_SERPENT WORSHIP, ‘CHARMING,’ ETC._
IN the preceding pages it has been my endeavour to resolve some of the
superstitious myths into zoological facts, and to explain by the light
of science those peculiar features and manners of the Ophidia which
from the earliest traditions of the human race have been regarded as
supernatural.
In reviewing the general organization of these reptiles, their
marvellous powers and habits, can we wonder at the impressions they
have created in untutored minds? Let us picture to ourselves our
earliest ancestors with their dawning intellect contemplating the
instantaneous coil of a constrictor; or the almost invisible action
in a flash of time with which the death-dealing stroke of the poison
fang is effected. From a source which was incomprehensible, like the
burning, scathing fluid from the skies, came a ‘sting,’ an agony,
death! Awe-struck and filled with sacred terror were the beholders, as
before them lay the paralyzed, tortured victim. Can we wonder that the
slender, gliding ‘worm’ which inflicted this mortal injury should have
been regarded as an evil spirit, a devil, and invested with maleficence?
Add to the two great death-dealing powers of the serpent
race—constriction and venom—those other peculiarities which have
here been faithfully recorded, the seeming renewal of life after the
annual sleep, a mystery enhanced by the restored brilliancy and beauty
of the reptile on its change of cuticle; let us picture to ourselves
those wondering savages now watching the limbless creature as it glides
into sight and is gone again, or as with fixed and glittering eyes it
flickers that mysterious little tongue; let us imagine them crowding
near to behold a serpent feeding, or to witness the still more amazing
spectacle of a brood of young ones vanishing down their mother’s
throat. There is enough of the mysterious in an ophidian to excite the
awe and wonder of even a nineteenth-century beholder, taking each one
of these surprising doings singly; but considering that any one serpent
may be endowed with nearly all of these phenomenal powers, let us
imagine the effect produced by them in the savage mind. To worship such
an incomprehensible creature was only consistent with all we know of
the influences which first awakened faith in a supernatural Being.
Consequently we find that in every country where a serpent was known,
it plays its part in the mythology and religion of that country. We may
examine the antiquities of any nation which has left a monument of its
history and beliefs, and a serpent will be represented. Scarcely an
Egyptian sculpture (in its entirety) can be found in which the serpent
does not appear. The same may be said of the Hindoo monuments, their
temples, buildings, and sculptured caves; also of Mexican, Japanese,
Chinese, and other ancient mythologies.
Singularly, too, no other object in nature—no birds or flowers
or beautiful things—have been so universally adopted in personal
ornaments as the serpent idea. And in times of remote antiquity—as
relics prove—personal adornments, bracelets, coronets, and rings in
the form of serpents were as much in favour as at the present day. We
may, indeed, affirm that the modern bracelet is but a reproduction or
a restoration of those of antiquity, dating as far back as artificers
in metals can be traced. Rough and rude representations of still
earlier times are extant. And where the human race in its savage state
had no knowledge of art, the reptile itself, or such relics of it as
could be preserved, were adopted as personal decorations. Thus were
the American Indians found by the early colonists, with their belts of
snake skins, with the rattles of the Crotalus strung in their ears,
and with necklaces and chains of snake bones and ‘rattels.’ Mackeney,
Catlin, Schoolcraft, and other historians of the American Indians
relate numerous instances in proof of the universal veneration and
superstition with which the serpent is regarded by those savages. If
they kill a rattlesnake, it is immediately skinned and distributed
in small pieces among the tribe for their medicine bags, while the
captor is pompously decorated with the skin. If on a journey they
meet a rattlesnake in their direct path, this is taken to be a sign
that they must go no farther. Some of the Indian traditions bear a
remarkable resemblance to the prophetic symbols of the Hebrew faith.
‘If thou bruise its head, it shall bruise thy heel.’ This in their eyes
is regarded as ‘destiny,’ and they will on no account kill one that
lies in their path, lest it should cause the death of the destroyer’s
relatives. The Indians are also supposed to possess the art of
snake-taming to an extraordinary degree. We are assured by more than
one writer that they also pet rattlesnakes, investing them with divine
attributes, and sheltering them during the winter; though in this case
the ‘tameness’ may be partially due to the inertness resulting from the
season of the year. On returning spring they permit their _Penates_ to
issue forth again.
