The notion that in death the soul leaves the body in the form of a bird is old and very general. Medieval biographies of Christian saints and martyrs abound in instances, as, for example, the story of Saint Devoté, found in a boat near Monaco at the moment of her expiring, with a dove issuing from her lips.[[67]] The Paris Figaro, in October, 1872, describing the ceremonies at the death of a gipsy in that city, mentioned that a bird was held close to the mouth of the dying girl, ready to receive her expired soul. This is not an illogical idea, if the conception of a person’s soul as a distinct entity is conceded; for if it is to fly away to Paradise it must have something in the nature of wings, and a bird, or the semblance of a real bird, is inevitably suggested, the wings of a bat being too repulsive—reserved, in fact, for representations of Satan and his emissaries. Angels and genii have always been provided by prophets, romancers, and artists with swanlike wings, springing from behind their shoulders, reckless of comparative anatomy—otherwise how could these “heavier-than-air” beings accomplish their travelling?
I have said that the theory that the disengaged soul departs to heaven in the form of or by aid of a bird is historically very old. Probably, indeed, it is of prehistoric antiquity, for various savage peoples have arrived at the same doctrine, based on an obvious philosophy. For example: Powers[[19]] tells us that the Keltas of southern California believe that when one of the tribe dies a little bird flies away with his soul. “If he was a bad Indian a hawk will catch the bird and eat it up, body, feathers and all; but if he was a good Indian the soul-bird will reach the spirit-land.”
In Christian iconography the eagle is the emblem of the evangelist St. John, an assignment originating, it is said, in Jerome’s interpretation of the amazing visions of the four “beasts” as recorded in Ezekiel i:5, and somewhat less fantastically in Revelations iv:7. Wherever in sculpture, painting, or stained glass St. John appears he may be recognized by his eagle; and sometimes the bird is rather more conspicuous than the saint, as when it is bearing him aloft on its back, both gazing, open-eyed and resolute, at the sun, as the eagle is fabled to be able to do. This association also accounts for the practice of carving the support of the reading-desk in both Catholic and Anglican churches in the form of an eagle with outstretched wings. At the beginning, we are told, figures of all four evangelists upheld the lectern; but one by one the others disappeared before the demands of artistic grace until at last John, “the beloved disciple,” alone remained, and presently he came to be represented only by his emblem. “Medieval writers,” remarks B. L. Gales, in an article in The National Review (1808), “delight in all sorts of wild and wonderful tales about his,” that is, the eagle’s “renewing his youth by gazing at the sun or plunging into a clear stream, and allegorize at length on the Waters of Baptism and the true Sun—Jesus Christ.” This, of course, is simply a comparatively modern illustration of the very ancient myth that when the sun set in the western ocean, yet arose bright and hot next morning, it had rejuvenated itself by its bath as it passed from west to east underneath the world.
In the East, where the sport of falconry originated, and where the Mongols trained and employed, and still do, eagles as well as hawks, the falcon has acquired much interesting symbolism, especially in Japan, as appears in many exquisite drawings by early artists; and often these can be fully understood and enjoyed by us of the West only when the subtle meaning involved in the picture is interpreted to us, or we learn the tradition to which it refers. For example, in Hokusai’s drawing San Puku (The Three Lucky Things) the mountain symbolizes the beauty of nature, the falcon the delights of the chase, and the eggplant the wisdom of frugality and of the simplicity of life. This undaunted bird (taka, the heroic one) is to the Japanese the symbol of victory; and the Medal of Victory, which the government confers upon distinguished warriors has emblazoned upon it a golden falcon, in commemoration of the coming to Japan of its mythical ancestor, Jimmu Tenno; for it is related that as he set foot up on the Island’s shore, a falcon flew toward him and lit on his bow, an incident which has ever been regarded as prophetic of the success of his undertaking.
Little can be added in this connection concerning the birds of prey. In ancient Egypt the vulture represented Nekht, the tutelary deity of the South, who appeared to men in that form; and the protection she accorded to the queens of Egypt was indicated by the vulture-headdress worn by these ladies at least during the Empire. The kite, too, is connected with early Egyptian history, according to a tradition, preserved by Diodorus Siculus, that the book of religious laws and customs was originally brought to Thebes by a kite; wherefore the sacred scribes wore a red cap with a kite’s feather in it.
The cock in Christian religious art is to be interpreted as an emblem of vigilance—also as an image of preachers, in which may be a touch of humor. “When introduced near the figure of St. Peter,” says one authority, “it expresses repentance; in this connection it is one of the emblems of the Passion.” The placing of the image of a cock on church towers is said to be an allusion to Peter as the head of the Church on earth, and as representing the voice of the Church, which by day and in the watches of the night calls on men to repent. Another tradition is that some early pope ordered that the weathervane on churches be in that form in order to remind the clergy of the necessity of watchfulness—a second reference to Mark, iii, 35.
Ragozin tells us that in the Vendida, the “Bible” of the ancient Medes, great credit is given to the cock as the messenger who calls men to the performance of their religious duties: “Arise, O men! Whichever first gets up shall enter paradise!” A Hebrew legendary saying is that when a cock crows before dawn it warns: “Remember thy Creator, O thoughtless man!” Finally Drayton sings of—
The cock, the country horologe that rings
The cheerful warning to the sun’s awake.
Nowadays, if chanticleer calls to mind anything in particular, except wrath at his too early rising to adore the god of day, it is the spirit of boastfulness and “cocksureness”; while his humble mate represents maternal cares carried to the extreme of fussiness.