the terrace on either side are the first to attract the visitor's
attention. Before this terrace was constructed in 1840, the larger
carnivora were cooped up in what is now the reptile-house. The early dens
of the establishment form a good example of the difficulty Englishmen
experience in suiting themselves to altered circumstances. On the first
formation of the gardens the society seems to have taken for its model
some roving menagerie, as many of the houses of the beasts were nothing
better than caravans dismounted from their wheels, and the managers
encamped their collection in a fashion little more permanent than Wombwell
would have done upon a village green. It was speedily found that the
health of the felidæ suffered materially from their close confinement,
which did not even admit of the change of air experienced in the
travelling caravan. In fact, the lions, tigers, leopards, and pumas, did
not live on an average more than twenty-four months. To remedy this state
of things the terrace dens were constructed, and, rushing from one extreme
to the other, tropical animals were left exposed to the full rigour of
winter. The drifting rain fell upon their hair, and they were exposed in
cold, wet weather to a temperature which even man, who ranges from the
torrid zone to the arctic circle, could not resist unprotected. The
consequences were manifested in the increase of inflammatory lung
diseases, and it is now found necessary to protect the dens by matting and
artificial heat from the extreme cold and damp of the winter months. In
the summer the exposure suits them admirably, and it must be confessed
that the tigers look only too fat and comfortable. One of the most
interesting cages is that which contains a family party, consisting of the
mastiff with the lion and his mate. They were brought up together from
cub-hood, and agree to a marvel; though the dog would prove little more
than a mouthful for either of his noble-looking companions. Visitors
express a vast deal of sympathy for him, and fancy that the lion is only
saving him up, as the giant did Jack, for a future feast. But their
sympathy, we believe, is thrown away. "Lion" has always maintained the
ascendancy he assumed when a pup, and any rough handling on the part of
his huge playfellows is immediately resented by his flying at their noses.
Although the dog is allowed to come out of the den every morning, he shows
a great disinclination to leave his old friends. It is, however, thought
advisable to separate them at feeding-time. Both the lion and lioness are
of English birth, and it is singular that out of the great number that
have been born in the society's garden full fifty per cent. have come into
the world with cleft palates, and have perished in consequence of not
being able to suck. If the keepers were to fill their nostrils with tow,
we fancy they could accomplish this act, as well at least as children who
are suffering from cold in the head. The male affords us an opportunity of
showing the difference between the African variety to which he belongs and
the East Indian specimen at the other end of the terrace. Our young Cape
friend has a fine mane, and a tail but slightly bushed at the top, which
droops towards the ground. The full-grown animal from Goojerat, is, on the
contrary, comparatively maneless, and his tail takes a short curl upwards
at the end. The caudal extremity of both is furnished with a rudimentary
claw. This little appendage was supposed by the ancients to be
instrumental in lashing the lion into fury, and Mr. Gordon Cumming informs
us that the natives of South Africa believe it to be the residence of an
evil spirit which never evacuates its post until death overtakes the beast
and gives it notice to quit. The Goojerat or maneless lion is supposed to
be the original of the heraldic beast we regard with such respect as a
national emblem, but which foreigners maintain is nothing better than a
leopard.
But why do we coop these noble animals in such nutshells of cages? What a
miserable sight to see them pace backwards and forwards in their box-like
dens! Why should they, of all the beasts of the forest, be condemned to
such imprisonment? The bear has his pole, the deer his paddock, the otter
his pool, where at least they have enough liberty to keep them in health;
but we stall our lions and tigers as we would oxen, till they grow
lethargic, fat, and puffy, like city aldermen. With half an acre of
enclosed ground, strewn with sand, we might see the king of beasts pace
freely, as in his Libyan fastness, and with twenty feet of artificial
rock, might witness the tiger's bound. Such an arrangement would, we are
convinced, attract thousands to the gardens, and restore to the larger
carnivora that place among the beasts from which they have here been so
unfairly degraded. We commend this idea to the able secretary to the
society, who has shown, by his system of "starring," how alive he is to
the fact that it is to the sixpenny and shilling visitors who flock to the
gardens by tens of thousands on holidays that he must look to support the
wise and liberal expenditure he has lately adopted.
