but soon learnt German and French, and after a
time spoke as clearly as a human being in all three languages; he was
so observant that he often used phrases which had never been taught
him, applying them on fitting occasions in the most astonishing manner.
He said a number of disjointed Dutch words and sentences, intermixing
German quite correctly when the phrase was not forthcoming in the former
language. He could ask, answer, and request you to give him something,
and thank you for it, varying the use of the words according to the time,
place, or person. 'The little parrot wants something to eat!' If he did
not get what he wanted, he would immediately scream out, 'I _must_ and
_will_ have something to eat!' And if still kept waiting would begin
throwing everything about to vent his anger. He said '_bon jour_' in the
morning, and '_bon soir_' in the evening; asked permission to retire, and
took his leave of us. When he was carried out, he would say, '_Bon soir,
bon soir_.'
"This bird was particularly attached to his mistress, from whom he
received his food, and would press his beak on her hand, and say, 'Kiss
the lady's hand.' He took great interest in all she did, and whilst she
was busied with something would often ask, with most comic earnestness,
'What is the lady doing?' After her death, he evinced great sorrow, and
it was only with difficulty that he could be persuaded to take food,
or that his life could be preserved. He whistled wonderfully well,
particularly the tune, 'Ich dank dir schon durch deiner Sohn,' and sang
most beautifully. He would say to himself, 'Polly must sing a little,'
and then begin--
"'Perroquet mignon,
Dis moi sans façon,
Qu'a-t-on fait dans ma maison
Pendant mon absence.'