The ancient temples of Mexico were richly embellished with carvings
of serpents. One of them represents a serpent idol of not less than
seventy feet long, in the act of swallowing a human being. Also, there
is the ‘God of the Air,’ a feathered rattlesnake; and an edifice
known as the ‘Wall of Serpents,’ from the numerous reptilian forms
crowded upon it. But it is not necessary to enumerate antiquities,
with most of which the reader must be already acquainted, the object
here being rather to endeavour to account for those other attributes
which have grown out of serpent worship, such as ‘fascinating,’ taming,
‘charming,’ ‘dancing to music,’ etc.
Not that serpent worship is extinct by any means. In India it is still
so strong as to amount to a fatality; for the high annual death-rate
from snake bites there is not half so much because the natives can’t
be cured, as because they _won’t_ be cured of what they regard as a
just punishment from their deity. This we shall have occasion to show
further on. That serpent superstitions are still rampant among the
low-caste Hindoos, is borne out by all modern writers on the native
faiths or customs. A. K. Forbes in his _Hindoo Annals_, or _Râs Mala_,
tells us that cobras are looked upon as guardian angels. One cobra
‘guarded’ a cave in which treasures were deposited; another cobra
‘guarded’ a garden; and very good guards we should say they were, as
few persons would venture too near to such an ‘angel.’ One of the
supposed ‘Divinities’ is the _Poorwug Dev_, or spirit personified by
a snake, which is not allowed to be killed or injured; and if it bite
a person, that individual is supposed to be justly punished for some
fault. Fatalism forbids any attempt to cure that unhappy victim, and he
swells the annual death-rate. Due honours are paid to these ‘guardian
angels’ found in most hamlets. Periodical festivals are held to them:
their retreats are then garlanded with flowers, and, as already
stated, eggs and milk are placed as propitiatory offerings. One of the
Bengalese traditions is, that a male infant auspiciously shaded by a
cobra will come to the throne.
And is the reptile which brings such distinction and honour into a
family to be ruthlessly destroyed? ‘No Hindoo will willingly kill a
cobra,’ Colonel Meadows Taylor tells us, in his _People of India_.
Should one be killed accidentally within the precincts of a guarded
village, a piece of copper money is put into its mouth, and the body is
burned with offerings to avert the anticipated evil. The _najas_, or
hooded snakes, from their habit of erecting themselves on the approach
of persons, are those especially regarded as guardians. It was the same
in Egypt. In the _najas_ are also supposed to dwell the spirits of
highly-favoured persons, or those whose lives had been of remarkable
purity and goodness,—another motive for their being protected. It is
still the same in many parts of Africa, where the natives think ill
luck follows the death of a python.
In works where medical statistics are given, such as Fayrer’s
_Thanatophidia_, we learn the fatal results of these superstitions.
When the natives find a cobra in their houses, as is not unfrequently
the case, says Fayrer, ‘they will conciliate it, feed and protect it,
as though to injure it were to invoke misfortune on the house and
family. Even should the death of some relative, bitten by accident,
occur, the serpent is not killed, but caught and deferentially deported
to the field or jungle, where it is set free.’ No one can peruse the
above without seeing how largely the percentage of deaths is traceable
to native superstition. Fayrer also shows us the fatal consequences of
the confidence placed in the snake ‘charmers,’ who are considered to be
especially favoured by their deities, and endowed with curative powers.
Much interesting reading, apart from medical science, will be found in
the _Thanatophidia_ on the Hindoo faith in the _müntras_ or spells and
incantations used by the charmers in cases of snake-bite. Out of some
ninety such cases selected by Fayrer from returns sent in by medical
officers in the Bengal Presidency, nearly half proved that either no
remedies at all were tried, or that recourse was had to native nostrums
or _müntras_. Briefly to enumerate a few of the reports: ‘Boy bitten
by _keautiah_, charms and incantations; died in half an hour.’ ‘Man
keeping a krait (Bungarus) for “Poojah” (worship) was bitten, and
died in seven hours, notwithstanding native nostrums.’ A woman bitten
died in three hours ‘_in spite of incantations_’! ‘A man bitten while
asleep had “_leaves to smell_,” but nevertheless died in three hours!’
