SHEEP
“Concerning the cat’s origin there are surmises, probabilities;
concerning the sheep’s origin nothing is yet known. But if we are
ignorant from what wild species the sheep descends, we are at least
certain it came to us from Asia, where man has raised flocks of these
useful animals from the earliest recorded times.”
“The East gave us the dog, cat, and sheep,” Jules here interposed, “and
from what you said in some of our former talks, I got the impression
that the other domestic animals also came from Asia.”
“The Asiatic origin of our oldest known and most important domestic
animals is a truth that all the records of history affirm without a
shadow of doubt. We owe to the East the ox, horse, donkey, sheep, goat,
pig, dog, cat, hen. Civilization, in fact, had its cradle in the lands
of central Asia, where already there were flourishing peoples versed in
sheep-raising and agriculture when in our western countries man, still
plunged in wretched barbarism, lived only by the chase and hunted the
bear and urus with his stone weapons.”
“Then those ancient peoples of the East came and settled here and
brought the first domestic animals with them?” asked Jules.
“That is just how it happened, and hence the Asiatic origin of our
oldest domestic animals.”
“Doubtless the sheep was with the new-comers?”
“Very likely; for its habits to-day show the sheep to have been
dependent on man a very long time. No species has undergone so radical
a change from its primitive character; and this indicates a very early
domestication.
“In the beginning, when it wandered wild on the grassy plateaus of
Asia, the sheep must have had means of defense against its enemies,
since otherwise the species would have become extinct. It was not
enough for it to crop the greensward; it must also have been able to
hold its own when menaced, or at least to escape from danger by flight.
The other domestic species shared the same risks as a necessary
concomitant of freedom; but all knew how to defend themselves, and all,
under man’s protection, have nevertheless kept the use of their own
means of protection. Left to itself, the dog, by its courage and its
murderous jaws, valiantly copes with any assailant; the horse flees at
full gallop or breaks the enemy’s bones with a vigorous kick; the cat
climbs trees and from her lofty fortress braves the foe; bulls group
themselves in a circle, the weak ones in the center, the strong at the
circumference, with horns pointing out, and woe then to any creature
that dares to approach; the goat overthrows the aggressor by butting
with lowered head. What can the sheep do in its turn when in danger?
Nothing. With no thought of defending itself, imbecile and stupid, it
waits for the wolf to come and devour it.
“Look at a flock of sheep, startled by some unusual noise. They rush
headlong, bewildered with fear; they crowd together, press against one
another, lower their heads to the ground, then await, motionless, the
issue of the event. The wolf, if it be a wolf that has caused the
panic, has only to choose its victim out of this compact mass: there
will be no thought of resistance or flight. What would become of the
poor creatures if shepherds and dogs were not there to protect them? In
a few days they would all perish, sacrificing their last drop of blood
to the wolf. See them again in the open country in bad weather. They
press close to one another and refuse to budge, enduring rain and snow,
shivering with wet and cold, while not one of them so much as thinks of
seeking shelter. Their stupidity is such that they do not even seem to
notice how unfavorable their situation is; they come to a standstill
wherever they may happen to be, and obstinately stay there. To make
them go and to conduct them to a more suitable spot, the shepherd is
obliged to chase them before him and give them a leader taught to walk
in front.
“Certainly, in its primitive freedom the sheep could not have been the
actual animal of our folds; it must have possessed the qualities
necessary to sustain its existence; it must have found in itself means
of protection and must at least have imitated the goat, which
resolutely faces danger, or, if too weak, scales with unerring foot the
ledges of rock and there takes refuge. The sheep, as we have it to-day,
is absolutely incapable of living without man’s protection; left to
itself, the whole species would soon perish, the victim of carnivorous
animals and inclement weather. To lose thus all its native instincts
and descend to the lowest degree of stupidity, how many centuries of
servitude must it not have undergone? I would not venture to say; but
at least I see that, after the dog, the sheep was one of the first
animals tamed by man.
“No other species, the dog alone excepted, has undergone so complete a
transformation at our hands. Let me tell you some of the strange
results obtained. In Africa, Madagascar, and India there is found a
breed of sheep in which the tail, loaded with a heavy mass of fat on
each side, right and left, is transformed into a sort of ponderous
battledore, broader at its base than the body itself. The weight of
this inconvenient appendage amounts to and even exceeds thirty pounds.”
“Inconvenient appendage I should say it would be,” remarked Louis. “The
sheep cannot walk very easily with that heavy battledore knocking
against its hocks. The tallow from that tail would make a good many
candles, but it is a very troublesome sort of treasure when one has to
run away from a wolf.”
