We no longer doubt the dictum of the poet, who sings, “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast”; and, therefore, it is not so much in corroboration of his assertion, as in illustration of a fact so interesting and pleasing in itself, that we are about to bring to the notice of the reader some few instances of animal love of music which are too well authenticated to admit of a doubt, and some of which are the records of our personal observation and experience.
Mozart and His Pigeon.
One of the German biographers of Mozart makes mention of a tame pigeon, which was the companion and pet of that extraordinary genius when a child. The bird, when at liberty, would never leave the side of the young composer while he was playing any instrument, and had to be caught and confined in his cage to prevent him from following his little favorite from room to room.
Whenever the boy came into the presence of the pigeon, the latter manifested the utmost uneasiness until he began to play; if the door of the cage were opened, the bird would fly to the violin and peck at the strings, or to the harpsichord and jump and flutter on the keys, and would not be pacified until the child sat down to play, when it would perch quietly on his shoulder, and sit there for hours almost without moving a feather.
Cats have a species of undelightful music of their own, performed, as we all know, at unseasonable hours on the leads, house-tiles, and garden-walls of our dwellings. Puss’s performances are generally too chromatic for ears not feline, and we humans are given to disconcert their concertos with a shower from the water-jug, or anything else that comes to hand, when their untimely carols rouse us from our sleep.
In revenge, puss is generally as indifferent to the sublimest strains of the human voice or cunningly played instrument as any post can possibly be, and prefers the untuneful scream of the cat’s-meat man to the noblest compositions of Beethoven.
Cats Have Musical Ears.
Still, as if nature was determined to assert the triumph of harmony over every living thing, now and then a cat turns up who has a genuine musical ear, and will manifest unequivocal satisfaction and delight at harmonious combinations of sound.
We once owned a cat who would listen complacently to music by the hour together, always accompanying it with a gentle purring—who would leave her hunting-ground in garden or cellar whenever music was going on in parlor or drawing-room—who would scratch at the door, and croon and mew to be let in, and would resent a prolonged exclusion by certain expressive displays of disapprobation. When admitted, she would leap on the piano, and attempt, after the New Zealand fashion of expressing regard, to rub noses with the performer.
An old friend of ours reports another instance, which is perhaps still more remarkable. He was in the habit, most evenings in the week, of spending an hour or two at the piano after the studious labors of the day.