goes, the conviction in his friend’s mind is that he did. Often, as
with all cats, his brain was torpid. Unconscious cerebration, no
doubt, went on, but only dim, transient images floated into the field
of consciousness, and fragmentary, isolated, shadow-like pictures of
outward things were presented to the “mind’s eye.” It was plain enough
when he was in this semi-somnolent condition, and the difference
between it and the active exercise of faculty upon something within
himself, was unmistakable. He thought, but how, and about what? In
his realm of that ideal world so little of which has been explored by
man, subjective processes transpired such as we have no clue to and
no measure for. The contents of mind, however, must be derivations
from experience in a wild beast as much as in a human being. What he
had observed, seen, felt, and remembered in that form which his own
organization conferred, were manifested characteristically: that is to
say, when vivid imaginations excited, or external sense-notices aroused
him, the beast of prey awoke at once. The same most likely, or rather,
most certainly, must have been true of all mental conditions, but
while the animal remained impassive, the fact was indiscernible. When
this savage warrior lay before his companion’s arm-chair, and looked
straight in his eyes with fixed intensity, calling to mind, perhaps,
the things he knew about this man, it was natural that recollections
of trainers’ confidences, accounts given by travellers and hunters,
one’s own experiences, the many superstitions of civilized and savage
peoples, should suggest ideas which had a tendency to color and distort
observation upon the part of his _vis-à-vis_.
No one, however, who was not under the influence of a fixed prejudice,
could have looked into Gato’s unfaltering orbs and seen there any
confirmation of the common belief that brutes such as he are only
restrained by fear; or that they have an instinctive sense of reverence
and awe in the presence of human beings. All the respect this one
felt for his guardian he learned. Besides that, he had superstitions
concerning him. In maturity his great size, and reports of the wisdom
he had attained to, made the animal famous, so that many persons
desired to see him--that is, through the grating at his door. But
strangers found no favor with this misanthropist, and he disliked
being stared at. Thus, after regarding such intruders with a stern
countenance, and taking no notice of his friend under these degrading
circumstances, he affected to be unconscious that anybody was there,
or else deliberately turned his back upon the visitors. For a time it
was supposed that this mark of contempt occurred accidentally. Gato
could have had no conception of the significance of this act as it is
understood in civilized society, but he did it for reasons of his own,
and at length quite evidently on purpose.
As was said, curiosity, which is always indicative of mental
development, was an unusually prominent trait in his character. There
were numbers of things to which he paid no attention, but when an
act attracted his notice and was constantly performed, it appeared
to require investigation, and he applied himself to the subject in
a manner quite different from that superior air with which ordinary
matters were regarded. Books amazed Gato. Nothing could be made
out with regard to them by means of scent or sight: they were dead
apparently, and not fit to eat. What was in them that never came out?
Why should they be watched so closely? This question he never found
any satisfactory answer to, and one might see that it often perplexed
him. When he was little, reading made him jealous, and he put his paws
on the page and invited his friend to play. This mysterious occupation
lost its novelty in time, and the desire to romp passed away, but
frequently in after days when he observed his companion turn towards
the bookcase and get up, he escorted him to the shelves, scrutinized
the way in which he looked for a volume, or turned over the leaves of
several, and went back to see if anything was at last coming to light
about this strange and constant occupation.
Gato resolutely refused to learn English. Why he preferred Spanish, no
one knows, but he did, and would only respond to communications made in
that tongue. Habit and association had much to do with this, no doubt,
but there is reason to think that a distaste for our vernacular was
one of the many prejudices which, in a measure, detracted from those
qualities which embellished his character. His guardian discoursed to
him at length; taught him to do and leave undone numerous things, but
had to use the only idiom his pupil chose to acquire any knowledge of.
If he were called in English, the perverse creature would not come.
He stood and stared like an obstinate child. More than this, if he
understood, as no doubt he sometimes did, and even wanted to do what
was commanded, but could not, because he had made up his mind never
to do anything unless spoken to properly, he got angry. There is no
doubt in the writer’s mind that this is a fact, and that the prejudice
referred to existed. Force might have been resorted to, of course, but
that would have had the effect of deforming his nature after every
effort had been made to leave it to its natural expansion, except in
so far as its tendencies were prevented from expressing themselves in
homicidal acts.
Langworthy, “the lion-tamer,” as the posters called him, used to
say that feline beasts, after coming to know one, were infallible
physiognomists, but that they had to learn a face before being able to
understand its expressions; also that they only read the signs of anger
and fear, and never looked for anything else, not caring about approval
or kindness, because all the great cats were destitute of affection.
Lions, tigers, leopards, and the rest, he believed, scrutinized the
countenance chiefly to see if a man were afraid. If so, no assumed look
could conceal the fact, and they instantly became dangerous. Privately
he scouted the idea that there was any power to overawe animals in
one person rather than another, and held that the sole difference
between men in this respect depended upon quickness of observation, and
especially upon fearlessness.