On the other side of the terrace, in addition to the leopards and hyænas,
is to be found a splendid collection of bears, from the sharp-muzzled
sun-bear (who robs a beehive in a hollow tree as artistically as a London
thief cuts a purse) to the enormous Russian Bruin, the largest perhaps
ever exhibited. "Prince Menschikoff,"[8] as he is called by the keepers,
grew into exceeding good condition in the gardens at Hull, where it
appears he chiefly dieted upon his brethren, the cannibal having consumed
no less than five bears; and they appear to have had the same effect upon
him as cod-liver oil upon a human invalid. His neighbours, the white Polar
bears, contrast with him strangely in physiognomy and form; their heads,
sharp as polecats', seem fashioned, like cutwaters, to enable them to make
their way in the sea; and if they would lift their huge paws, we should
see that they were clothed almost entirely with hair, to aid them in
securing a firm footing on the ice. The largest of these beasts managed to
get out of his inclosure before the top of it was barred in; but he was
peaceably led back again. Indeed, even the wildest of the beasts, after a
little confinement, seem so frightened at recovering their liberty, that
they easily allow themselves to be recaptured.
In one year the Felidæ alone consumed beef, mutton, and horseflesh to the
value of £1,367. 19_s._ 5_d._ This sum is entirely irrespective of the
fish, snakes, frogs, and other "small deer" given to the birds and
inferior carnivora. They all live here like gentlemen, emancipated from
the drudgery of finding their daily food. They have their slaughter-houses
close at hand in the gardens, where sheep, oxen, and horses are weekly
killed expressly for them. Some of them will only eat cooked meat. Soon
after the establishment of the gardens experiments were made as to the
best manner of feeding them, which proved that while they gained flesh and
continued active upon one full meal a day, they lost weight and became
drowsy on two half-meals. In the endeavour to follow nature still closer,
they were dieted more sparely, and even fasted at certain seasons. This
treatment, however, resulted in a catastrophe--a female leopard and puma
killing and eating their companions: a strong hint for fuller rations,
which was not neglected.
Let us now cross over from the cages of the king of beasts to the aviary
of the king of birds. The collection of eagles, vultures, and condors,
numbers upwards of twenty species, among which we recognized "the oldest
inhabitant" of the Gardens--the vulture presented to the society by Mr.
Brooks, the surgeon, more than thirty years ago. Notwithstanding his age,
he looks one of the finest birds in the collection. We question, however,
if the last new-comer of the same species will not "put his bill out,"
arriving as he does from a distant shore to which thousands of anxious
hearts have turned. We allude to the vulture lately sent from the Crimea.
He was caught near the monastery of Saint George, and the proximity of his
retreat to many a battle-field suggests reflections too painful to dwell
upon. The prominent impression produced in glancing at this aviary is the
perfect isolation which each bird maintains as he crowns the topmost
pinnacle of the heap of rocks reared in the centre of his den, where he
perches, motionless as a stone. There seems to be no recognition of
fellow-prisoners--no interchange of either blows or courtesies between the
iron netting. Each seems an enduring captive that will not be comforted
or won over to the ways of men. Now and then unsheathing his piercing eye,
we perceive the huge wings spread, and perchance remembering the callow
eaglets in some Alpine eyrie, the bird soars upwards for a moment, beats
his pinions against the netting, and falls to the earth again with the
ignominious flop of a Christmas turkey. It is impossible to contemplate
these birds without pity, not unmixed with pain. Who can recognize, in the
motionless bunch of feathers before us, Audubon's magnificent description
of the Bald Eagle as he swoops upon his prey?--
"The next moment the wild trumpet-like sound of a yet distant but
approaching swan is heard.... Now is the moment to witness a display
of the eagle's powers. He glides through the air like a falling star,
and like a flash of lightning comes upon the timorous quarry, which
now, in agony and despair, seeks, by various manoeuvres, to elude the
grasp of his cruel talons. It mounts, doubles, and willingly would
plunge into the stream were it not prevented by the eagle, which, long
possessed of the knowledge that by such a stratagem the swan might
escape him, forces it to remain in the air by attempting to strike it
with its talons from beneath. The hope of escape is soon given up by
the swan. It has already become much weakened, and its strength fails
at the sight of the courage and swiftness of its antagonist. Its last
gasp is about to escape, when the ferocious eagle strikes with his
talons the under side of his wing, and with unresisted power forces
the bird to fall in a slanting direction upon the nearest shore."