‘Woman bitten at night, got up and had _müntras_ (chantings) to expel
the poison. She died four hours after the bite notwithstanding; and
her infant at the breast died two hours after partaking the maternal
nutriment.’ And many similar cases. What wonder, then, with this
miserable fatalism prevailing over that vast and densely-populated
country, that death by snake-bites should amount to many thousands
annually? One more case must be recorded to show how deeply rooted the
faith. A tall, strong young man was bitten in the hand, while sleeping
out of doors. No medicine was given, but _incantations_ were muttered
over him. In an hour he was a corpse: yet the village where this
happened continues to do Poojah (adoration) to the cause of the evil.
By far the largest percentage of deaths is attributable to the cobra,
though this is not a proof that its numbers predominate so much above
other snakes, as of the religious veneration in which it is everywhere
held. It is found all over the peninsula, even as high as 8000 feet on
the sunny slopes of the Himalayas. The names of castes, _Nâg_, _Nâgo_,
_Nâgojee_, _Nâgowa_, etc., found among all classes of Hindoos, have
all reference to the _Nâg_ or _Nâja_ deities, says Colonel Meadows
Taylor. To this author, as well as to Forbes, Ferguson,[133] Fayrer,
and Miss Frere,[134] the reader is referred in verification of the
above. If further to pursue the subject of snake worship, _The Serpent
Myths of Ancient Egypt_, by W. R. Cooper, 1873; _The Serpent Symbol_,
by Squires, 1851; _Sun and Serpent Worship_, by J. S. Phené; and
_The Native Races of the Pacific States of North America_, by H. H.
Bancroft, are some of the many books that afford interesting matter.
These latter, however, allude more particularly to ancient nations.
Among many living and semi-barbarous tribes serpent superstitions
exist, though, perhaps, more strongly in West Africa than elsewhere,
excepting India at the present time. In Africa, not the venomous so
much as the large constricting snakes are the objects of care and
veneration. In _Dahomey and the Dahomeans_, F. E. Forbes relates some
amusing instances of the sacred devotion of the Fetish women, or
guardians and slaves of the python deities at Whydah. A Fetish house
or temple devoted to the snakes was built round a large cotton-tree,
and in this a number of pythons were permitted to roam about at their
pleasure. When they ventured beyond the precincts, their Fetish
attendants went in search of them, and by gentle persuasions (probably
in the form of poultry or other dietetic arguments) induced them to go
home: while all who met them bowed down and kissed the dust of their
path. Morning and evening the devotees prostrated themselves before the
sacred abode of these ophidian deities, either to worship the invisible
god _Seh_, or his representatives in serpentine form.
From frequent and gentle handling, snakes thus protected naturally grow
tame. The Fetish attendants become skilled in managing their reptile
gods, and are not slow in investing themselves with especial powers for
their office. And to this may the origin of the so-called ‘charmers’ be
traced; for ‘snake charming,’ like snake worship, dates back to the
very earliest ages. With a more intimate knowledge of the reptilian
class which modern zoology has brought about, comes happily a clearer
insight into the tricks of the snakemen, jugglers, and charmers of
Egypt and the East. Snake-taming to-day is not confined to _Saadees_
and _Samp Wallahs_; it is not even confined to non-venomous snakes,
of which pythons have always proved very amenable pets. Mr. Mann’s
tame pythons (see ‘Introduction’) were popular performers at the time
they were introduced in Chancery, and his pet constrictor, ‘Cleo,’ was
honoured with an obituary notice from the pen of Mr. Frank Buckland,
in _Land and Water_, after she died ‘of grief,’ as was said, at the
illness of her master.[135] The amiable ‘Cleo’ (or Cleopatra) was the
‘constant companion’ of Mr. and Mrs. Mann for several years, and they
soon learned her wishes when she ‘asked’ for either food, drink, or
fresh air. ‘A short time before her death she contracted a friendship
for a young kitten,’ was always ‘fond of children,’ who displayed no
fear of that sociable ophidian. But she was shy of strangers; and this
I myself realized on paying my respects to her; for not until she was
fully convinced that I had no evil intentions, and not without much
coaxing and persuasion on the part of her guardians, could Cleo be
induced to approach me.
Several of the constricting snakes at the Zoological Gardens of even
larger size than Cleo are exceedingly tame, permitting themselves
to be handled. One of them, a temporary inmate during the winter of
1881-82, was introduced to the public by Dr. Stradling through the
columns of _Land and Water_, April 3, 1880, as ‘Totsey,’ together
with her brother ‘Snap,’ the latter named ‘from a trifling infirmity
of temper when young.’ These two were the offspring of the Panama boa
who gave birth to 20 live young at the Gardens, June 30, 1877. Of
these twenty, Mr. Sclater notified, at one of the Zoological Society’s
meetings in the following November, that all but one were still alive.