In the main this squares with what is known of comparative psychology,
and of the _Felidæ_ in particular. But like most sweeping assertions
upon beasts or men, it is not wholly accurate. Many animals are
exceedingly vain, nearly or possibly quite as much so as savage men,
and vainer they could not be. Now this trait is inseparable from a
desire for praise, and although it is no more necessary to feel any
respect or affection for the persons who gratify this longing, than it
is to love people because they are able to excite jealousy, creatures
with such a disposition will always solicit approbation, and be pleased
when it is accorded. Certainly this was the case with Gato, who was
fond of display, and delighted in being noticed and admired; who did
many things for the express purpose of being praised, and claimed
commendation as plainly as if he had been able to speak.
The faces of brutes, similarly with those of human races which differ
greatly in appearance from the observer, at first all look alike.
But afterwards one begins to discriminate, and finally distinguishes
differences between them, and changes in the same individual at
different times. While Gato lay by the fountain listening to the wind
murmur through the great tamarind boughs that shaded him, heard the
water fall, saw the fleecy trade-wind clouds sail slowly overhead,
and was evidently neither asleep nor lethargic, but keenly observant
of every sight and sound, how easy would it have been to fit his
reflections to the scene; “to opine probably and prettily,” as Bacon
expresses it, and provide the chained savage with poetic resignation,
or indignant sorrow, to make him feel and think in forms as far from
reality as the vapors that floated above him were far from being the
substantial masses they seemed. Such writings, eloquent and interesting
as they often are, do a positive disservice to science. Think, he did:
that was to be seen in the eye that softened or grew stern; in its
far-away or introverted expression, or quick scrutinizing glance; in
the smoothed or corrugated brow, the quivering, contracted, or placid
lips; in attitudes indefinably expressive, and variations of his
ensemble that cannot be described.
How should human insight penetrate this underworld of the intellect?
All things definite there were transmigrations of his own experiences
under the stress of heredity. What was emotional, unformed, and yet
operative, was the bequest of a wild and free ancestry that sent
down their tendencies and traits, gave him his organization, and,
with a certainty as inevitable as death, stamped everything that he
could think or feel with their “own form and impress.” His ideas were
reproductions; his emotions rose into consciousness from unknown
depths. The latter set him upon the verge of what his predecessors
realized, vaguely revealed their past, prompted those unrecognizable
half-memories that are born with every being, prepared him for
possibilities from which captivity cut him off, stirred his heart, and
made life and the earth all that they were or could be to him.
Varying phases of mind as outwardly evinced, manifested themselves
clearly in Gato’s behavior and in his changes of temper. Those serene
meditations which had sway during beautiful days, and in the calm
of tropical nights, bore little likeness to states of tension that
sometimes possessed him when the storms of the rainy season set in.
If an African lion is to be seen in his glory, he must be looked at
by the lightning’s glare. It is amid tempest and gloom that the full
proportions of his nature come forth. So with this lion of another
world. Many a time in the course of those nightly interviews which have
been referred to, he roused himself from an intense contemplation of
his companion, disturbed by thunder and the tumult without. Then while
the wind blew unequally, roared through swaying branches, or mourned
around the walls that shut him in, he quickened under the influence
of over-tones in nature which human beings cannot hear. Storm and
darkness wrought upon him as they will not do upon man. Beyond what was
visible or audible, there was something that came from within himself;
something that wove “the waste fantasies” of his dreams together, and
gave character and purpose to ideation. He showed it in profoundly
suggestive pantomime. But what “air-drawn” shapes were followed with
those long, swift, soft yet heavy steps, on what his eyes were fixed,
what feelings and fancies engrossed and transfigured him, gave that
fierce energy, and led him in their train, are unknowable. They had no
voice, but only with mute motions pointed backward to a past in which
humanity shared no part, and which it cannot explore.
Those who have reared beasts of prey, must, it is probable, read
works that describe the expression of their emotions with a certain
dissatisfaction. Not for the reason that their authors lacked power,
the art of observation, or scientific attainments, but merely
because they themselves have seen and felt the influence of so much
that is too evasive for definite detail. The grander passions may be
painted; in virtue of the unstable equilibrium of nervous elements,
and that comparatively imperfect system of connections existing
between the centres, they are always explosive. But a world of
complex, kaleidoscopic views interpose between fury and tranquility.
Feeling cannot be continually intense, nor need it necessarily remain
unexpressed because it is not violent. Only those emotions which are
for the time absorbing have an unmistakable physiognomy, and these both
brutes and higher beings feel but rarely. In attempting anything more
than a suggestion of the impression produced by current feeling, the
observer is liable to become constructive; to picture himself instead
of the model, or to lose the subject in the midst of anatomical,
physiological, and psychological details.
