But, as has been said, such cases form exceptions to the rule, and cannot be compared in any way with what occurs among polygamous birds. Many have tried in vain to explain the polygamy of cowbirds, cuckoos, pheasants, woodcocks, turkeys, quails, peacocks, and ruffs, but as yet no satisfactory explanation has been offered. To say that the cuckoo and its nearest relations do not brood nor live in wedlock and rear their own offspring because they must always be ready to direct their flight towards a caterpillar horde, wherever that may appear, is to talk at large, not to explain—for the cowbirds, too, intrust their brood to the care of foster-parents; and with regard to the supposition that polygamy, occurring among a few exceptionally persecuted species of fowl, is a provision of Nature for securing to these a numerous progeny, it is difficult to see why that end might not have been attained in the same way as among other fowls, which, though monogamous, are not less prolific.[64]
While employing the expression polygamy, I am quite aware that it is usual to speak of plurality of wives among birds. Such a state is unknown to me, and its existence, to my knowledge, is not corroborated by any observations of indisputable accuracy. For the passion is mutual, and the longing of the females is as boundless as that of the males. The female cuckoo mates with one male to-day and another to-morrow, may indeed bestow her affections on several in the course of an hour, and the hen yields herself to one cock as readily as to another. It is simply out of the question to talk of mating among them at all. The males only concern themselves temporarily about the females, and the females about the males; each sex goes its own way, even separating entirely from the other, and taking no interest in its lot beyond the limits of the pairing-time. Boundless desire, and consequently excessive jealousy, imperious demands submissively acceded to, mad wooing readily accepted, and thereafter complete indifference towards each other, are the main characteristics of the intercourse between the sexes of these birds. These explain, too, the fact that among them much oftener than among other birds crossing takes place, and mongrels or hybrids are produced, which lead a miserable existence, and either pine away without progeny, or, by mating with the true offspring of the race, lead back to the type again. Cross-pairing does indeed occur among other, that is monogamous, birds, but only when the absence of a mate of their own species impels them to seek one of another; whereas among polygamous birds chance and tempting opportunity seem as determinative as such a dilemma.
It may be necessity, the absolute necessity of providing for the brood just hatched or still slumbering within the egg, which compels the female of monogamous birds to change her widowhood for a new alliance more quickly than the male can console himself for the loss of his wife. Whether her grief is really less than the widower’s may be doubted, emphatically against her though appearances are. Other female birds act exactly like the stork on the Ebensee. A pair of magpies brooding in our garden were to be killed because we feared for the safety of the numerous singing-birds which we protected and encouraged in the same garden. At seven o’clock in the morning the male bird was shot, and barely two hours later the female had taken another mate; in an hour he too fell a victim; at eleven o’clock the female had contracted a third alliance. The same thing would have occurred again, but that the alarmed female, with her last-annexed mate, flew away from the garden. One spring my father shot a cock partridge; the hen flew up, but soon alighted and was immediately wooed by another cock, whom she accepted without more ado. Tchusi-Schmidthofen took away no fewer than twenty males from the nest of a black redstart within eight days, and only then left the twenty-times widowed and just as often consoled bird to the undisturbed enjoyment of her connubial bliss.
Exactly the opposite of such apparent inconstancy is seen in the case of a male bird that has lost his mate. Screaming loudly, complaining piteously, demonstrating his grief by voice and actions, he flies about the corpse of his loved one, touches it perhaps with his bill as though he would move it to rise and fly away with him, raises anew his heart-rending cries, which are intelligible even to man; wanders within his range from place to place, pausing awhile, calling, coaxing, and complaining, now in one favourite spot, now in another; neglects to take food, throws himself angrily on other males of his species as if he envied them their happiness and would make them share his own misfortune; finds no rest anywhere, begins without finishing, and acts without knowing what he does. So he goes on for days, perhaps weeks, in succession, and often he remains as long as possible on the scene of his misfortune, without making any expeditions in search of a fresh mate.[65] Certain species, by no means only those parrots so appropriately named “inseparables”, but finches and others, even horned owls, after such a severe blow lose all joy in life, mourn quietly, and literally pine away until released by death.
