THE COMPETITORS AND JUDGES IN POSITION.
From a Photograph.
A few men and boys were already opening their boxes, and tenderly lifting out strong little wooden cages with double wire fronts, designed to withstand the attacks of that relentless foe to bird life—the domestic cat. Meanwhile numbers had been chalked on to the wall along the side of the road with the object of showing each competitor his place, and one by one the owners of the feathered songsters took up their positions, until I counted fifty-six competitors seated by the roadside, waiting for the signal to begin the contest. Some of these men had walked as far as twenty miles, and, having placed their boxes three yards apart, sat down with evident relief.
A JUDGE AT WORK—EACH MAN SCORES FOR SOMEONE ELSE’S BIRD, AND STEWARDS KEEP A CHECK UPON THEM TO INSURE FAIR PLAY.
From a Photograph.
During the interval of waiting I gathered from several communicative candidates that it is necessary to blind the little birds in these “concours,” as they would stop singing immediately they found themselves to be under observation. The eye itself is not injured, however, the closed eyelids being merely glued together, so to speak, by means of a slight touch with a hot iron. Needless to say, this operation must be performed by an experienced hand, otherwise part of the lid may be left open, in which case the front of the cage must be covered, or the shy little occupant will not sing. One is relieved to know that it is quite possible to restore the bird’s sight by separating the closed lids.
As the Belgian law does not permit such cruelty to be openly practised in the country, the birds are imported—or, to be more accurate, are supposed to be imported—from France. Even the catching of birds for the purpose of employing them in these curious contests is looked upon as illegal in Belgium, but laws of this kind are more easily made than enforced. Probably the Government thinks that by keeping this pastime under a control which appears to be severe it is doing its duty, and with this object in view it demands that each owner shall carry on his person a certificate containing the following words:—
“The undersigned, burgomaster of the town of ——, hereby declares that Mr. ——, of such a trade, living at ——, is the owner of blind chaffinches, with which he travels, and that he does not practise the trade of bird-selling.” For this guarantee a fee of a hundred francs is charged, it being necessary to obtain a new signature from the authorities every fortnight.
The success or failure of a bird entered in a contest depends upon the number of perfect “trills” made by the little competitor in a certain time—usually an hour. The best result my informant had ever known at a “concours” was one thousand and nineteen trills in the hour, and after setting up this record the bird readily sold for a hundred and twenty francs. As money prizes are invariably offered, these feathered songsters are often sources of profit as well as sport to their owners, a good chaffinch easily adding a hundred francs to the family exchequer.
But now let me relate how these competitions are managed and carried on. I doubt whether any of my readers have ever witnessed such a scene as I am about to describe, and a brief sketch of what came to pass in that out-of-the-way spot can hardly fail to interest those who enjoy a glimpse of peculiar, old-world practices.