Unprovoked dislike, antipathy, permanent and constant in special
directions, together with antithetical feelings, which are also said
to be spontaneous, Gato possessed in abundance. He gave up trying to
kill the Apostle John, but liked him no better than did those heathens
who boiled the saint in oil. Whether on account of an animosity he had
towards all men, or because in his own fashion he became superstitious
about the statue, this much is certain, that if dragged up to it, he
took offence. On the other hand, Gato made friends with a horse. Every
morning when his groom let him out, Said trotted to the rear of the
house, put his head over the half-door looking into the court-yard,
and asked for a little wine and sugar with a gentle whinny. Sometimes
Gato was chained to one of the buttresses of a tamarind and saw him.
Often Said walked in on the stone floor and found him loose, as was
customary while his guardian remained at home. At first, when actually
confronted, the Arab showed a good deal of uneasiness. But the puma was
then only half-grown, and upon being reassured, the horse concluded
that it was all right, and paid no further attention to him. So this
singular compact of neutrality was begun. On Said’s part, it never
became anything else. He suffered Gato when a mature and very large
animal to walk around him, without any special recognition of his
presence, and that was all. On the other hand, the latter respected, or
admired, or had some kind of a friendly feeling towards the horse.
In order that he might not remain in that benighted state in which his
forefathers lived among wretched Olmecs, Chichemecs, and Otomies whom
the Aztecs captured to sacrifice to their war god, it was deemed proper
to instruct him in the use and effects of firearms. He approved of
cartridges as playthings, and watched them put into the cylinder, but
did not think for some time that they were the things that went off and
made a noise and flash. When he saw a ball strike, he used to leap at
the scar and look for fragments scattered by the shot. Finally, by dint
of seeing ammunition exploded, and snuffing empty arms, Gato got some
inkling that there was a connection between a pistol he saw charged,
and certain effects. Still it is very doubtful whether in his opinion a
loaded revolver was dangerous, until experience convinced him that it
would kill. In other words, he was taught that which unreclaimed wild
beasts find out for themselves everywhere on the face of the earth.
What finished his education in this way, was an incident that very
nearly proved disastrous to himself. One summer morning while he was
fastened in the court-yard, and his guardian sat reading in his sala,
a large rabid dog dashed into the room from the street, and without
noticing the motionless figure in a chair, rushed out by an opposite
door towards the puma, who lay under a tree. Instant aid was necessary
to prevent the latter from being bitten; for although at that time he
would have torn the dog to pieces, as he had already done in the case
of two or three others, this would not have saved him. He witnessed the
whole affair; saw the revolver, the aim and flash, heard the report,
beheld the dog fall, struggle a moment, and die. Afterwards its body
was dragged nearer to him, so he could feel assured that life was
gone. Then for the first time did a realizing sense of the potency of
this instrument enter into his mind. Subsequent to this occurrence,
it was for a while only necessary to wear a pistol to keep Gato at a
distance. Once in an unlucky hour his guardian told a servant to aim
one at him by way of experiment, and nothing but the promptest and most
determined interference saved the man. Charles Darwin (“Expression of
the Emotions,” etc.) says that the physiognomy of fear among cats is
difficult to describe because it passes so quickly into that of rage.
In this case the transition was instantaneous, and a fine fury it was.
The blare of cavalry trumpets, the roll of drums, and clang of bells,
attracted Gato’s attention and made him restless, but he was not “moved
by concourse of sweet sounds.” They possessed no meaning, and did not
cause him to think or feel. To sing to him was a waste of time, and he
looked upon a guitar as something that made an insignificant noise.
If the strings were roughly and unexpectedly vibrated, the effect
resembled any other sudden interruption of meditation or slumber. He
was startled, and apprehension instantly took the form of anger, and
then passed quickly when he saw what had disturbed his repose. All
physiologists will agree with Spencer that “the existing quantity of
nerve force liberated at any moment which produces in some inscrutible
way the state we call feeling, _must_ expend itself in some direction,
_must_ generate an equivalent manifestation of force somewhere.” The
feeling excited, whatever it may be, will flow in accustomed channels,
and manifest itself in what Darwin describes as “habitually associated
movements.” This law, and that governing antithetical manifestations,
is founded in the physical and mental organization of all creatures,
and its expressions vary with the differences obtaining among those of
different kinds.
