From North Pole to Equator: Studies of Wild Life and Scenes in Many Lands

by Alfred Edmund Brehm

are literally true; for the song of the nightingale, and those of all other birds which delight us with their lays, begin with the first stirrings of love, and come to an end when the intoxication is past, and other emotions and cares have taken its place. Singing, the bird flies forth on his quest for a mate; in song he tells the female of his approach, and invites her to join him; in passionate song he gives expression to his delight when he has found her, and to his desires, and longings, and hopes; through his song he reveals his strength, and exalts his own bliss to the heavens; and through it, too, he challenges all other males of his species who would presume to disturb his happiness. Only so long as he is inspired by the intoxication of love is the bird’s song full of fire and strength, and if he sing at other times, his lay is certainly a reminiscence of the great joy which once was his. Whoever maintains, as has really been maintained, that a bird sings without any personal feeling whatever, that it sings at a given time simply because it must, and that at another time it could not if it would, has never understood, or sought to understand, the song of birds, but has simply given petulant expression to his own prejudice. A dispassionate observer must soon perceive that a bird’s song, though it remains essentially the same, varies with every emotion, that it flows quietly on, ascends, bursts out triumphantly, and dies away again, according to the prevailing mood, and that it awakens an echo in the breast of other males. If the view referred to were correct, each bird would sing exactly like every other of the same species; it would pour forth its appointed lay as mechanically as a musical box emits the tunes plugged up in its rotating cylinder; none could change or improve his song, or strive to surpass his fellows. Our own view is exactly the opposite, for we are convinced that a bird sings with perfect consciousness, that in his song he lays bare his soul. He is a poet, who, within his own limits, invents, creates, and struggles for utterance; and the motive throughout is love for the opposite sex. Dominated by this love, the jay sings, whistles, and murmurs, the magpie chatters, the croaking raven transforms its rough sounds into gentle, soft notes, the usually silent grebe lets its voice be heard, the diver sings its wild yet tuneful ocean-song, the bittern dips its bill under water that the only cry at its command may become a dull, far-sounding booming. A bird does indeed sing only at a certain season, but it is not because it cannot do so at other times, but because it has then no inducement, no inclination to sing. It is silent when it no longer loves; to speak more prosaically, when the pairing-time is past. This is clearly proved in the case of the familiar cuckoo. Three-fourths of the year go by and its call is not once heard; spring comes round in the revolution of the seasons and it sounds forth almost incessantly from early morning till late in the evening, as long as the pairing-time lasts. But it is silent sooner in the south than in the north, sooner in the plains than in the mountains, exactly corresponding to the brooding-time of the foster-parents, which begin their nest-building earlier, and finish the rearing of their young sooner in the south and in the plains than in the north and in the highlands.

During courtship many birds supplement their vocal efforts by pleasing movements, whether executed with the help of the wings or of the feet; others by peculiar attitudes in which they display themselves, or strut before the females; others, again, by special noises which they produce.

While a few falcons, and all owls, express their desires chiefly, if not exclusively, by means of loud cries, other birds of prey indulge, either alone or in company with their mates, in a magnificent play of wings, which is now a kind of round dance, and anon becomes a perfect frenzy. Eagles, buzzards, peregrine falcons, kestrels, and lesser kestrels circle round each other for hours at a time, ascend spirally to giddy heights, exercise, obviously to their mutual pleasure and satisfaction, all the arts of flight of which they are capable, utter shrill cries from time to time, spread out their plumage in the sunlight, and, finally, glide slowly down and assume a dignified sitting posture, there to resume their caressings. Kites, which behave in an essentially similar manner, let themselves suddenly down, with half-closed wings, from a very considerable height, until they are just over the ground, or a sheet of water, then begin, more quickly than usual, to describe a series of curves, remain hovering for some time over a particular spot, or execute other wonderful movements, then slowly soar again to their former height. Harriers fly for some time with apparent indifference behind the desired mate, then begin to circle round her, describe with her a series of intersecting curves, and, suddenly leaving her, soar, with head directed upwards, almost perpendicularly up to a considerable height, increasing, at the same time, the speed of their ordinarily leisurely flight to a surprising rapidity; then, tumbling precipitately over, fall with almost closed wings to near the ground, circle there once, twice, or oftener, ascend again and proceed as before, till at last the female makes up her mind to follow their example. But all these which we have mentioned are surpassed by the bateleur, or mountebank, a harrier about the size of an eagle, living in the interior of Africa, and one of the most remarkable of birds of prey in form and behaviour (p. 188). Its marvellous flight is at all times likely to attract the attention of observers, but during the pairing-time this becomes an incomparable mountebank performance in the air, a bewildering acrobatic display, which seems to unite in itself all the arts of flight practised by the other birds of prey.

