Dago Talks about the Weather--Tells me of his Troubles--Dodo in
the "Balcony Scene"--Her Portrait by a great Artist.
On one of my visits to Chicago, in the autumn of 1890, I went to pay my
respects to Dago, the little brown monkey in Lincoln Park. He had been
sick for a while, and had not fully recovered, although he was able to
receive visitors, and his appetite for pea-nuts was fairly well
restored. On the morning of which I speak, it was dark and stormy. A
fierce wind and terrible rain prevailed from the north-west. I went to
the building just after daylight, in order to be alone with the monkey,
and when I entered the house, Frenchie, the head-keeper, told me how
very sick little Dago had been since I had left him on the day before.
I approached the cage and began to caress him, to which he replied in
low whimpering tones, as though he understood the nature of what I was
saying to him. Presently he raised himself erect upon his hind feet, and
placing his hands on his side, pressed and rubbed it as though he was in
great pain, and uttered some sounds in a low, piping voice. The sound
itself was pathetic, and when accented by his gestures, it was really
very touching. [Sidenote: DAGO AND THE WEATHER] At this juncture, a hard
gust of wind and rain dashed against the window near his cage, whereupon
the little monk turned away from me, ran to the window and looked out,
and uttered a sound quite different from the ones he had just been
delivering to me. Still standing erect, he appeared deeply interested,
and stood for a few moments at the window, during which time he would
turn his head towards me and utter this sound. That the sound he uttered
was addressed to me could not be doubted, and his manner in doing so was
very human-like. Then returning to me, still standing erect, he would
renew this plaintive speech in the most earnest manner, and continue it
until another gust would call him to the window. I observed that each
time he went to the window he uttered the same sound, as well as I could
detect by ear, and would stand for some time watching out of the window,
and occasionally turn his head and repeat this sound to me. When
returning to me again, he would resume his sad story, whatever it was. I
secured a good record of that part of his speech which was made when
near me at the front of the cage, but the remarks made while at the
window were not so well recorded, yet they were audible, and I
reproduced them on the phonograph at a subsequent visit. My opinion was
that the sound he uttered while at the window must allude in some way to
the state of the weather, and this opinion was confirmed by the fact
that on a later occasion, when I repeated the record to him, the weather
was fair; but when the machine repeated those sounds which he had
uttered at the window on the day of the storm, it would cause him to
turn away and look out of the window; while at the other part of the
record he evinced but little interest, and, in fact, seemed rather to
avoid the phonograph as though the sounds suggested something which he
disliked. I am quite sure that the remarks which he made to me at the
front of the cage were a complaint of some kind, and, from its
intonation and the manner in which it was delivered, I believed that it
was an expression of pain. It occurred to me that the state of the
weather might have something to do with his feelings, and that he was
conscious of this fact, and desired to inform me of it.
About a year from that time, I became quite intimate with a feeble
little monkey, which is described elsewhere by the name of Pedro, and of
whose speech I made a good record. The sounds of his speech so closely
resembled those made by Dago, that I was not able to see that they
differed in any respect, except in loudness. Unfortunately, the
cylinders containing Dago's record had been broken in shipping, and I
was therefore unable to compare the two by analysis; but the sounds
themselves resembled in a striking degree, and the manner of delivery
was not wholly unlike, except that Pedro did not assume the same pose
nor emphasise them with the same gestures.
[Sidenote: DODO, THE JULIET OF THE TRIBE]
During my stay in New York the past winter, I have been frequently
entertained by a like speech from little Dodo, who was the Juliet of the
Simian tribe. She belonged to the same species as the others, but her
oratory was of a type far superior to that of any other of its kind that
I have ever heard. At almost any hour of the day, at the approach of her
keeper, she would stand upright and deliver to him the most touching and
impassioned address. The sounds which she used, and the gestures with
which she accented them, as far as I could determine, were the same as
those used by Dago and Pedro in their remarks to me as above described,
except that Dodo delivered her lines in a much more impressive manner
than either of the others. [Sidenote: DODO AND HER KEEPER] I asked the
keeper to go into the cage with me, and see if he could take her into
his hands. We entered the cage, and after a little coaxing she allowed
him to take her into his arms, and after caressing her for a while, and
assuring her that no harm was meant, she would put her slender little
arms about his neck, and cuddle her head up under his chin like an
injured child. She would caress him by licking his cheeks and chattering
to him in a voice full of sympathy, and an air of affection worthy of a
human being. During most of this time she would continue her pathetic
speech without a moment's pause, and was not willing under any
conditions to be separated from him. The only time at which she would
ever show any anger at me, or threaten me with assault, would be when I
would attempt to lay hands on her keeper, or release him from her warm
embrace. At such times, however, she would fly at me with great fury,
and attempt to tear my very clothes off, and on these occasions she
would not allow any other inmate of the cage to approach him, or to
receive his attention or caresses. The sounds which she uttered were
pitiful at times, and the tale she told must have been full of the
deepest woe. I have not been able up to this time to translate these
sounds literally, but their import cannot be misunderstood. My belief is
that her speech was a complaint against the inmates of the cage, and
that she was begging her keeper not to leave her alone in that great
iron prison, with all those big, bad monkeys, who were so cruel to her.
One reason for believing this to be the nature of her speech, is that in
all cases where I have heard this speech and seen these gestures made,
the conditions were such as to indicate that such was its nature. It
has, however, every appearance of love-making of the most intense type.
It is quite impossible to describe fully and accurately the sounds, and
much more so the gestures, made on these occasions, so that the reader
would be impressed as with the real act and speech. Dodo would stand
erect on her feet, cross her hands on her heart, and in the most
touching but graceful manner go through with the most indescribable
contortions; she would sway her body from side to side, turn her head in
the most coquettish manner, and move her folded hands dramatically,
while her face would be adorned with a Simian grin of the first order,
and the soft, rich notes of her voice were perfectly musical. She would
bend her body into every graceful curve that can be imagined, move her
feet with the grace of the minuet, and continue her fervent speech as
long as the object of her admiration appeared to be touched by her
appeals. Her voice would range from pitch to pitch and from key to key,
and, with her arms folded, she would glide across the floor of her cage
with the grace of a ballet girl; and I have seen her stand with her eyes
fixed upon her keeper, and hold her face in such a position as not to
lose sight of him for a moment, and at the same time turn her body
entirely around, in her tracks, with the skill which no contortionist
has ever attained. [Sidenote: MONKEYS SHED TEARS] During these orations
I have observed the little tears standing in the corner of her eyes,
which indicated that she herself must have felt what her speech was
intended to convey. These little creatures do not shed tears in such
abundance as human beings do, but they are real tears, and are doubtless
the result of the same causes that move the human eyes to tears.
It has been my experience that these sounds appeal directly to our
better feelings. What there is in the sound itself I cannot say, but it
touches some chord in the human heart which vibrates in response to it.
It has impressed me with the thought that all our senses are like the
strings of some great harp, each one having a certain tension; so that
any sound produced through an emotion would find response in that chord
which is in unison with it. Indeed, I have thought that our emotions and
sensations may be like the diatonic scale in music, and that the organs
through which they act may respond in tones and semitones, and that each
multiple of any fundamental tone will affect the chord in unison with
it, like the strings upon a musical instrument. The logical deduction
thence would be, that our sympathies and affections are the chords, and
our aversions and contempt the discords, of that great harp of passion.