This is the romance of the noble bird's mode of obtaining food--here, as
he marches off with a dead rat in his claw, or a piece of raw beef, we
behold its prose. But however unpoetical this treatment, it cannot be said
to disagree with him, as fine plumage and good condition prove. Passing on
our way to the monkey-house, the merry otters are seen playing
"follow-my-leader" round their rock-house, now plunging headlong in search
of the flat-fish which shines at the bottom of the water--now bringing it
to shore, and crushing flesh, vertebræ, and all.
The admirably-arranged but vilely-ventilated monkey-house is always a
great source of attraction. The mixture of fun and solemnity, the odd
attitudes and tricks, and the human expression of their countenances, all
tend to attract, and at the same time to repel. Mr. Rogers used to say,
that visiting them was like going to see one's poor relations; and
wondrous shabby old fellows some of them appear. We have only to look into
their faces for a moment to see that they differ from each other as much
as the faces of mankind. There is a large, long-haired, black-faced
rascal, who looks as murderous as a Malay; a little way off we see another
with great bushy whiskers and shaggy eyebrows (the mona), the very picture
of a successful horse-dealer; a third, with his long nose and keen eye,
has all the air of a crafty old lawyer. The contemplation of them brings
involuntarily to the mind the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. The
apes and baboons are indeed purely brutal, and only excite disgust:
towards the latter the whole company of smaller monkeys express the utmost
hatred--as may be seen when the keeper by way of fun takes one of them out
of his cage and walks him down the room. The whole population rush to the
front of their cages, and hoot, growl, and chatter at him as only Eastern
County shareholders can do when their chairman takes his seat. The
vivacious little capuchin monkeys are evidently the favourites, and bag
most of the nuts; the brown capuchin appears to be particularly knowing,
as he keeps a big pebble at hand, and when he finds that his teeth are not
equal to the task, he taps the nut with the stone with just sufficient
force to break the shell without bruising the kernel. We have often seen
this little fellow take a pinch of snuff, and assiduously rub his own and
his companion's skin with it, with a full knowledge, no doubt, of the old
recipe for killing fleas. He will also make use of an onion for a similar
purpose. Among the other quadrumana in this house we find the lemurs,
which look more like long-legged weasels than monkeys, and the
bright-faced little marmosets, who cluster inquiringly to the front of
their cage looking in their cap-shaped headdress of fur like so many
gossips quizzing you over the window-blinds.
At the present moment there is no specimen of either the uran or
chimpanzee in the Gardens, but there have been at least half a dozen
located here within the last ten years, one of which, "Jenny," maintained
her health for five years. The damp, cold air of the Gardens at last
brought on consumption; and the public must remember the poor, wheezing,
dying brute, with a plaster on her chest and blankets around her, the very
picture of a moribund old man. The only specimen now in Europe is in the
Jardin des Plantes, at Paris. This animal, one of the finest ever seen, is
in excellent health, and promises to maintain it in the bright air of La
Belle France. An accomplished naturalist has kindly furnished us with the
following particulars of this brute, which clearly indicate that he is a
very Dr. Busby among his fellows:--
"He passed through London on his way to Paris, having landed at
Plymouth. There were then two female Chims resident in the Gardens in
the Regent's Park, and the French Chim was allowed to lodge in their
hotel for a couple of nights. On his appearance both of these young
ladies uttered cries of recognition, which however evinced more fear
than anything else. Chim was put into a separate compartment, or room
with a double grille, to prevent the probable injuries which
discordant apes will inflict on each other. He had scarcely felt the
floor under his feet when he began to pay attention to his
countrywomen thus suddenly and unexpectedly found. Their fear and
surprise gradually subsided, and they stood watching him attentively,
when he broke out into a characteristic _pas seul_, which he kept up
for a considerable time, uttering cries scarcely more hideous than
seem the notes of a Chinese singer, and not far out of unison with his
loudly-beating feet. The owner, who was present, said that he was
imitating a dance of the negroes, which the animal had often seen
while resident in his house in Africa. The animal was upwards of a
year and a half old, and had spent one year of his life in this
gentleman's house. The Chim maidens gradually relaxed their reserve as
the vivacity of the dance increased, until at last, when it was over,
each stealthily put a hand through the grille and welcomed their
friend and brother to their home in a far land. As the weather was
severe--it was early in December--it is possible that their talk was
of their native palm-groves and their never-ending summer. Chim
thenceforth made himself as agreeable as possible, and when the time
for his departure came, the maidens exhibited the liveliest regret,
short of tears, at losing him. At Paris he increased rapidly in
stature and intelligence. The climate, diet (he drinks his pint of
Bordeaux daily), and lively society of the French seem to be more
congenial to Chim's physique than our melancholy London. He makes
acquaintance not only with the staff but with the _habitués_ of the
Garden. The last time I saw him (May, 1854) he came out to taste the
morning air in the large circular enclosure in front of the Palais des
Singes, which was built for "our poor relations" by M. Thiers. Here
Chim began his day by a leisurely promenade, casting pleased and
thankful glances towards the sun, the beautiful sun of early summer.