Of the two which became the property of Dr. Stradling and were tamed
by him, he wrote, ‘Any one can handle them with impunity;’ and that
they recognised him among others in the dark, permitting him only to
touch them at such a time. ‘Lolo’ and ‘Menina’ are the pretty names of
two other tame constrictors belonging to this ophiophilist, and whose
amiable and interesting manners were recorded in the above journal. Of
‘Totsey’ the Dr. writes, ‘She is the most gentle and affectionate snake
I ever had.’ As this same Miss Ophidia happened to be an inmate at the
Gardens in January 1882, when the pair of illustrations (p. 205) were
in preparation, she adorns that page; though in truth it was one of her
brothers or sisters, then rather smaller, that really did hang thus on
the branch as I sketched it at the time, September 24, 1880.
That some of the most venomous serpents are also capable of being
tamed we have many proofs. They use their fangs in self-defence,
actuated by fear or hunger; and where no fear exists, a serpent
would not deliberately crawl about, expending its precious and only
protective power, _venom_, on any object it met with. Would a cobra or
a crotalus in its native woods approach any living thing it saw and
indiscriminately strike it with its poison fangs? No. Its primary
impulse would be to escape. It strikes only under provocation or
hunger. Therefore if a venomous snake in captivity become so familiar
with your presence as to cease to fear you, it would also abstain
from biting you. Not that one would recommend Jararacas or cobras for
pets, notwithstanding the assurance of some residents in India that
the latter are capital guards to a dwelling, and in some are even
encouraged instead of dogs, as the less liable to bite of the two! Miss
Frere, in her interesting reminiscences of India, _Old Deccan Days_,
gives instances of children playing with the cobra without injury.
She mentions a Brahman boy who could without any other music than his
own voice attract and handle with impunity any venomous serpents that
might be within hearing. They would come out of a thicket or a dry
stone wall—their favourite refuge. Such instances are sufficiently
rare to be regarded as miraculous, adds the authoress, still they do
occur. ‘How much is due to gentleness of touch and fearlessness, how
much to any personal peculiarity which pleases the senses of the snake,
it is difficult to say.’ The boy above alluded to was believed to be
the incarnation of some divinity, and the magistrate took note of his
proceedings.
But at last, through some inadvertency, he got bitten; when he
died, notwithstanding the divinity he was supposed to enshrine,
notwithstanding the spells and _müntras_ which might be pronounced over
him.
The cobra is supposed to have originally had seven heads, as we see
represented on Hindoo temples. The ‘hood’ is believed to be the remains
of these seven heads; and the _Gokurrah_, whose pattern of the double
ocellus had gained it the name of the ‘spectacled cobra,’ is held
in the highest esteem of all from the two spots being considered the
footprints of the god _Krishna_. These are the especial favourites of
the professional snake charmers.
When it is borne in mind that snakes have been tamed by persons of
only slight experience, we can easily comprehend that with a life’s
practice, and with inherited facilities, the Oriental jugglers must
acquire peculiar expertness in dealing with their ‘charmed’ specimens.
Originally, no doubt, the office of the professed snake tamer was
connected with the sacred rites of serpent-worshipping communities, but
has now greatly degenerated into the trade of jugglers and tricksters.
That some of these do acquire extraordinary skill in dealing with their
dangerous captives cannot be denied. Profound faith is placed in their
performances by the natives, who attribute to them supernatural agency.
From being close observers of reptile character, they know how far to
venture on familiarities. They thoroughly understand the movements
of the sluggish and timid serpents with which they are toying; and
while keeping up a perpetual gabble to divert the attention of the
spectators, aggravated by the tum-tumming and so-called ‘music’ to
which the snakes are supposed to ‘dance,’ they themselves keep just
beyond striking reach, and provoke the snake to follow the waving
motion of their hands. The true object or impulse of the snake is to
bite the irritating cause, the pretended motive is ‘dancing.’ To follow
the movement of the object which provokes them is instinctive, music
or not; and without any din and cackle and jargon, the cobras would do
this all the same. Long practice and an intimate acquaintance have
given the jugglers confidence and dexterity, while on the part of the
snake fear is the chief characteristic. Even the tamest cobra is only
watching the opportunity to escape, and the moment the juggler ceases
his performance, down it drops, and makes for its basket. Should
the performance not be ended, the snakes are called to attention by
being sharply pulled back by their tail, when up they rise with hood
expanded, and with just enough of power and spirit left in them to
recommence the ‘dance,’ more truly to make one more futile attempt to
strike their tyrannical masters. It is only a repetition of the same
kind of ‘obedience’ and ‘intelligence’ that was accredited to that
first rattlesnake ever exhibited in England.
