‘Yes, a deaf viper. It was caught in Surrey last week. We had a field-day.’
My friend was a member of a Natural History Society, as was also the gentleman who had found the so-called ‘viper.’ His hobby being geology rather than zoology, he had been breaking and turning over fragments of rock in a sort of dell, when he had discovered the harmless little creature, which he—a scholarly man, by the way—would have immediately put to death, as a dangerous viper, had not my friend—also a learned man, though not versed in snakes—reserved it for me, and with much caution transferred it to a tin box. It was subsequently consigned to a bottle, and tightly corked until I could see it. My friend now promised me he would not put the ‘deaf viper’ to death, as his lady relatives were daily entreating him to do; and a few days afterwards, he shook out of its narrow prison on to my table—not a viper, but a feeble slow-worm, the poor little thing having had no food during those eight or ten days of captivity. No wonder, then, that the half-famished reptile grew easily reconciled to an improved home with fresh grass and moss and other luxuries, and soon learned to recognise its preserver. Soon a companion was brought for it, one freshly caught and full of health and vigour. This one was not so easily reconciled to a glass house, and only by slow degrees would it allow itself to be taken up and handled.
Another year, my saurian family increased to nine, including all the three British species, and all living amicably together in one large bell-glass. I will not trouble my readers with the nine names by which the nine lizards were known in the domestic circle. Scientifically, they were Anguis fragilis, Lacerta agilis, and Zootica vivipara; the last so called from its giving birth to live young. Anguis fragilis also produces its young alive; or, as in the case of one of my own, in a membranous case or ‘shell,’ quite entire, but easily ruptured. The specific name agilis has been applied to the larger lacertine; but a more agile, swift, and flashing little creature than Zootica vivipara can scarcely exist; so that the true names of these three species of lizard are not, after all, so truly descriptive. Zootica is much smaller, and must have acquired its astonishing celerity protectively, the wee animal having no other safeguard than in flight. And its suppleness equals its activity. Caught and held in the closed hand so tightly that one almost feared to crush it, it would nevertheless turn itself round, or rather double itself completely back and escape the other way, where no outlet seemed possible; or between the fingers, where you least expected. It is extremely restless and timid, and less easily tamed than lacerta. One of my zooticas had a peculiar dread of being handled, and was so ever on the alert, watching my slightest approach, and looking up sideways out of one eye, and with its head on one side in such a bird-like manner, that it acquired the name of ‘Birdie.’ Birdie seemed guided by intellect more than any of the family; and the devices she practised in order to escape me, when she anticipated my intentions to get hold of her, were truly intelligent. She vanished somewhere, but presently you caught sight of one bright eye peeping up from the depths of the moss, as if saying: ‘Ah, I know what you’re up to!’ Perhaps I did try to circumvent Birdie somewhat heartlessly, just to observe her manœuvres. She would peep at me and watch me through the glass, when I was sitting far away and had no intention of going near; but at last she learned to stay in my open hand, and I sometimes suspected there was as much play as fear in her hiding.
The lizards were also thirsty little creatures, and eagerly refreshed their tongues by lapping the wet moss, until they learned to lap out of a saucer. The male lacerta is of a handsome iridescent green, pale and delicate on the throat and belly, and a rich dark colour on the back. Lacerta is easily tamed. It soon learns to settle itself comfortably in a warm hand, and is quite appreciative of caresses in the form of a gentle stroking with the finger. In intelligence, both species certainly rank above Anguis fragilis; they more easily recognise the voice and the owner of the voice, looking up when addressed in the peculiar tone which was reserved for lizard training.
A large and handsome female lacerta that lived in a smaller glass by itself, escaped one day, and fell out of the window near which it was placed. It must have sustained some internal injury, and had, no doubt, suffered from cold and terror during the two days and nights it was lost, until found on a neighbour’s balcony. I had reason to suspect she would soon deposit eggs, but she grew gradually thin and feeble, refusing food, and was evidently suffering, though showing no outward appearance of injury. It exhibited a strong desire to climb against the side of its cage, or whatever upright surface it was near, and remain in a perpendicular position; or if it could find no such leaning-place, it threw up its head and thus held it, as if to relieve itself of some pain. Then, more and more it kept its eyes closed, or opened them only to seek some object against which it could rest in that perpendicular position. As winter approached, I allowed the little sufferer to lie on a table near the fire, and covered it over for warmth; but it never remained contented on the level. Though its eyes were usually closed, whenever I spoke to it in the peculiar tone with which it was familiar, it invariably opened them and came towards me. If it could not reach me, it would even jump from the table to my lap in order to gain its favourite perpendicular position on my dress, where it remained quiet until removed. It grew more and more feeble, until one could scarcely detect life in it, except in the effort to open its eyes and try to approach when I spoke to it, and this to the very last.
