“It is surprising that so small a bird, which weighs only half an ounce, should have such force in the vocal organs. Mr. Hunter has observed that the muscles of the larynx, or gullet, are stronger in proportion, in this species, than in any other, and also stronger in the male which sings, than in the female which does not sing.
“Aristotle, and Pliny after him, say, that the song of the nightingale lasts in all its strength for fifteen days and fifteen nights uninterruptedly, at the time that the trees are putting forth their leaves; this can refer only to wild nightingales, and must not be taken literally; for these birds are not silent either before or after the period fixed by Aristotle. It is true they do not continue to sing with so much ardour and constancy. They generally begin in the month of April, and do not completely end till the month of June, about the time of the solstice; but the time when their song diminishes most, is when the young are hatched, because they are then occupied in feeding them, and in the order of instincts, that which tends to the preservation of the species is pre-eminent. Captive nightingales continue to sing for nine or ten months, and their song is sustained not only for a longer time, but it is more perfect and studied. Hence Mr. Barington infers, that in this species, and in many others, the male does not sing to amuse the female, and enliven her fatigue when sitting; which appears a very just and probable inference. Indeed, the female when she sits performs her office from an instinct, or rather a passion, stronger in her than even the passion of love; she finds in it an internal satisfaction of which we can form no idea, but which she appears to feel sensibly, and we cannot therefore suppose that at such moments she is in any want of consolation. Since then it is neither from duty nor virtue that the female sits, neither is it on that account that the male sings: indeed he does not sing during the second incubation. It is love, and especially the first season of love, which inspires the song of the bird; it is in spring that they experience the want both to love and to sing; it is the males which have most desire, and it is they who sing the most. They continue to sing during the greater part of the year if we preserve around them a perpetual spring, which incessantly renews their ardour, without affording an occasion for extinguishing it; this happens to caged nightingales, and even, as it has been already mentioned, to those which have been taken full grown. Some have been known to begin to sing with all their strength a few hours after being caught. They must, however, have been insensible of their loss of liberty at first. They would starve the first seven or eight days if they were not fed, and would injure their heads against the top of the cage if their wings were not tied; but at last the passion for singing prevails, because it is produced by a still deeper passion.
“The songs of other birds, the sounds of instruments, the tones of a sweet sonorous voice, excite them much. They run, they approach, attracted by the sweet sounds; but duets attract them still more powerfully, which would seem to prove that they are sensible to the effects of harmony. They do not continue silent auditors, they join the performance, and use all their efforts to eclipse their rivals, to surpass all the other voices, and even all other sounds. It is said that they have been known to drop down dead at the feet of a person singing. Another has been seen fluttering, swelling his throat, and uttering an angry warble every time a canary which was near him, began to sing; he succeeded by his threats in imposing silence, so true is it, that superiority is not always free from jealousy. Can it be in consequence of the passion for pre-eminence, that these birds are so careful to seize every advantage, and that they prefer singing in a place favourable to sound, or within reach of an echo?
“All nightingales do not sing equally well. Some are so very inferior as not to be worth keeping. It has even been thought that the song of the nightingale is different in different countries. In England, those who are curious respecting these birds, prefer, it is said, those of the county of Surrey, to those of Middlesex; as they prefer the greenfinch of Essex, and the goldfinch of Kent. This diversity of song among birds of the same species has very rationally been compared to the different dialects of the same language. The true causes can hardly be assigned, as they are for the most part accidental. A nightingale may perhaps have heard other singing birds, or emulation may have caused him to perfect his song, which he thus transmits improved to his descendants, for every father is the singing master of his family; and it is easy to perceive that in succeeding generations the song may be still further improved or modified by similar accidents.
“After the month of June, the nightingale sings no more, and he retains only a hoarse cry, a sort of croaking, by which the melodious Philomel cannot be recognised, and it is not surprising that formerly, in Italy, they gave him a different name under these circumstances. He is indeed another bird, a bird altogether different in respect of voice, and even, in a great degree, in respect of the colour of his plumage.
“Among nightingales, as well as other species, some females are found participating in the constitution of the male, his habits, and especially in his musical powers. I have seen, in confinement, one of these female singers. Her warble resembled that of the male, but was neither so strong nor so varied. She preserved it till spring; but then subduing the exercise of her talent to the natural duties of her sex, she became silent, in order to build her nest, and to lay, though she was solitary. It appears that, in warm countries, such as Greece, it is very common to see these female singers, and respecting this species and many others we may draw the same inference from a passage of Aristotle. One would hardly imagine that so varied a song as that of the nightingale is confined within a single octave; this is, however, the result of the attentive observations of a man of taste (M. le docteur Remond). He remarked, indeed, some sharp tones which formed the double octave, and which were emitted like lightning; but this happens rarely, and when the bird by a powerful effort of the gullet raises his voice to the octave.
“The same observer discovered shakes on the third, fourth, and octave, but always from sharp to flat; cadences, generally in the minor, on almost every note; but no arpeggios, no coherent design.”
Independent of these talents, the nightingale possesses a quality very likely to augment the number of his friends; he is capable, after some time, of forming attachments. When once he has made acquaintance with the person who takes care of him, he distinguishes his step before seeing him; he welcomes him by a cry of joy; and, during the moulting season, he is seen making vain efforts to sing, and supplying by the gaiety of his movements, and the expression of his looks, the demonstrations of joy which his throat refuses to utter. When he loses his benefactor, he sometimes pines to death; if he survives it is long before he is accustomed to another[83]. His attachments are long, because they are not hasty, as is the case with all wild and timid dispositions.