That showman (introduced p. 285) had become well acquainted with
crotalus idiosyncracies, and knew how to turn them to account before an
ignorant crowd.
Those who have to deal with venomous serpents tell us, that with
caution and expertness they are not difficult to handle; and this
is verified by all who describe the performances of Oriental
snake-charmers. Not only cobras with fangs extracted, or mouths sewn
up, or composition ‘cerastes’ with artificial horns fastened on to the
heads of harmless snakes, but those with perfect fangs and well-filled
poison glands, are handled with equal facility. By pressing down the
snake’s head gently with a stick and then seizing it firmly close
behind the head, so close that it has no power to turn it, you fetter
its movements. Or to snatch up a venomous snake by its tail and quickly
support it festooned on a stick which you draw gently towards the
head, and then secure that as above, is another method adopted; or,
again, to seize the tail and pass the hand swiftly along the body
till the head is reached, and _then_ grasp the neck. These are among
the various ways of handling poisonous serpents, according to the
purposes required of them. Every movement must be carefully watched,
however, and the head not released until the entire snake is free to be
returned straight into its cage. Even wild and vicious cobras are thus
fearlessly dealt with by experts; and those which are in process of
taming are put through a daily training. They are made comfortable in a
basket, conciliated with food and milk, soothed by softly stroking them
with a brush and by kind and gentle handling.
I once stood by and looked on while the keeper unpacked a box of
cobras. He took each one out by its tail, and dropped it into another
box with such expedition that the fearful reptile had not time to turn
and bite him. Not that he ventured to lower his hand into the midst
of the writhing angry tangle of snakes, but first, at a respectful
distance (the writer still more deferentially contemplating the
transfer from afar), he, with a long-handled hook, contrived to draw
out a snake tail first, and getting the tip over the edge of the box,
this he seized, thus, one after the other, shifting eight of the dozen
cobras. Both boxes had lids, of course—glass slides, which were
cautiously but quickly drawn aside, and as sharply closed again.[136]
These deadly reptiles, after being some weeks, perhaps months, in
a small close box, were not, as may be supposed, in a very lively
condition, but sufficiently so to erect themselves and hiss like a
flock of geese, striking at the lid and the glass, and doing their
best to alarm the manipulator, and also to suspend the breath of my
awe-struck self. Calmly and safely, however, Holland concluded his task.
By pressing down the head with a stick, or seizing it quickly by the
tail, American Indians similarly manage the rattlesnakes. Not they
alone, however, are skilled in taming these deadly reptiles. Here, at
home in England, domesticated _Crotali_ are not unknown. Dr. Stradling
thinks they may be rendered as harmless as non-venomous kinds, by a
gradual training; and has succeeded in so far taming one that he felt
safe in offering it as a gift to even an unskilled non-charmer. ‘I have
a very _nice_ tame rattlesnake between four and five feet long, in good
condition and feeding well, which I shall be delighted to send you,’
he wrote me, August 1881. ‘It has got so tame that you might handle it
without fear at any time you wished to investigate any part of it.’ It
is perhaps superfluous to add that this amiable and exemplary reptile
was gratefully declined.
The reader’s devoted servant had not undergone a course of
prophylactics as the Doctor had. He is both an expert and to a certain
extent venom-proof at the same time; but for all that the snake was, as
he affirmed, tame enough to be handled with impunity by those who might
have sufficient courage to venture. That interesting and accommodating
rattlesnake is no more, but was even more honoured in death than in
life. A true martyr to science, it was sacrificed that its friend and
teacher might prosecute his experiments, and also swallow some of
the contents of its poison gland, in order to convince two or three
challenging sceptics that he could do this with impunity.[137]
As in all other trades, there are various grades among the Oriental
snake-tamers. The legitimate ‘charmer’ of India—the _Samp
Wallah_—prides himself on being a descendant of the prophet, and the
secret of his art is cherished as an heirloom in his family. This
also is the case in Arabia and Egypt, where the astonishing feats
which, without any doubt, are performed by professional ‘snake men,’
are attributed to special and secret powers, jealously guarded from
age to age. It may be possible that, like the Psylli of old, they may
have recourse to some drug which renders their person repugnant to the
serpent, and thus provides immunity from a bite. Not yet altogether
discarded, either, is the ancient belief that in the body of the
viper itself is found a specific for its poison. Since the days of
Æsculapius, decoctions of vipers and recipes enough to form an Ophidian
cookery-book and pharmacopeia combined, have found favour not only
among the ‘faculty’ of classic days, but among all our ancestral dames.