Many other birds which are not specially skilful in flight act in much the same way as the wooing birds of prey. That they call in the aid of their wings when they strive to win the love of a mate, or wish to express their delight in a possession already won, is intelligible enough after what has been related. The swallow, sitting beside his desired or chosen mate, eagerly warbles his melodious lay; but the emotion within his breast is much too strong to allow him to sit still during the progress of his song, so he flies upwards, singing in his flight, and hovers and circles about the female who has followed him. The goatsucker sits for a time lengthwise on a bough, often at some distance from his mate, spins off his whirring strophes for some minutes, then rises, flies about his mate in graceful curves, flapping his wings, and calling to her such a tender “haït”, that one wonders how a sound so soft can possibly be produced by his rough throat. The bee-eater, whose voice is also unmelodious, sits for a long time on his perch, pressing closely to his mate, uttering scarcely a sound, sometimes none whatever, but apparently contenting himself with casting tender glances from his beautiful bright red eyes; but he, too, takes fire, moves his wings abruptly, rises high into the air, describes a circle, utters a jubilant cry, and returns to his mate, who has remained sitting where he left her. In the midst of its most ardent love-song—call it cooing, murmuring, moaning, or what you will—the dove breaks off suddenly as if inspired by its own music, then claps its wings loudly and sharply several times, soars aloft, spreads its wings and floats slowly down to a tree-top, there to begin its song anew. Tree-pipits and rock-pipits, white-throats, and garden warblers behave exactly like the doves; the wood-warblers precipitate themselves from their high perches without ceasing to sing, fly up again to another branch, where they finish their song, to begin it again a few minutes later, and bring it to a conclusion with a similar play of wings. Greenfinches, siskins, and common buntings, in the enthusiasm of love, tumble through the air as if they had no control over their wings; the larks soar to heaven singing their song of love; the serin behaves as if it had taken lessons from a bat.

A similar intoxication possesses those birds which declare their love by dancing. They, too, act contrary to all their usual habits during the dance, and fall finally into a transport which makes them almost forget the outside world. Few birds dance silently, most of them utter peculiar sounds, never heard at other times, at the same time displaying all their adornments, and often bringing the performance to a close with a sort of round dance.

Particularly zealous dancers are the scratchers or fowls in the widest acceptation of the term. Our domestic cock contents himself with strutting proudly about, crowing and flapping his wings; his companions in the yard, the peacock and the turkey, do more, for they dance. Much more vigorous dancers than either of these are all the grouse-like birds and some pheasants. Whoever has watched the dance of the capercaillie in the grey morning hours, has listened to the liquid cooing of the black-grouse, has seen the willow-grouse dancing on the snowy plains of the tundra in the dusk of a northern spring, will agree with me that such homage as these cocks offer to the hens must be as irresistible as that paid by our own peacock when he transforms his chief ornament into a canopy for his desired mate. More remarkable than all the rest is the behaviour of the male tragopans or horned pheasants of Southern Asia, magnificently decorative birds, distinguished by two brightly-coloured horn-like tubes of skin on the sides of the head, and by brilliantly-coloured extensible wattles. After the cock has walked round the hen several times without appearing to pay any attention to her, he stands still at a particular spot, and begins to bow. More and more quickly the courtesies follow each other, the horns meantime swelling and tossing, the wattles dilating and collapsing again, till all are literally flying about the head of the love-crazed bird. Now he unfolds and spreads his wings, rounds and droops his tail, sinks down with bent feet, and, spitting and hissing, lets his wings sweep along the ground. Suddenly every movement ceases. Bent low, his plumage ruffled, his wings and tail pressed against the ground, his eyes closed, his breathing audible, he remains for a while in motionless ecstasy. His fully-unfolded decorations gleam with dazzling brightness. Abruptly he rises again, spits and hisses, trembles, smooths his feathers, scratches, throws up his tail, flaps his wings, jerks himself up to his full height, rushes upon the female, and, suddenly checking his wild career, appears before her in olympic majesty, stands still for a moment, trembles, twitches, hisses, and all at once lets all his glory vanish, smooths his feathers, draws in his horns and wattles, and goes about his business as if nothing had happened.

With head slightly bent, with wings and tail spread out, the former moving tremulously, the wagtails trip with dainty steps about their chosen mates, bowing, advancing, and retreating again; the fire-finch looks like a brilliant flame of incense as he turns about, singing gaily and spreading his beautiful feathers in the sunlight, on the top of an ear of the Kaffir millet, among which he and his loved one have made their home; tenderly, with mouth pressed to mouth and breast to breast, like the children of men, the dove and his mate together execute a slow dance; the cranes dance passionately, with nimble leaps; not less ardently, even in sight of apparently admiring spectators, does the beautiful cock of the rock of Tropical America disport himself; even the condor, whose powers of flight are of the first order, who sails through the air thousands of feet above the highest peaks of the Andes, whom one would scarcely expect to conduct his wooing otherwise than with his wings, ventures on a little dance, and with head sunk upon his breast, and with wings fully spread, circles slowly and with mincing steps around his mate, to an accompaniment of strange drumming, murmuring sounds.

Other birds, again, instead of dancing, spring impetuously up and down, and hop hither and thither among the branches, at the same time displaying whatever beauty they possess: thus, the male birds-of-paradise assemble in crowds on certain trees during the early morning hours, and with the aforesaid movements and tremulous quivering of their wings, display their wonderful plumage in honour of the other sex. Others even build bower-like structures, which they decorate with all kinds of coloured, shimmering, and glittering objects, and within which they perform their dances. Finally, a few birds with no special accomplishments either of voice or of flight or of dance, make use of their bills to produce singular sounds. Thus all the storks woo by quickly clapping the two halves of the bill together, so producing a clatter which makes up for their lack of voice; thus, too, the woodpeckers hammer so fast on a dry tree-top or branch that the wood flies about in splinters, and a drumming sound is caused which resounds throughout the forest.

Fig. 40.—The Strutting of the Tragopan in Pairing-time.