LION-TALK.
THE Lion has, within the present century, lost caste, and fallen considerably from his high estate. He has been stripped of much of his conventional reputation by the spirit of inquiry into the validity of olden notions, which characterises the present age; and it appears that much of his celebrity is founded upon popular error. Nor are these results the work of stay-at-home travellers; but they are derived from the observation and experience of those who, amidst scenes of perilous adventure, seek to enlarge and correct our views of the habit and character of the overrated Lion.
Mr. Bennett, in his admirable work, "The Tower Menagerie," has these very sensible remarks:—"In speaking of the Lion we call up to our imaginations the splendid picture of might unmingled with ferocity, of courage undebased by guile, of dignity tempered by grace and ennobled by generosity. Such is the Lion of Buffon; who, in describing this animal, as in too many other instances, has suffered himself to be borne along by the strong tide of popular opinion; but, as the Lion appears in his native regions, according to the authentic accounts of those travellers and naturalists who have had the best means of correctly observing his habits, he is by no means so admirable a creature. Where the timid antelope and powerless monkey fall his easy and unresisting prey—or where the elephant and buffalo find their unwieldy bulk and strength no adequate protection against his impetuous agility—he stalks boldly to and fro in fearless majesty. But in the neighbourhood of man—even in that of uncultivated savages—he skulks in treacherous ambush for his prey. Of his forbearance and generosity it can merely be said, that when free, he destroys only what is sufficient to satiate his hunger or revenge; and when in captivity—his wants being provided for, and his feelings not irritated—he suffers smaller animals to live unmolested in his den, or submits to the control of a keeper by whom he is fed. But even this limited degree of docility is liable to fearful interruptions from the calls of hunger, the feelings of revenge—and these he frequently cherishes for a long period—with various other circumstances which render it dangerous to approach him in his most domesticated state, without ascertaining his immediate mood and temper. That an animal which seldom attacks by open force, but silently approaches his victim, and when he imagines his prey to be within his reach, bounds upon it with an overwhelming leap, should ever have been regarded as the type of courage and the emblem of magnanimity, is indeed most astonishing!"
The generosity of disposition so liberally accorded to this powerful beast has been much and eloquently praised; and it seems hard to dissipate the glowing vision which Buffon has raised; but, if there is any dependence to be placed on the observations of those travellers who have had the best opportunities of judging, and have the highest character for veracity, we must be compelled to acknowledge that Buffon's Lion is the Lion of poetry and prejudice, and very unlike the cautious lurking savage that steals on its comparatively weak prey by surprise, overwhelms it at once by the terror, the weight, and the violence of the attack, and is intent only on the gratification of the appetite. "At the time," says Mr. Burchell, "when men first adopted the Lion as the emblem of courage, it would seem that they regarded great size and strength as indicating it; but they were greatly mistaken in the character they had given of the indolent animal." Indeed, Mr. Burchell calls the Lion an "indolent skulking animal." The fact of the Lion sparing the dog that was thrown to him, and making a friend of the little animal that was destined for his prey, has been much dwelt on; but these and other such acts of mercy, as they have been called, may be very easily accounted for. If not pressed by hunger, the Lion will seldom be at the trouble of killing prey; and the desire for a companion has created much stronger friendships between animals in confinement than between a Lion and a little dog. St. Pierre touchingly describes the Lion of Versailles, who, in 1792, lived most happily with a dog, and on whose death he became disconsolate and miserable; and in confinement the "lordly Lion," as Young calls him, has been known to be deeply afflicted with melancholy at similar losses.
The Lion is easily tamed, and capable of attachment to man. The story of Androdas, frequently called Androcles, is too well known to need more than allusion; but in this and other stories of Lions licking men's hands without injuring them, there must be a stretch of fancy; for the Lion's tongue has sharp thorn-points, inclining backwards, so as not to be able to lick the hand without tearing away the skin, which any one will understand who has heard the Lion tear the raw meat away from the bone of his food.
Still, very different accounts are given by travellers of the cruelty or generosity of the Lion's nature; which results, in all probability, from a difference in time or circumstances, or the degree of hunger which the individual experienced when the respective observations were made upon him.
Meanwhile, there are many points in the history of the Lion which are yet but imperfectly understood; the explanations of which, whilst they are interesting, add to our correct knowledge of this still extraordinary animal.