We are told that vipers abound in volatile salts that are cures for
many ills. Certain it is that ‘viper wine,’ viper broth, viperine
salts, the powder of dried vipers, preparations from the dejecta,
the oil, and even the slough have all enjoyed a high reputation,
and I believe are—_some_ of these at any rate—still in vogue in
secluded districts where the refinements of medical science have not
yet replaced them. It is remarkable, too, that for skin affections
their virtues chiefly commend themselves. The ancient belief that to
devour vipers proved a specific for their bite, has to the present
day prevailed among the snake-charmers of Egypt, who—whether or not
from this practice—are said so to assimilate their bodies that the
venom does not harm them. The Bushmen of South Africa, it is asserted,
swallow poison to render themselves proof against its effects; and
history records many other tribes who have had such confidence in their
own and an inherited immunity, that they hesitated not in exposing
their infants to deadly serpents. The Persian word _Bezoar_, a popular
drug, means counter-poison; in allusion to the immunity from poison
which persons who feed on venomous snakes are believed to enjoy.
Though much discredit has been thrown on these so-called ‘immunities,’
and though it is so very difficult to know what to believe where a
serpent is concerned, the possibility does appear to be borne out by
some authentic writers of our own time. The late John Keast Lord, when
in Egypt, had frequent opportunities of observing the tricks of the
jugglers; and not only he, but, as he assures us, many intelligent and
educated Europeans, fully believed that some secret power was practised
by the ‘high-caste’ charmers, who really did exhibit astonishing feats
with their snakes. Of these, the habit of devouring the reptiles alive
can here admit only of bare allusion.[138]
In _Dahomey and the Dahomeans_, F. E. Forbes tells of the natives
walking fearlessly bare legged in the grass where snakes abound, and
that on one occasion on alluding to the danger, a boy said to him: ‘No
fear; if my father is bitten, he knows of an herb that will cure him.’
Another recent authority whom we are bound to respect is Schliemann. In
his work _Troy and its Remains_, published in 1875, he writes (p. 117):
‘We still find poisonous snakes among the stones as far down as from
thirty-three to thirty-six feet, and I have hitherto been astonished
to see my workmen take hold of the reptiles with their hands and play
with them: nay, yesterday I saw one of the men bitten twice by a viper,
without seeming to trouble himself about it. When I expressed my
horror, he laughed, and said that he and all his comrades knew there
were a great many snakes in this hill, and they had therefore all
drunk a decoction of the snake-weed, which grows in the district, and
which renders the bite harmless. Of course I ordered a decoction to be
brought to me, so that I also may be safe from these bites. I should,
however, like to know whether this decoction would be a safeguard
against the fatal effects of the bite of the hooded cobra, of which
in India I have seen a man die within half an hour. If it were so, it
would be a good speculation to cultivate snake-weed in India.’
A correspondent in _Land and Water_, signed ‘R. C.,’ quoting
Schliemann, inquired the name of this snake-weed, but without eliciting
information. Most of the countries in which snakes abound would seem to
rejoice in ‘snake-weeds’ and ‘snake-roots.’ ‘It has pleased nature that
there should be nothing without its antidote,’ said Pliny; and though
‘the faculty’ tell us that no antidote for snake venom has as yet been
discovered, it nevertheless appears to be certain that the Arabs, the
Nubians, Egyptians, and other nations seek to procure immunity from
snake-bite by the use of certain plants, of which the _Aristolochias_
seem to be most frequent. The juice or a decoction is drunk, the root
chewed, and an infusion used for washing the skin. The South American
Indians are said to be able thus to protect themselves; and we have
the high authority of Humboldt in support of the theory that the
famous _huaco_, and other poisonous plants with which they inoculate
themselves, may impart an odour to their bodies which is repugnant to
the snakes.