He had three satellites, coati-mundis, either by chance or to amuse
him, and while making all manner of eyes at a young lady who supplies
the Singerie with pastry and cakes, one of the coati-mundis came up
stealthily behind and dealt him a small but malicious bite. Chim
looked round with astonishment at this audacious outrage on his
person, put his hand haughtily upon the wound, but without losing his
temper in the least. He walked deliberately to the other side of the
circle, and fetched a cane which he had dropped there in his
promenade. He returned with majestic wrath upon his brow, mingled, I
thought, with contempt; and, taking Coati by the tail, commenced
punishment with his cane, administering such blows as his victim could
bear without permanent injury, and applied with equal justice to the
ribs on either side, in a direction always parallel to the spine.
When he thought enough had been done, he disposed of Coati without
moving a muscle of his countenance, by a left-handed jerk, which threw
the delinquent high in air, head over heels. He came down a sadder and
a better coati, and retired with shame and fear to an outer corner.
Having executed this act of justice, Chim betook him to a tree. A
large baboon, who had in the mean time made his appearance in the
circle, thought this was a good opportunity of doing a civil thing,
and accordingly mounted the tree and sat down smilingly, as baboons
smile, upon the next fork. Chim slowly turned his head at this attempt
at familiarity, measured the distance, raised his hind foot, and, as
composedly as he had caned the coati, kicked the big baboon off his
perch into the arena below. This abasement seemed to do the baboon
good, for he also retired like the coati, and took up his station on
the other side. To what perfection of manners and development of
thought the last year and a half may have brought him I can scarcely
guess; but one day doubtless some one will say of him, as an Oriental
prince once said to me, after looking at the uran 'Peter,'--'Does he
speak English yet?'"
The monkeys before they were transferred to this house suffered a great
mortality, and indeed, on taking possession of their new apartment, the
keepers used to remove the dead by the barrowful in the morning. This
extreme mortality was produced by want of ventilation, and a system of
heating which burnt the air and induced inflammation of the lungs. Dr.
Marshall Hall and Dr. Arnott, upon being consulted, directed the
substitution of an open stove, when the deaths ceased.
As we pass towards the small building once used as the parrot-house, but
now dedicated to the smaller felidæ, we go by the seal-pond, and see that
strange beast which resembles a Danish carriage-dog with his legs
amputated. He is an epicure as regards his regular meals, and turns up his
nose at any fish less _recherché_ than whiting, of which expensive
delicacy he consumes ten pounds weight daily. Meanwhile, however, he is "a
snapper-up of unconsidered trifles," and we see him, as the visitors
circulate round his enclosure, flop, flop, around the margin of his pond,
keeping a sharp look-out above the railings for stray favours. The house
of the smaller carnivora is generally overlooked, but it is worthy of a
visit, if only to see the beautiful clouded tigers as they are misnamed,
for they more resemble hunting leopards both in size and skin-markings.
These elegant creatures are quite tame, and permit the utmost
familiarities of their keeper; but their neighbour, the caracal or lynx,
never seems tired of making the most ferocious rushes at the bars,
accompanied by a vindictive and incessant spitting, which impresses us
with the idea that it possesses the very quintessence of catlike nature.