These little lizards are easily procured; and I trust the perusal of these memoirs may induce some kind and patient individual to try them as pets, when it will be found that their sense of hearing and intelligence is in no way exaggerated.
Lizards cast their skins at uncertain intervals during the summer, being greatly influenced by temperature. One very warm season, when they were much in the sunshine, mine changed their dress on an average once in three weeks. Some of the sloughs came off entire, even to the tips of the tiny, delicate fingers, like a perfect glove. Sometimes they were shed in fragments. The head shields are not regularly renewed with the skin, which was always reversed. Anguis fragilis on one occasion cast its skin entire and unreversed, a very unusual occurrence. All begin at the mouth, as snakes do; and you will see when the process is about to commence by the little creatures rubbing their mouths and their heads against whatever they are near, the loosening cuticle no doubt causing irritation. To watch the process is exceedingly interesting, especially when the lacertines free their limbs of the old garment, shaking off and dragging themselves out of it as you get off a tight sleeve.
A word about the voice of lizards, on which so much has been written. That these do utter a sound is certain; but it is very feeble; though, perhaps, in comparison with their size, not more feeble than the hiss of a snake. And only when much disturbed and annoyed do they ejaculate even this little sound, which is as if you half pronounced and whispered the letter t or th. Sometimes it resembles ts, only audible when quiet prevails. Both the lizards and the slow-worms expressed their displeasure by this same little expulsion of breath, scarcely to be called a hiss. But once when a slow-worm fell from a high stand to the floor, there was a singular sort of loud chirp or chuckle, as if the breath were forced suddenly from the lungs by the fall. It was wholly unlike its regular ‘voice,’ and was so remarkable, that if it had not been ejaculated simultaneously with the ‘flop’ on the carpet that announced ‘Lizzie’s’ fall, I might have thought a young bird or a frog was in the room. The slow-worms often got out of their cage and fell to the floor, seeming to be none the worse; but only on this one occasion did I hear the breath escape so audibly.
Recommending them as pets, it is important to say that they all like a change of diet; and herein lies the chief difficulty of keeping them, except to those who have gardens or who live in the country. Anguis fragilis will content itself for a long period on worms, but these must be fresh; and it enjoys a slug or a small smooth caterpillar for a change. But the lizards are more fastidious, as is perhaps natural; for in their wild state they catch such insects as are in season, and have a choice of these. In the suburbs of London, I found them glad of such varieties as could be procured from the shrubs in a garden, or by digging; and small worms, caterpillars, spiders, or insects were in turn eagerly pounced upon. ‘Birdie’ was particularly quick in detecting a rarity and in being first to seize it. Flies are liked by the lizards, but not by the slow-worms, the latter preferring less dry food. Centipedes were rejected by common consent.
The difficulty of meeting the dietetic requirements of certain pets reminds me of another pair of lizards that in turn inhabited the bell-glass. These were brought from Brazil, and introduced to me by the name of Taraquira Smith. An i or two should perhaps terminate and dignify the latter name, to commemorate the particular Smith who bestowed it on Taraquira; but Smith is simple and practical; and the Taraquira Smiths was the name of my two little Brazilian lizards. The smaller one measured about eight inches from the snout to the tip of his slender tail; the larger one was ten or more inches in length. They are, however, less agreeable to handle than the previous pets, their tails being armed with very finely-pointed sharp scales in whorls. The lizards seem to know how to use this long tail protectively, having acquired a habit of retrogression, and when held, of backing out of the hand, as if with the intention of pricking or inconveniencing you with these sharp spines, which are thus converted into weapons of defence. When persistently held or detained, the pricking effect caused by this backward motion is by no means agreeable. For food, they were provided with a supply of a peculiar kind of cockroach, which infested the reptile house at the Zoological Gardens of London, near which I happened to reside; but my two little foreigners persistently declined them and any other equally tempting food. Indeed, the poor little Smiths were in such a feeble condition from exposure to cold during their transfer from the ship to their glass home, that the smaller one soon died. On the voyage, they had been kept in a warm temperature; and at the Reptilium they have been preserved by artificial heat. It was December when mine arrived, and though in the daytime they could be made comfortable near the fire, during the night a regular heat could not be maintained; notwithstanding, at the risk of suffocating them, warm woollen wraps were folded round and over the glass, to keep the frosty air from them.