playfulness; no domestic kitten could be more so. They were always
courting intercourse with persons passing by, and in the expression of
the countenance, _which was always open and smiling_, showed the
greatest delight when noticed, throwing themselves on their backs, and
delighting in being tickled and rubbed. On board the ship there was a
small Musi dog, who used to play round the cage with one of these
animals, and it was amusing to see the playfulness and tenderness with
which the latter came in contact with its inferior-sized companion. When
fed with a fowl that had died, he seized the prey, and after sucking the
blood and tearing it a little, he amused himself for hours in throwing
it about, and jumping after it, in the manner that a cat plays with a
mouse before it is quite dead. He never seemed to look on men or
children as prey, but as companions. The natives assert that when wild
they live principally on poultry, birds, and the smaller kind of deer.
They are not found in numbers, and may be considered rather a rare
animal, even in the southern part of Sumatra. Both specimens constantly
amused themselves by jumping and clinging to the top of their cage, and
throwing a somersault, and twisting themselves round in the manner of a
squirrel when confined, the tail being extended, and showing to great
advantage when so expanded.”
It is obvious that so active and beautiful an animal could not be seen
with advantage, or kept in good health in the cramped little cages of
the present Cat House. But the Society still possess a good specimen of
the finest of the “self-coloured” puma-cats,—the golden cat of Sumatra,
an island in which every ornamental species, whether bird or beast,
seems endowed with a double gift of beauty. In colouring it is unique,
and its proportions are as elegant as its tints. The fur on the back is
the colour of the red variety of gold-stone, with the texture of
thick-piled velvet. This warm and luminous hue pales into white on the
belly, and runs up the chest, ending on the chin, which is square and
almost bearded, giving a tigerish expression to the head. On the mask of
the face the reddy golden fur is striped with wavy lines of orange and
white. The eyes are strangely large, dark, clouded, beryl-brown globes,
with smoky-yellow topaz lights, and shine like round translucent gems
set in a velvet case. This mass of orange-tawny, gold, and topaz, is set
off by the pale rose-pink of the nose and lips, and the not unfrequent
exhibition of rows of ivory teeth. The whole body is elegant and
symmetrical, and the colouring so exactly balanced, that the warm white
of the lower parts which ends in front at the point of the chin, extends
with the same precision along the lower part of the tail even to the
tip, as if the golden cat were fresh from a swim across a lake of cream.
Among the _lacunæ_ in this part of the collection the marbled tiger-cat,
the viverrine cat, the Pampas-cat, the Margay, the Eyra cat, the
jaguarondi, and the leopard-cat of Bengal may be mentioned. Most of
these have been seen at the Zoo at one time or another, and Mr. Bartlett
found the “Eyra cat” a most affectionate and amusing pet. It is an
American wild-cat, but far longer and lither in shape than others of the
true cats, resembling a genet in shape. It is a tree-climbing species,
as active on the branches as a squirrel.
On the other hand, there are a pair of ocelots which, in the absence of
the clouded tiger, may be taken as representing almost the highest
development of ornament among four-footed animals. One of the pair comes
from Southern and the other from Central America. No two ocelots are
marked exactly alike, but the general tone and shading is sufficiently
alike to compare them generally with other species. The Argus pheasant
alone seems to afford a parallel to the beauties of the ocelot’s fur,
especially in the development of the wonderful “ocelli,” which, though
never reaching in the beast the perfect cup and ball ornament seen on
the wings of the bird, can be traced in all its earlier stages of spots
and wavy lines, as far as the irregular shell-shaped ring and dot on the
feet, sides, and back, just as in the subsidiary ornament of the Argus
pheasant’s feathers. Most of the ground tint of the fur is a pearly
smoke-colour, on which the spots develop from mere dots upon the legs,
and speckles on the feet and toes to large egg-shaped ocelli on the
flanks. There are also two beautiful pearl-coloured spots at the back of
each ear, like those which form the common ornaments of the wings of
many moths. As in the golden cat, the very large convex translucent eye
and the pink nose make the face of the ocelot a wonderful combination of
contrasts in colour and texture. Apparently they are tame and friendly,
though the conditions of their life at the Zoo are hardly such as tend
to promote good-temper.
The remaining occupants of the Cat House are mostly lynxes, or
half-lynxes, like the servals and caracals, or civets and genets. There
is a fine collection of the last pretty little creatures, which are far
more like ichneumons and mongooses than any form of cat. The most
interesting fact about these thoroughly Oriental-looking beasts is that
one is actually found in the Alps, where one could almost as soon expect
to discover a cobra or a crocodile. They are beautifully marked and
spotted with black and dark-brown or smoky-grey, and are as restless as
a mongoose or a coati.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SPEECH OF MONKEYS.