It would be well to obtain definite information as to what the
‘snake-weed’ of Schliemann was, _botanically_. It is also important to
ascertain the species of ‘viper’ that is there so abundant; then there
would be a basis for investigation. The testimony of a traveller like
Schliemann is not to be disregarded. Besides him, Livingstone, P. H.
Gosse, and others have affirmed the same thing, viz. the existence of
antidotal plants, but which, in the hands of science, seem never to
disclose their virtues!
As a part of the present subject comes a serpent’s supposed love of
‘music,’ and on this head again the evidence is contradictory. Setting
aside the idea of ‘music,’ in the way of melody or harmony, we may
be able to arrive at a clue to the undeniable fact that snakes do
exhibit some consciousness of _noise_. ‘Music,’ properly so called,
is certainly very far removed from the gourd-rapping and tum-tumming
of the Oriental jugglers; yet the snakes display a consciousness of
these uncouth sounds. Mr. Mann affirmed that Cleo and his other pet
boas manifested undoubted feeling—let us call it consciousness—when
the piano was being played. Dr. Arthur Stradling, on the contrary,
tells us that his own snakes ‘are almost always within hearing of a
piano, and never show the slightest emotion at the sound.’[139] His
observations, I believe, refer chiefly to his life at sea, where his
cabin did duty as concert-room, menagerie, and all else combined, and
where, apart from piano, there would be ceaseless noise and jarring;
or even if on shore, the ‘always’ would rather support my own theory
or speculation as to any feasible solution of the fact that serpents
are affected by _noise_, not ‘music.’ And my idea is, that it is the
jarring or vibration _through solids_, and not the mere sound, that
thus affects the snakes. Since first venturing to express this idea
in the _Dublin University Magazine_, Jan. 1876, I have continued to
observe the effect on snakes of what we may call _disturbing noises_.
At the Gardens, where they become accustomed to noises of all kinds,
it is less easy to arouse them; but when the place is unusually quiet,
the experiment may be tried. The ‘snake men’ of the East, whose trade
is to hunt out snakes by means of sound, effect this by _rapping_ on
the wall or ceiling, or by making loud, clucking noises with their
tongue as much as by their so-called ‘music;’ and Pliny,—if we may
cite Pliny to suit our purpose and discard him otherwise,—or whoever
_he_ quotes, affirms that snakes are more easily aroused by the _sound_
of footsteps than by the sight of the approaching person. A custom is
prevalent in Ceylon, we are told, of using a jingling stick in the dark
to strike the ground in order to frighten snakes out of the path. The
jingling ‘music’ here is disturbing, not alluring, but as regards the
knocking it proves sensitiveness to vibration conveyed by the ground.
The American Indians are _experts_ in the way of ascertaining sounds
as conveyed by the ground. They throw themselves prone upon the earth,
pressing their ear close to it, and are able to decide with great
accuracy the direction, the distance, and the nature of a far-off
sound. May we not conclude, then, that the perception of sound to a
serpent is through solids, a feeling more than a hearing of noises?
The creature, always prone to the ground or other solids, and with an
internal aural apparatus, must be peculiarly sensitive to vibrations
thus conveyed.
‘Lizzie,’ the heroine of chap. xxvi., was proved to be sensitive to
disturbing noises, and her ophidian relatives are probably similarly
affected. As to _tune_, any sharp sound will answer; and as to time, it
is not the ‘music,’ but, as we have already hinted, the waving hand or
knee, or bright colours used by the _charmers_, to which the movements
of the serpents respond. This also is a subject quite worth scientific
investigation.
A word in conclusion about the ‘fascination of the serpent’s eye,’ a
fable of so remote a date that it is as hard as any to eradicate. Even
scientific observers admit that there is a _something_ that attracts
the eyes of birds or small mammals such as squirrels, timid creatures
which often stare fixedly at ourselves as much as at a snake. Dr. A.
Smith says: ‘Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is
nevertheless true that birds and even quadrupeds are, under certain
circumstances, unable to retire from the presence of their enemies, and
what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to
advance from a situation of actual safety into one of danger.[140] He
has seen birds collect round the African tree snakes, particularly the
Boomslange (described p. 407), and fly to and fro, shrieking, until
one of them almost touches its lips.’ Exactly so. We are not _told_ as
much, but every one who knows anything of snake life will feel quite
sure that those tree snakes were making good use of their delicate
tongues in order to ascertain all they could about those enticing
shriekers; and that the birds were equally desirous of knowing what
dainty in the shape of worm or flitting creature that tongue might be.