“This breed is called the broad-tailed sheep. Other sheep, particularly
in southern Russia, have tails of moderate size, like the tails of our
sheep, but very long so that they drag on the ground.”
“Again a hindrance when fleeing from the wolf,” Jules observed. “In its
primitive state the sheep certainly had neither this long trailing tail
catching in the bushes, nor that other one in the shape of a heavy load
of tallow.”
“Neither had it the singular horns that it sometimes bears to-day. Some
sheep have horns of excessive length and twisted in long spirals that
sometimes stand erect on the top of the forehead, and sometimes point
sidewise. Those weapons are more threatening than serviceable: they
needlessly overburden the head and are a serious source of annoyance to
the animal when it has to pass through a thicket of underbrush. As if
to hamper themselves still more in the brambles, other breeds wear an
addition to this inconvenient ornament. The sheep of the island of
Cyprus have two pairs of horns, one standing straight up on the
forehead, the other curving back behind the ears. Those of the Faroe
Islands have three pairs, all arranged spirally and pointing backward.
Our sheep, as a rule, have only two horns, rather small and making
barely one turn at the sides of the head; apparently that is how the
primitive species wore them. In fact the greater part of our flocks is
composed of entirely hornless sheep. It is best for the animal, which
is thus relieved of a useless load.
“These horns, double or triple in number, and twisting in curious
fashion, this tail so long that it trails on the ground, or else
swollen with tallow and broad beyond measure, while showing us what
singular modifications the body of the sheep is capable of, are of no
use to us whatever. It is much to be preferred that the animal,
profiting by the care we bestow upon it, should gain in weight and
furnish more abundant food material. The English, who are great
meat-eaters, were the first to ask themselves this question: how to
make the sheep an abundant source of mutton chops and legs of mutton,
or, in other words, how to increase to the utmost the proportion of it
that can be eaten and at the same time diminish or even reduce to
nothing that which cannot?
“A celebrated breeder, a benefactor to humanity—Bakewell was his
name—solved the problem in England about a century ago. He said to
himself: The sheep that I want as a producer of legs of mutton must
have no horns, for these useless ornaments would mean so much pure loss
in the total weight of the animal; the food required for the growth and
maintenance of the horns would be better employed in producing flesh.
For the same reason it should have only just enough wool to clothe it
and protect it from the cold. The bones I cannot eliminate, the more’s
the pity, as in their place I should prefer something of greater
nutritive value. But as a matter of fact they are necessary to the
animal: they are the indispensable framework for the flesh. If I cannot
eliminate them, the bones shall at least be light, thin, reduced in
weight and size. When the leg of mutton is served at table, the knife
must be able to penetrate it like a ball of butter and find in the
center only a small, hard drum-stick. I will reduce in like manner all
that is not meat and leave the sheep only what is strictly necessary
for the functions of life.”
“And that came to pass as the breeder wished?” asked Jules.
“That came to pass just as Bakewell foresaw. In his sheepfolds the
animal was transformed into an opulent source of meat, such as had
never been seen before; it became a pair of enormous legs of mutton and
a pair of enormous shoulders, led to pasture by a small head on four
thin legs.”
“With large mutton chops mixed in?” Emile inquired.
“To be sure. A few figures will show you the importance of the result
obtained. The gross weight of our ordinary sheep averages thirty
kilograms, representing about twenty kilograms net of meat. The
Leicester sheep, as the perfected breed developed by Bakewell’s
exertions is called, weighs from sixty to one hundred and sometimes one
hundred and fifty kilograms; and its net yield in meat varies from
fifty to one hundred kilograms; that is, at the very lowest, two and a
half times as much meat as our common sheep produces, and at the
highest, which is exceptional, I admit, five times as much.”
“Then man can do what he likes with his domestic animals to change them
as he pleases?” asked Louis.
“He does not do exactly as he likes, for the organization is from its
very nature bounded by definite limits which no effort of ours can set
aside; but by holding one end constantly in view and bending every
exertion toward its attainment he can do much. The great means used by
Bakewell on the breeding of sheep, and utilized since for the
improvement of various other domestic animals, consists above all in
selection, which I have already told you something about in speaking of
the dog. Selection is called into play when the breeder singles out and
sets apart for the propagation of the species those individuals that
show in the highest degree the qualities he desires. These qualities,
however feeble at first, are capable of great development in the course
of several generations; for the offspring inherit the parents’
qualities, keep them, and add to this inheritance certain qualities of
their own.”