MR. GARNER’S claim to have gained a clue to a form of language
understood by monkeys for a short time excited more interest than any
subject of natural history in recent years. It was based on such
ingenious experiments, including the practical use of such an invention
as the phonograph, and was based on methods so pleasing to the
scientific mind, that there seemed more than a probability that he was
on the verge of a great discovery. On the other hand, men like the
keepers of the monkeys in the Zoological Gardens, who have a special and
practical knowledge of the subject, refused for a moment to entertain
the idea, either that there was a universal “Simian tongue,” or even one
which was common to more than the members of a single class. In his book
on the “Speech of Monkeys,”[12] he gives in a complete form the result
of the ingenious inquiries, the first instalment of which roused such
curiosity when published in the _New Review_. Every one who read the
story of the clever experiments made by the aid of the phonograph, which
caught, and reproduced when required, the characteristic tones of monkey
chatter, will be anxious to learn whether the increase in the numbers
and variety of the experiments recorded strengthened or weakened the
conclusions which Mr. Garner first formed. With one important
modification, he is still confident that he has obtained evidence, not
only of the existence of a form of speech current between monkeys, but
of the meaning and modifications of some of the sounds in use. The
exception is one which would occur to most minds on reading the
evidence, if not from natural probability. He no longer claims for
monkeys any one speech common to all races, a universal “Simian tongue,”
which if it existed would argue a greater uniformity among the
diversities of monkey structure than exists among the uniformity of
human physique. The experiments on which Mr. Garner based his
conclusion, that there is a common “Simian tongue,” was no doubt
difficult to explain on any other supposition, for having obtained on
his phonograph a record of the sounds made by two chimpanzees, he found
that a note which he translated to mean “milk,” but which he
subsequently took to stand for “food” in general, was used by the
Capuchin monkey in apparently the same sense. He now believes that the
sounds are only understood by members of the same species. This
admission agrees with the views of the keepers, who maintain that the
cries and exclamations of different species of monkey, when expressing
the ordinary emotions of fear or pleasure, offer no sort of resemblance,
and scout the notion of a common “Simian tongue.”
Footnote 12:
_The Speech of Monkeys_, by R. Garner. London: Heinemann.
[Illustration:
ARABIAN BABOON. From a photograph by Gambier Bolton.
]
The fact of the interpretation of the chimpanzee’s note by the Capuchin,
can perhaps be explained without throwing doubt upon the whole theory.
Monkeys in captivity do learn occasionally the notes of another species,
not as mere mimics, but with the meaning which the other naturally
attaches to the sounds.
“The most remarkable case,” writes Mr. Garner, “which has come under my
notice, is one in which a young white-faced monkey has acquired the
sound which means ‘food’ in the Capuchin tongue. This event occurred
under my own eyes, attended by such conditions as showed that the monkey
had a motive for learning the sound. In the room in which the monkeys
were kept by a dealer in Washington, there was a cage which contained a
young white-faced cebus, of more than average intelligence. He was a
quiet, sedate, and thoughtful little monkey, whose grey hair and beard
gave him quite a venerable aspect, and for this reason I called him
‘Darwin.’ From some cause unknown to me, he was afraid of me, and I
showed him but little attention. On the same shelf, and in an adjacent
cage, lived the little Capuchin ‘Puck.’ For some weeks I visited ‘Puck’
almost daily, and in _response to his sound for food_, I always supplied
him with nuts or bananas. I never gave him any of these things to eat
unless he would ask for them in his own speech. On one of my visits, my
attention was attracted by little ‘Darwin,’ who was uttering a strange
sound, which I had never before heard one of his species use. I did not
recognize the sound at first, but very soon discovered that it was
intended to imitate the sound of the Capuchin, in response to which I
always gave ‘Puck’ a nice morsel of food. After this I always gave him
some in acknowledgment of his efforts, and I observed from day to day
that he improved in making this sound, until at last it could scarcely
be distinguished from that made by the Capuchin.”
This may explain the mistake as to the “Simian tongue.” Professor Garner
also wishes to get rid of the notion that monkeys can carry on a
connected conversation. “Their speech is usually limited to a single
sound or remark, which is replied to in the same manner.” What Mr.
Garner now claims for monkeys’ speech is, that it is voluntary,
deliberate, and articulate; that the sounds are always addressed to some
certain individual with the evident purpose of having them understood,
and that they wait for, and expect an answer, and if they do not receive
one, frequently repeat the sounds, which they do not utter when alone.
He further finds that they understand the sounds made by other monkeys
of their own kind, and usually respond to them with a like sound, and
that the _sound is interpreted to mean the same thing_, and obeyed in
the same manner by different monkeys of the same species. The words
which we have placed in italics are, of course, the most important part
of the conclusion. But much, if not the whole value which they bear,
must depend not only on the certainty that “their sounds convey a fixed
idea on a given subject from one mind to another,” but also on the
assurance that these sounds are sufficiently numerous and definite in
meaning not to come under the same head as mere exclamations of alarm,
or pleasure, which form part of the usual utterance of so many animals.
