From six to eight eggs, of a greenish white, the female lays, and the incubation lasts about six weeks. The cygnets are at first covered with a grey down, and do not put on their adult plumage until the third year. Swans care but little for concealing their broods, as they feel confident of their power to protect them against every enemy. They will fight even with the Eagle itself, harassing it with beak and wings, until the marauder is glad to make a more or less honourable retreat.
In the protection of their young they display extraordinary courage. On one occasion a female Swan was sitting on the bank of a river, when she perceived a fox swimming towards her from the opposite bank. Thinking that she would be better able to defend herself in her natural element, she took to the water and went to meet the enemy which was threatening her brood. She soon reached him, and, springing upon him with much fury, gave him such a violent blow with her wing that the fox was disabled, and consequently drowned.
The male Swan is equally with the female attentive to the young brood, and watches them with a rare devotion. He carries them about on his back, takes them under his wings to warm them, and never abandons them while they are still young. It is a beautiful sight to see him gliding over the water at the head of his young flock, looking far ahead with an inquisitive eye, and prepared to sweep away any opposing obstacle; whilst the mother keeps some distance behind, ready to protect the rear. How much, too, are they to be admired as they sail majestically over the surface of some solitary lake! If you hide yourself behind the thick reeds so that they have no suspicion of your presence, you may see these noble birds bending their necks into the most graceful curves, plunging their heads into the water, catching it up in their bills, and scattering it behind them, the drops falling round their bodies in glittering rain; or when, beating the water with powerful wing, stirring up a foamy wave, you may behold them all on a sudden, they will briskly spring up and glide majestically over the surface of the water, cleaving it before them with their graceful bodies as the ploughman opens a furrow in the ground with his ploughshare.
Sometimes, however, these elegant birds engage in terrible combats with one another, which often lead to the death of one of the contestants. The Domestic Swan, a more civilised and well-informed bird, does not push matters quite so far; but Wild Swans, which live in the regions of the North—in the lakes of Iceland and Lapland—hold sanguinary tournaments in honour of their fair ones. A combat between two Swans is a duel to the death, in which both adversaries display not only unequalled strength and fury, but also considerable skill and perseverance. The strife will sometimes last several days, and does not terminate until one of the foes has succeeded in twisting his neck round that of his enemy, and has been able to hold him down under water long enough to drown him.
But let us turn from this warlike spectacle and admire the Swan at the moment when, impelled by the stimulus of love, it displays all the graces with which nature has endowed it. Their long and supple necks entwine with one another like garlands of snow, their plumage swells up with gentle undulations, and they display all the splendour of their beauty.
The Swan is certainly conscious of its good looks and grace, for it is constantly busying itself either in cleansing or polishing its feathers. Besides, it unites the useful and the ornamental, by extirpating the weeds which stagnate at the bottom, and by thus transforming what would be a nasty pool into a clear sheet of water.
These birds do not afford good sport with the gun, being unapproachable. In Iceland and Kamtschatka, Swan-hunting takes place during the season of moulting, because the birds are then unable to fly. Dogs trained to this sport chase and run them down; the birds, being soon worn out with fatigue, are easily killed with sticks.
The Russians have another mode of killing Swans. When the snows melt, they allure them by means of stuffed Geese and Ducks. The Swans dart furiously on these decoys. The sportsmen, hidden in a hut constructed of branches of trees and heaps of snow, at short range easily shoot them.
The flesh of the Swan is very indifferent in flavour. Our fore-fathers ate it, but merely from ostentation, for it was only served up on the tables of the greatest nobles. At the present day, the city of Norwich has a preserve for Swans, which are only eaten at the municipal feasts, or sent as presents to distinguished individuals. In these cases, the birds being young and tenderly fed, are by no means, if properly cooked, a dish to be despised. The inhabitants of the frozen regions of the extreme north, even with their imperfect system of cuisine, do not entirely disdain it; but the cause for this is apparently something analogous to the philosophical saying, "as there are no thrushes, we eat blackbirds."