Gato and the members of every species belonging to his family are
primarily avatars of force. They inherit as predominant traits those
feelings and faculties, those physical specializations and particular
aptitudes, which tend to make violence successful. When any nervous
shock let loose his energy, it flowed from the centres where it was
stored through the most permeable tracts; those which had been most
frequently traversed in the history of the individual and his race;
and as this process was necessarily accompanied by corresponding
movements, when the strings of a guitar aroused him suddenly, Gato
involuntarily assumed the attitudes and exhibited the temper of an
excited beast of prey. If startled, teased, or menaced, if impatient,
angry, or even pleased, however different may have been the passing
feeling, however variously it was expressed, his character always
overshadowed him, and gave an air to every outward act; not always in
those set forms which Camper, Le Brun, Bell, and Darwin set forth,
but unmistakably, and, of course, by the same means through which the
typical representations of passion take place.
That sedateness and inertia which, in _Felidæ_ especially, soon
supervene upon the restlessness of kittenhood, showed themselves in
Gato at an earlier period than usual. This was in a great degree
attributable to his rapid and enormous growth. The energy which under
ordinary physiological conditions would have remained free to manifest
itself in movement, was expended in building his frame.
Many times on looking up and meeting Gato’s gaze as he lay upon a rug
contemplating his friend, the expression of those fiery eyes suggested
stories of fascination--Arab legends, African and Hindu superstitions
about the mesmeric power possessed by tigers and lions. A good deal
has been written on this subject which is not much to the purpose. But
no one has shown, or can show, that this influence is impossible, or,
as it suggested itself to the author in the course of some experiments
upon his puma, that susceptible subjects might not, as in cases
reported by Charcot and others, hypnotize themselves. Having no way of
getting at the relations subsisting between the centres of his brain
with any certainty, it occurred to his guardian that a physiological
approximation to their state might be made by means of this kind of an
impression, and that it would reveal, to a certain extent at least,
what is called by French writers the “solidarity” of that organ. The
difficulty lay in the first necessary step, according to Heidenhain;
namely, in arresting attention. Czermak’s experiments at Leipzig were
made upon creatures of a very different character from Gato. By all
accounts, hypnotism is impossible except when attentiveness approaches
to a wrapped degree of fixedness. The author tried to act upon his
puma, but in vain. A bright object placed above him in front might or
might not excite special curiosity. If his keeper held it, he looked at
him, and probably wondered what new deviltry he was after then.
Often he grew uneasy, or disgusted perhaps, got up, and lay down
with his head averted, or closed his lids. Sometimes he walked away,
pretending not to notice his companion, though keenly observant of what
he was doing all the while. But this eye-to-eye interview was quite as
likely to bring the animal close, make him rub against his comrade,
or present his head to be stroked. Whatever he did, however, was done
of his own accord, and had no reference to the performances of his
associate, or to the willpower exerted and wasted on such occasions.
It was easy to see when Gato was apathetic, and plain enough when he
was intoxicated with what Willis and the old anatomists called “animal
spirits.” In the mean between these extremes lay the mystery. Who was
to decide when the panther patted you gently with his sheathed paw,
or put his head before the book, whether these solicitations to take
notice of him had their root in a need for sympathy, or were signs of
a desire to enjoy some pleasant sensation, such as being scratched or
played with? One could only guess at this from the clue given by a
knowledge of his character.
Much uncertainty exists with regard to the degree in which his æsthetic
sense was developed. Whoever has shown pictures to children and
savages, knows the great uncertainty attending their recognition of
things which are familiar to them. The puma liked glaring colors and
bright objects, yet while capable of identifying a large statue, the
preference he exhibited for certain paintings depended most probably
on their florid style. If his guardian read a work illustrated with
engravings while he looked over his shoulder, they made no perceptible
impression upon him. He admired gorgeous parrots that cursed him, and
for a long time made hostile demonstrations towards a raven who was too
wise not to let him alone. Some of the great hunters have thought that
those strong predilections exhibited by tigers for certain beautiful
localities which otherwise had nothing to recommend them to the choice
of such inmates, were evidence of appreciation upon their part of this
advantage.
That conclusion is, however, a very uncertain one, and most likely
comes under the head of those observations that Czermak designates as
“events viewed unequally”; that is to say, the facts are true, but
the inference unwarranted. Gato had not much opportunity of studying
nature. When, as happened several times during early life, he was taken
into wild and solitary places, his attention concentrated itself upon
living things. Beside those he seemed to care for nothing, except,
perhaps, to be perverse. He climbed trees and would not come down, hid,
and pretended not to hear when he was called. Once, improbable as it
seems, he lost himself, and when all hope of recovering him appeared to
be gone, here came the little wretch, in a very bad temper, nosing out
his friend’s trail, and convinced that he had been tormenting him, and
done the whole thing on purpose.
It is time to close these memorabilia. Such facts as the records of his
life contribute towards the ways of wild beasts, and illustrating their
habits and character, have been now brought forward. A book might be
written about his adventures and the traits he displayed, yet most of
what was most interesting in his character lies on the border land of
actual observation, and cannot be distinctly stated.