A cat, for instance, shows pleasure by sound,—that is, by purring;
displeasure or fear by sound,—that is, by growling and spitting; and
desire by sound,—that is, by mewing; and if all that Professor Garner
had to show was that monkeys had something equivalent, or rather more
than equivalent, to a cat’s purring, growling, or mewing, there would be
nothing very remarkable in the fact, though the extreme ingenuity and
patient attention which he has exhibited in making his experiments must
always lend these a subordinate and secondary interest of their own. But
he rightly excludes mere sounds of emotion from the faculty of “speech,”
such as he claims for monkeys. “Speech,” he says, “is that form of
materialized thought which is confined to oral sounds, when they are
designed to convey a definite idea from mind to mind;” and “sounds which
only express emotion are not speech.” It is, therefore, not sufficient
for Professor Garner to show that the sounds which he has so carefully
observed and noted are understood by his monkeys, he has also to show
that they are distinct from mere expressions of emotion. The fuller
experiments, from which he now writes, do not tend to clear away this
difficulty.
The Capuchins, which are alike the most voluble and the cleverest of the
smaller monkeys, have a sound which Professor Garner first translated as
“food,” but to which he subsequently found he must attach a wider
meaning. He now thinks that when modulated in one way the sound means a
certain kind of food, and when modulated in another, it means “give,” or
“give me that.” By repeating it to a Capuchin, he often induced it to
hand over a part of its food, or some plaything. But it would be
possible to infer from this that the sound was a mere expression of
desire, and not really different from the mewing of a cat when it wants
its kittens returned, or a door opened. The word for “drink” he still
considers to be distinct from that expressing “food,” and fixed alike in
form and meaning. The sound which he took to mean “weather,” because
uttered by a sick monkey when a storm burst, has now resolved itself
into a general expression of discontent. The alarm sound is dual, one
form, “e-c-g-k,” expressing fear, another, “c-h-i,” merely calling
attention. But some animals, such as the elephant, have more than one
“warning sound,” and warning sounds in themselves do not constitute
“speech”; nor does the fact that the Professor has been able to
reproduce and get replies to the “food sound” of the rhesus and cebus
monkeys prove more than that he has been a clever and careful observer
of a particular exclamation. He thinks, however, that there is a sound
meaning “monkey,” because this is uttered when one meets another, or is
shown its image in a mirror after solitary confinement; and he finds
that the shake of the head, by which monkeys, like men, signify “no,” is
also accompanied by a clucking sound, which he takes for a negation. But
even if the results of his later experiments are less fruitful than
might have been anticipated, Professor Garner has still good reasons for
hope. The phonograph, which alone made it possible to conduct his
inquiry with scientific accuracy, promises to give aid in a new and
unexpected quarter. The same invention which has rendered possible a
permanent record of sound, and its reproduction at will, also
facilitates its analysis or synthesis. One of the main difficulties for
the human ear in dealing with monkey speech, is its extreme rapidity,
and the possibility of modulations existing which are to us inaudible,
but are perfectly distinct to the acute Simian perception. By recording
the monkey notes on the drum, and then spinning the machine at a slow
rate, the sounds are analyzed, and modulations detected, and in a way
hitherto impossible. Much is hoped from such analysis of the main
“words” of monkey speech, which seem now to have different meanings,
though the vocal difference is indistinguishable. Professor Garner pins
his faith to the obvious fact that monkeys, like men, have tongues,
teeth, lips, and all the organs of speech; that they use the organs, and
that there is at least a probability that a distinction is attached by
them to many sounds in which no difference is detected by our ears. He
deserves every success in his new experiments, though the effect of the
latest has been to diminish rather than to increase the range of the
monkey vocabulary.
The later experiments with the larger anthropoid apes, from whose
deliberate utterances better results might be expected than from the
volatile chatter of the small monkeys, do not seem to have given much
additional information. Mr. Garner’s expedition to Western Africa, in
the hope of inducing wild monkeys to answer the sounds which he had
succeeded in learning from the tame ones, ended as such an enterprise
might have been expected to end—in failure. Perhaps the whole inquiry
may lead to the conclusion that we know no more now of monkey speech
than we did before. But in any case it was a hopeful and ingenious
experiment, and without boldness and enterprise fresh knowledge comes
slowly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
RARE AND BEAUTIFUL MONKEYS.