In the case of the rattlesnake the ‘fascinated’ birds are probably
enticed by the insect they think they _hear_, as well as that they
think they _see_, in the supposed worm wriggling so temptingly and
vanishing so strangely. The snake remains rigidly still the while, the
only moving thing being that investigating tongue.
My observations at the Zoological Gardens first led me to this
conclusion. On the feeding days several years ago, when watching to
detect the ‘fascination’ one had been led to expect, I noticed that
the birds—even the sparrows and finches—were attracted by the tongue
of the snake, and would stop when hopping about the cage and look
intently and curiously on the vibrating tongue. Some would venture on a
closer inspection, and remain gazing, or would even peck at it, until a
movement of the snake told them that the motionless object from which
that wriggling thing protruded was a living animal. Then they might hop
away indifferently, happily unconscious that what they had perched on
as a branch or a log was animated with a hungering after themselves.
Any further ‘spell,’ or ‘fascination,’ or attraction might be
attributed to a soporific or paralytic rather than a pleasurable
influence; and arising from the noxious breath of a venomous serpent,
or the fixity of its eyes, never blinking. Horses, dogs, and other
animals have an intuitive perception of the vicinity of a snake, and
refuse to advance; is it therefore reasonable to conclude that the
lesser animals are not similarly affected? It is serpent nature to
wait motionless for its prey. Any creature coming unexpectedly upon
that rigid object, with its fixed, glittering eyes, would, actuated
by mingled alarm and curiosity, stop to make itself acquainted with
the extraordinary sight, the only life or motion in which would be
the tongue suddenly and silently appearing and disappearing. A bird
might be beguiled within striking distance, or might stop spell-bound.
We ourselves are sometimes impelled to approach an unaccountable yet
terrifying object. Fear has also a paralyzing effect, and we remain
motionless, breathless, with eyes as fixed as a serpent’s.
Observation of nature and an inquiry into causes will often present
very commonplace reasons for what appears to savour of the marvellous.
A snake has just made a meal of some fledgelings. The mother bird has
witnessed her offspring vanishing by degrees, and she frantically
hovers over the reptile, fluttering to and fro, and probably uttering
cries of distress or of enticement, in the hope of her young ones’
return. Birds have been observed thus endeavouring to rescue a
half-swallowed fledgeling. The naturalist at once comprehends the
reason; the poet thinks the birds are ‘fascinated.’
I am not aware that any other ophiologist than Dr. Stradling, in
discussing the ‘fascination’ idea, has attributed to the tongue of a
snake an allurement in the shape of a prospective meal. In one of his
papers to _Land and Water_ (April 2, 1881) he described a hen that had
been put into the cage for his anaconda’s dinner, making ‘a determined
dab at the snake’s tongue, sometimes two or three dabs in quick
succession,’ every time the quivering black line caught her eye. ‘Now
why does she do that?’ he asks. ‘Certainly from no animosity towards
the snake, in whose presence she has not the slightest consciousness
of danger, as she was otherwise engaged in pecking up the maize that
was in the cage. My own idea is that she mistakes the tongue for a
wriggling worm,’ adds the observer in almost the very words I had used
more than six years previously,[141] long before we had exchanged a
word on the subject or were even acquainted. He further described in
the same issue of _Land and Water_, and also in the _Field_ (June 3,
1882), how a scarlet _tanager_ in Costa Rica had been attracted out
of a tree down close to a snake by its quivering tongue, the only
moving thing about it. Dr. Stradling had seen a frog similarly snapping
at the tongue of a snake, and thinks that one of the chief uses of
the mysterious little organ is to attract insectivorous animals. My
own observations prove the tongue to be a _successful_ lure, which
may go a good way towards explaining ‘fascination;’ but whether an
_intentional_ lure, any more than an intentional intimidation, as
discussed in chap. v., I hesitate to affirm.
‘Fascination,’ then, may be sometimes imputed to curiosity, sometimes
to an anticipated morsel. It may partake of fear, or it may be an
involuntary approach; it may be the struggles of a poisoned creature
unable to get away, or the maternal anxieties of a bird or small mammal
whose offspring has fallen a victim to the snake. Divesting it of
all poetry or magic, it will admit of several matter-of-fact, albeit
sometimes tragic explanations.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]