There is one little cage in this apartment which is deserving of especial
inspection--that containing a specimen of the indigenous black rat, which,
according to Mr. Waterton, was entirely eaten out of the country by the
grey rats of Hanover, which came over in the same ship with _Dutch
William_, and which are, according to that hearty naturalist, the very
emblems of "Protestant rapacity." Those who have read his delightful
essays know well with what perseverance the author hunts the grey rodent
through every chapter of his book.
If we now retrace our steps along the border of the plantation, which
forms a deep green background for countless dahlias, and moreover screens
the garden from the biting east, we shall, by turning to the right hand,
come upon the Aquarium, the latest and most attractive sight in the
gardens. How cool and delicious! Around us we perceive slices of the deep
sea-bed and the rapid river. Were we mermen we could not examine more at
ease the rich pavement of the ocean set with strange and living flowers.
In the midst of the green walls of water which surround us, mimic caves,
waving with sea-weed and other marine plants, afford shelter and
lurking-holes for bright fish which stare and dart, or for shambling
crustaceæ which creep over the pebbly bottom. Against the dark verdure of
these submerged rocks, the sea-anemone rears its orange base tipped with
flower-like fans, or hangs its snake-like tentacles, writhing as the
head-dress of Medusa. But we must look narrowly into each nook and under
every stone, if we wish to realize the amount of animal life, which here
puts on such strange vegetable forms. Let us consider well for a few
minutes one of the tanks running down the middle of the building. For
months all the minute animal and vegetable life has been multiplying and
decaying, and yet the water remains pure and bright. The explanation of
this phenomenon affords one of the most beautiful examples of the manner
in which nature on a grand scale holds the balance true between her
powers. If we were to put these little bright-eyed fish alive into the
crystal tank, in a week's time they would die, because they would have
withdrawn all the oxygen it originally contained, and contaminated it with
the poisonous carbonic acid gas exhaled from their lungs. To prevent this,
the philosopher hangs these mimic caves with verdant seaweed, and plants
the bottom with graceful marine grasses. If the spectator looks narrowly
at the latter, he finds them fringed with bright silver bells: these bells
contain oxygen, which the plants have eliminated from their tissues under
the action of light, having previously consumed the carbonic acid gas
thrown out by the fishes and zoophytes. Thus plants and animals are
indispensable to the preservation of each other's life. But even now we
have not told the entire causes which produce the crystal clearness of the
water. The vegetable element grows too fast, and if left to itself the
sides of the tank would be covered with a confervoid growth, which would
speedily obscure its inmates from our view.
We want scavengers to clear away the superfluous vegetation, and we find
them in the periwinkles which we see attached by their foot-stalk to the
glass. These little mollusca do their work well: Mr. Gosse, who has
watched them feeding with a pocket-glass, perceived that their saw-like
tongues moved backwards and forwards with a crescentic motion, and thus,
as the animal advances, he leaves a slight swathe-like mark upon the
glass, as the mower does upon the field. But it is clear that there are
not enough labourers in the tank we are inspecting to accomplish their
task, as the lobster, who comes straggling over the stones in such an
ungainly manner, is more like a moving salad than any living thing, so
thickly are back, tail, feelers, and claws, infested with a dense
vegetable growth. A few more black mowers are imperatively called for. The
fish, the weed, and the mollusc having secured to us a clear view of the
inhabitants of the tank, let us inspect them one by one. Here we see the
parasitic anemone. Like the old man of the sea, it fixes itself upon some
poor Sinbad in the shape of a whelk, and rides about at its ease in search
of food. Another interesting variety of this zoophyte is the plumose
sea-anemone, a more stay-at-home animal, which generally fixes itself upon
a flat rock or an oyster-shell, and waits for the food to come to it, as
your London housewife expects the butcher and baker to call in the
morning.
The pure white body of the neighbouring actinia renders it more
observable. Its tentacles, displayed in plumes over the central mouth,
which is marked with yellow, give it the exact appearance of a
chrysanthemum, and should be much in favour with the mermaids to adorn
their hair. A still more extraordinary creature is the _Tabella
ventilabrum_. The tube of this strange animal is perfectly straight, and
its large brown silk-like radiating fans, whilst in search of food,
revolve just as the old-fashioned whirling ventilators did in our windows.
The instant this fan is touched it is retracted into the tube, the ends
just appearing outside, and giving it the appearance of a camel's-hair
brush.