“You compared that to a snowball increasing in size as it rolls,” said
Jules.
“Yes, my friend; the succeeding generations, always chosen from among
the best, are the successive layers that bring their complement to the
increase of the ball.”
“The Leicester sheep must have acted on the snowball wonderfully, to
increase its weight from thirty kilograms to one hundred and fifty.”
“I admit that such a transformation is not brought about in a single
year, and that Bakewell must have had great confidence in his method to
devote his whole life to the pursuit of the end foreseen by his
genius.”
“What is this famous Leicester sheep like?” asked Emile.
“Its trunk is all of a size, almost cylindrical. The head is small,
bald, and without horns. It is supported by a neck so slender and short
that the head appears to spring directly from the trunk.”
“To judge by the picture you are showing us, one would say that the
head came out of a hole made in the middle of the fleece.”
“That comes from the smallness of the neck. The wool, long and coarse,
takes the form of pointed locks hanging down and not very close
together, so that the whole fleece weighs much less than one would
suppose from the size of the animal. The four legs are thin and naked.
All the bones in short, are remarkably light, having only enough
solidity to support the animal’s massive bulk of flesh.”
“Is this breed found in France?” Louis asked.
“With us it is represented by the Flemish breed, raised in Flanders,
Normandy, and Poitou. It is the most corpulent of the French varieties,
furnishing sheep that weigh as much as sixty kilograms, and more. In
the second class for size comes the Picardy breed, scattered over
Picardy, Brie, and Beauce. The sylvan breed of Touraine, Sologne,
Bourgogne, Anjou, in short a great part of central France, is smaller
still. It is remarkable for the fineness of its wool and the excellence
of its flesh. By its side may be placed the Provence breed, occupying
Roussillon, Provence, and Languedoc. Immense flocks of this variety
graze during the winter in the salt marshes bordering the
Mediterranean, notably in the vast pebbly plain of Crau and in the
island of Camargue which the forks of the Rhone form at the mouth of
that river. After the cold weather is past, these flocks move up to the
high mountains of Dauphiny, where they pass the whole summer out of
doors. I will come back in a few moments to their interesting
migrations.
“Besides meat, the sheep furnishes us wool, which is still more
important, since it is the best material for our clothing. Other
animals, the ox and pig for example, feed us with their flesh; only the
sheep can clothe us. With wool we make mattresses and weave cloth,
flannel, serge, in fact all the different fabrics best adapted for
protecting us from the cold. It is far and away the most suitable
material for clothing; cotton, despite its importance, takes only
second place; and silk, with all its fine qualities, is very inferior
to wool for actual service. The sheep’s coat, more than anything else,
we use for clothing; we cover ourselves with its fleece after
converting it by spinning and weaving into magnificent cloth.”
“All the same,” objected Emile, “wool is not in the least beautiful
when it is on the animal’s back; it is dirty, badly combed, often
completely covered with filth. To be changed into the fleece suitable
for cloth it must go through a good many processes.”
“A good many, indeed. We will speak only of the first, for the others
would lead us too far from our subject.
“As it is found on the sheep, the wool is soiled by the sweat of the
animal and by dust, which together form a layer of dirt called natural
grease. An energetic washing is necessary to remove these impurities.
The best way is to wash the sheep itself before shearing. The flock is
driven to the edge of a stream, not so cold as to endanger the health
of the animals, and there each sheep is seized in turn by men who
plunge it into the water and rub and squeeze the fleece with their
hands until the grease has disappeared and the water runs clear from
the tufts of wool. That is what is called washing on the back, because
the wool is cleaned on the body itself, on the animal’s back.
“At other times the sheep is shorn without having been washed first,
just as it comes out of the fold, with all its coating of dust and
sweat. The wool thus obtained is called greasy wool, while the washed
fleece is known as greaseless wool. The greasy wool is too dirty to be
used as it is, even for making mattresses; it is washed in a stream of
running water, and then it is like the wool taken from a washed sheep.
“To shear a sheep, the animal is tied fast by all four legs to keep it
from moving and perhaps getting cut during the operation; then it is
placed on a table about as high as a man is tall, and with large,
wide-bladed shears the wool is clipped off as close as possible to the
skin without at the same time cutting the poor animal. As the locks of
wool are naturally curly and entangled, the fleece comes off all in one
piece.