AMONG the hundred inmates of the Monkey Palace at the Zoo, more than
half the species shown may claim a place among the more elegant animal
forms; and an acquaintance with the smaller and squirrel-like members of
the tribe which abound in the forests of Central and Southern America,
and which, in spite of their delicate constitutions, are generally
represented in greater or less numbers in the Society’s collection,
shows that in at least three elements of beauty, the delicate modelling
of the hands, the brightness and vivacity of the eye, and in the colour
of the fur, they hold their own with the prettiest and most attractive
of the four-footed animals of the four continents. The repulsion with
which all monkeys are now commonly regarded, is a curious instance of
the change of association with animal types. It is mainly modern
sentiment that has identified the monkey with the idea of repulsive
ugliness, and if the great anthropoid apes, with their disgusting
“affinities,” had never been discovered, the monkey tribe might have
retained the place which they held in the imagination of old Cosimo
Tura, “the rugged and angular but illustrious painter” of the fifteenth
century, who filled the backgrounds of his stately pictures of pageants
and processions, and his illuminations in the choir-books of Ferrara,
with groups of the fantastic and decorative monkeys which he had seen
kept as pets in the precincts of the ducal palace.
[Illustration:
MACAQUE MONKEYS. From a photograph by
Gambier Bolton.
]
Like the lemurs and lories, with which they are not remotely related,
the most elegant little monkeys are natives of the great tropical
forest; but the rarest and most interesting of the tribe are so delicate
that their brief lives are passed almost unnoticed at the Zoo, where
most of them, as they arrive from time to time in the Gardens, are kept
secluded in an inner chamber. Those from the woods of Guiana and Brazil
are at once the most beautiful in form and the richest in colouring.
Like all the monkeys of the New World, they have round heads and broad
noses, of the order known as the “cogitative nose” in the classification
by which an ingenious physiognomist recently determined the place of
that organ as an index to character. There is, however, little else in
the countenances of these vivacious little creatures which suggests a
reflective mind; though the separation of the nostrils by a wide breadth
of cartilage is the character-mark which distinguishes the monkeys of
the New World from those of the Old, and rescues the face of each and
all of them from the cast of vicious inanity which disfigures so many of
the latter. Whatever human features they possess are neither exaggerated
nor degraded; and the intelligence which this resemblance lends to their
expression is fully borne out by their behaviour as observed by Humboldt
and others, who have recorded their character in confinement. It is on
record from more than one reliable source, that these South American
monkeys, we believe alone among animals, can recognize the meaning of a
picture. Audubon showed one the portraits of a cat and of a wasp, at
both of which the monkey was much frightened, whereas on seeing the
painted picture of a grasshopper and a beetle, its natural food, it
“precipitated itself towards the picture, as if to seize the object
there represented.”
The beauty of the fur is perhaps the most marked feature of these South
American monkeys. One, the squirrel-monkey of Guiana, possesses the most
brilliant colouring of any mammalian creature great or small. When lying
along a branch, it might be taken for some slender, golden-hued
squirrel, did not its round head and baby-like face at once claim a
place for it among the monkey tribes. Its arms looks as though they had
been dipped in gamboge-yellow dye up to the elbows. Above, the fur
shades off into rich hues of greenish-olive, with alternating lengths of
short and long hairs, of gold, green, and black, which cover the arched
squirrel-like back. Its eyes are a brilliant black, but the cheeks are
pink, and the hands flesh-coloured, like those of a very young child.
This is a most vivacious little creature, quick and active in its
movements, and extremely short-tempered. If it is not fed when it
stretches out its imperious little hand, it flies into a passion at
once, making ugly faces, shaking the bars of its cage, and uttering
shrill bat-like cries; for the squirrel-monkey is by no means the silky
little pet which it appears, but a bold, carnivorous little creature,
though its prey is only butterflies and the insects of the Guiana
forest. Another pretty and extremely rare Central American monkey, lived
for some time at the Zoo during the summer of 1893. This was the Negro
Tamarin, also a Guiana species, which had not been seen in London for
twenty years. Two of these were still alive when the writer visited them
in their private apartments at the Zoo. Seated on a small strip of
Turkey carpet, they looked like statuettes of the negro chieftains whose
portraits adorn the works of travellers in Central Africa. Each was
about seven inches high, with head, limbs, and body in perfect
proportion. Their faces, hands, and feet were highly polished
ebony-black, with black bead-like eyes, and black nails, or rather
claws; for the Tamarins, like the squirrel-monkey and the marmosets, are
insect-feeders. The fur is close and silky, and covers all the body
except the face, ears, and hands. The back is “shot” and mottled with
wavy bars of orange, an ornament which seems peculiar to the monkeys of
tropical America. Unlike the rest of its near relations, the little
“negro” has one thoroughly monkey feature, large, sharp-pointed ears,
too like the impish forms of Fuseli to allow it to rank amongst the
first in the scale of monkey beauty.