One of the chief causes, if not the sole cause, of such deep grief may be the great difficulty, sometimes the impossibility, of finding and winning another mate. The female has often no time for grief, for, sooner or later, sometimes immediately, new suitors appear and so overwhelm her with attention and tenderness that she must let herself be consoled whether she will or not. And if, in addition, anxiety about her brood fills her motherly heart, all other thoughts give place to that, and no room is left for enduring grief. But if she, too, has a difficulty in replacing her loss, she expresses her sorrow no less distinctly than the male. But sometimes she does even more, for she may voluntarily forego a new alliance. A sparrow widow, carefully observed by my father, though she had eggs to hatch, and, later, young ones to rear, accepted none of her suitors but remained unmated, and fed her clamouring brood alone with indescribable toil. Another touching incident proving the grief of widowed birds is vouched for by Eugen von Homeyer. The wedded bliss of a pair of storks, nesting on the roof of that experienced naturalist’s house, was brought to a sudden end by one of those detestable bird-shooters or would-be sportsmen who killed the male. The sorrowing widow fulfilled her maternal duties without choosing another mate, and migrated in autumn to Africa with her brood and others of her species. The following spring she reappeared on the old nest, unmated as she had left. She was much wooed, but drove all suitors away with vicious digs of her bill; she mended her nest busily, but only to preserve her right to occupy it. In autumn she migrated with the rest, returning in spring, and proceeding as before. This occurred eleven years in succession. In the twelfth, another pair attempted to take forcible possession of her nest; she fought bravely for her property, but did not attempt to secure it by taking another mate. The nest was seized, and she remained single. The interlopers retained and made use of the nest, and the rightful owner was seen no more, but, as afterwards transpired, she passed the whole summer alone in a district about ten miles distant. Scarcely had the other storks departed, when she returned to her nest, spent a few days in it, and then set out on her journey. She was known throughout the whole district as “the solitary”, and her misfortune and behaviour won for her the friendly sympathy of all kind-hearted men.
And such behaviour is only the movement of a machine obedient to some external guiding force? All these expressions of a warm and living emotion which we have depicted occur without consciousness? Believe that who can, maintain it who will. We believe and maintain the opposite; the conscious happiness of the love and wedded life of birds appears to us worthy of our envy.
APES AND MONKEYS.
Sheikh Kemal el Din Demiri, a learned Arab, who died at Damascus about the year 1405, according to our reckoning, relates in his book, Heiat el Heivan; or, The Life of Animals, the following wonderful story, which is based on one of the Prophet’s utterances:—
“Long before Mohammed, the Prophet and Messenger of God the All-merciful, had kindled the light of Faith, before Issa or Jesus of Nazareth had lived and taught, the town Aila, on the Red Sea, was inhabited by a numerous population who professed the Jewish faith. But they were sinners and unrighteous in the eyes of the Lord, for they desecrated continually the sacred day of the All-merciful, the Sabbath. In vain did pious and wise men warn the sinful inhabitants of the godless city; they disregarded the command of the Almighty as before. Then those who had warned them forsook the unholy place, shook the dust off their feet, and resolved to serve Elohim elsewhere. But, after three days had passed, the longing for home and friends drove them back to Aila. There a wonderful sight met their gaze. The gates of the town were shut, but the battlements of the walls were unguarded, so that they were not hindered from climbing over them. But the streets and market-place of the unhappy town were deserted. Where formerly the restless sea of human life had surged and swelled, where buyers and sellers, priests and officials, artisans and fishermen, had mingled in a motley throng, gigantic baboons now sat and crouched, ran and climbed; and from the windows and recesses, the terraces and roofs, where dark-eyed women had tarried, she-baboons now looked down upon the streets. And all the giant monkeys and their comely mates were sad and downcast, and they gazed with troubled eyes on the returned pilgrims, pressing closely to them with complaining moans and prayerful cries. With surprise and sadness the pious pilgrims gazed upon the strange sight, until to one of them came the comfortless thought that these might be their former relatives degraded to monkeys. To make certain, the wise man went straight to his own house. In the door of it, likewise, there sat a baboon; but this one, when he saw the righteous man, cast his eyes with pain and shame to the ground. ‘Tell me, by Allah the All-merciful, O Baboon,’ said the wise man, ‘art thou my son-in-law Ibrahim?’ And sadly the baboon answered, ‘Eva, Eva’ (I am). Then all doubt vanished from the mind of the pious man, and he recognized that, by God’s heavy judgment, the impious Sabbath-breakers had been transformed into ‘monkeys’.”
Sheikh Kemal el Din does not indeed venture to call this miracle in question, but as a thinking man he cannot refrain from expressing the opinion that perhaps the baboons may have existed before there were any Jews.