“Sheep are white, brown, and black. White wool can be dyed any shade,
from the lightest to the darkest, whereas black or brown will only take
dark colors. White wool, therefore, is always preferred to any other;
but however beautiful it may be after all impurities have been removed
by washing, it is still far from possessing the degree of whiteness
that it should have if it is to be used without dyeing. Accordingly it
is bleached by being exposed in a closed room to the suffocating vapor
that comes from burning sulphur.
“Wool varies in value according to the sheep that produced it; there
are different degrees of coarseness and fineness and length. The best
wool, that which is reserved for the finest stuffs, comes from a breed
of sheep raised principally in Spain and known by the name of merino.
This breed has a squat, short, thick body, legs strong and short, large
head furnished with stout horns that fall in a spiral behind the ear,
woolly forehead, and a very snub nose. The skin, fine and pink, forms
at different parts of the body, chiefly around the neck, ample folds
which give room for additional fleece. Wool covers the whole body,
except the muzzle, from the edge of the hoofs to a rim around the eyes.
It is fine, curly, elastic, and short. The grease with which it is
impregnated is very abundant, so that the dust sticking to it forms on
the surface of the fleece a grayish crust, a sort of plate-armor, which
splits open here and there with a slight crackling sound when the
animal moves, and closes of itself when the animal is at rest. By
washing, these impurities all disappear and merino wool then shows the
whiteness of snow and has a softness that rivals silk.
“In Spain the merino flocks pass the winter in the fertile plains of
the South, in a climate remarkable for its mildness. At the beginning
of April they start for the high mountains of the North, which they
reach after a journey of a month or six weeks. All through the summer
they remain in the highland pastures, rich in savory greensward which
the summer sun never dries up, and at the end of September they descend
again to the plains of the South. These traveling flocks, changing from
plain to mountain and from mountain to plain, according to the season,
are called migratory flocks. Some of them number as many as ten
thousand animals, tended by fifty shepherds and as many dogs.”
“It must be very interesting,” said Jules, “to see those immense flocks
in motion along the highways when they go to or from their mountain
pasture.”
“What takes place in the south of France can give us some idea of this.
I told you that the vast plains of the Mediterranean coast, the plains
of Crau and Camargue, support flocks of considerable size, which
emigrate to the mountains of Dauphiny when warm weather comes, and
return home on the approach of cold.”
“Are those sheep merinos?” Jules asked.
“No, my friend: they are ordinary sheep; but, like the merinos, they
travel alternately from the plain to the mountains and from the
mountains to the plain; in a word, they are migratory flocks. Let us
look at them on their return journey.
“At the head are the donkeys laden with clothing and provisions. Large
and heavy bells hang from their collars, each collar being made of a
big sheet of bent deal. If they spy a thistle beside the road, they
turn out and with a grimace crop the savory mouthful with a movement of
their lips, after which they at once return to their posts of
file-leaders. In large panniers of plaited grass one of them carries
the lambs born on the journey, too weak to follow the flock. The poor
little things bleat, their heads nodding to the movements of their
nags, and the mothers answer from the midst of the throng. Next come
the ill-smelling, high-horned, flat-nosed, cross-eyed he-goats; the
bells attached to the wooden collars ring under their thick beards.
After them come the she-goats, their heavy udders, swollen with milk,
striking against their hams. By their side caper the giddy band of
young kids and goats, already beginning to butt with their foreheads.
Such is the vanguard.
“Who is this with holly stick cut from an alpine hedge and large
drugget cloak draped over his shoulder? It is the head shepherd, the
one responsible for the flock. At his heels come the rams, leaders of
the stupid common sheep. Their horns, twisted into a pointed spiral,
make three and four turns. They have deal collars like those of the
he-goats and asses; but their large bells, sign of honor, have a wolf’s
tooth for tongue. Tufts of red wool, another sign of distinction, are
fastened to their fleece on the sides and back. In the midst of a cloud
of dust comes now the main flock, its members crowded close together
and bleating, their countless little hoofs striking the ground with a
noise like that of a storm. In the rear straggle the loiterers, the
lame, the crippled, the ewes accompanied by their lambs. These last, at
the briefest stop, bend their knees, take the teat in their mouth, and,
while their tail trembles and wriggles, butt the udder with their
forehead to start the flow of milk. The shepherds bring up the rear,
urging on the slow ones with their cries and giving orders to the dogs,
their lieutenants that go and come on the flanks of the army and watch
that none go astray. If all is in good order, the dogs walk beside
their masters, pensive, fully appreciating the seriousness of their
functions, and perhaps thinking of the woods they came from, the dark
woods where there are bears.”