X.

ANIMALS AT SCHOOL.

A good deal of time is devoted, especially of late years, to the education of animals and birds. The simplest form of training is that which adapts them to our service, and teaches them to recognize and obey the different words of command.

Sir Miles Fleetwood would have been poorly off indeed if his horse had not understood the meaning of whoa! and had the discretion to obey it. A London magistrate under JamesI., he was, according to Aubrey, “a severe hanger of highwaymen, and the fraternity were for revenge.” They caught him riding alone one night, set him on horseback beneath the gallows, with his hands tied behind him, fastened one end of a rope to the gallows’ arm, the other being noosed around his neck, then left him to his fate.

“So he cried ‘Ho, Ball! Ho, Ball!’ and it pleased God that his horse stood still until somebody came along, which was a quarter of an hour or more. He ordered that this horse should be kept as long as he should live, which was so; he lived till 1646.”

The history of animals abounds in examples of their intelligence and docility; and probably no one who has a favorite animal has failed to notice some such instance for himself.

LOVE LEADING THE ORCHESTRA.(After painting by A. Gill.)

LOVE LEADING THE ORCHESTRA.

(After painting by A. Gill.)

The idea of teaching animals to perform tricks is certainly a very old one. The trained horses, dogs and elephants of our modern circus had their predecessors more than two thousand years ago, in Roman amphitheaters.

We learn from historians that, when Tiberius was emperor, his kinsman Germanicus exhibited a play in which the actors were elephants. They were dressed in regular garments, danced, performed various tricks, and finally, at a given signal, seated themselves around a table on couches spread with velvet, and concluded the performance by eating and drinking with perfect propriety. A modern artist has amusingly represented this ancient bit of comedy.

Plutarch mentions a trained dog which was exhibited before Vespasian, in the theater of Marcellus, and which won great applause from that jolly emperor.

THE ELEPHANTS OF GERMANICUS.

Coming down to the middle of the seventeenth century, we have a print of “The Cat Showman” surrounded by a cat orchestra in a state of high performance; we have alsothe famous “chestain-coloured naig,” Morocco, which was exhibited in Scotland; and which “being trained up in dancing, and other conceits of that kind, did afford much sport and contentment to the people, but not without gain, for none was admitted to see the dancing without two pence the piece, and some more.” His master Banks, to borrow Anderson’s entertaining account, would ask—

“from twenty or thirty of the spectators a piece of gold or silver, put all in a purse, and shuffle them together; thereafter he would bid the horse give every gentleman his own piece of money again. He would cause him to tell by so many pats with his foot, how many shillings the piece of money was worth. He would say to him: ‘I will sell you to a carter’; then he would seem to die. Then he would say, ‘Morocco, a gentleman has borrowed you, and you must ride with a lady of court.’ Then would he most daintily hackney, amble, and ride a pace, and trot.... By a sign given him, he would back for the King of Scots, and for Queen Elizabeth, and when ye spoke of the King of Spain, would both bite and strike at you—and many other wonderful things. I was a spectator myself in those days.”

THE CAT SHOWMAN.(Fac-simile of a print of theseventeenth century.)

THE CAT SHOWMAN.

(Fac-simile of a print of theseventeenth century.)

The mule Marco, whose tricksy, sagacious countenance confronts us in the photograph along with that of his master, Pinta, was the delight of little Florentines and Romans, not to mention their elders. His tricks were the ordinary ones, but whatever he didwas rendered original by the indescribable air of humorous intention with which it was performed. He had always the air of voluntarily combining with his friend Pinta to play a practical joke upon the spectators; and it was impossible not to enjoy the situation, when after some particularly knowing performance, Marco would slightly turn his head over his shoulder, and glance at the audience out of the tail of his eye, as if to say: “You are great fools to be taken in with so little; I could do bigger things if I cared to try.”

PINTA AND HIS MULE MARCO.

The poor shoemaker, Bisset, a contemporary of Sir Walter Scott, succeeded after a year and a half of patient effort, in teaching his pig to perform a number of tricks. Not only would it answer to his name, obey signals, kneel down, stand erect on its hind legs, and bow, but it would pick out certain letters with its foot, and form them into words. Still “curiouser and curiouser,” to quote Miss Alice, it would add up a column of figures, and put the correct sum total below. So wonderful were its feats, that both master and pig came near being killed by an excited audience, as the possessors of unholy wisdom.

The education of dogs is in itself a profession, and has opened multifarious employments to those intelligent creatures. The collie will convoy a flock of sheep to pasture, guard them all day, drive them into shelter if storms arise, and guide them home to the fold at night. The dogs of the St. Bernard hospice have been devoted for centuries to the task of saving life amid Alpine wastes; and they perform this duty with a patience, zeal and sagacity that no human being could surpass. Old Barry saved forty-two persons—a record unequaled in any records.

There are firemen’s dogs, who in most cases volunteer for the service, apparently from pure adventurousness, but have often saved life and property in the way of their profession. Not least among deeds of daring was that splendid rush of “Bob, the London Fireman’s Dog” into a blazing building, whence he brought out alive a poor cat!

HELP, THE RAILWAY DOG OF ENGLAND.

Help, a collie, has been trained to collect money; is an accredited agent, in fact, for the “Society of Railway Servants.” “I am Help,” says the inscription on his collar, “the railway dog of England, and traveling agent for the orphans of railway men who are killed on duty. My office is at 306, City Road, London, where subscriptions will be thankfully received.” In three years this dog collected five hundred pounds. One can hardly resist the mute,dignified appeal with which this noble collie approaches you, looks up gravely into your face, then after waiting long enough for you to inspect his credentials, and contribute if you like, passes on to another.

Some dogs, like that of Allan Pinkerton, show an aptitude for detective business, and become valuable auxiliaries; others, in the service of dishonest owners, become smugglers. Immense ingenuity has been expended in training them for the latter business, with results highly satisfactory to their owners, “Le Diable”—so named by French custom-officers, from his cleverness and daring—in this way made his master a rich man, and—guiltless outlaw that he was—was killed at last while smuggling a packet of costly lace.

A more honorable outlet for canine activity has been found in the Prussian army, where a “Watch-Dog Battalion” is formed. Its members—usually collies—are trained to carry dispatches, hunt up stragglers on a march, look for the wounded, and do outpost duty; all of which they do so well that no soldier could possibly do better.

But it has been reserved for the present decade, and for Sir John Lubbock, to train a dog to converse. He says that he was struck first by the applicability to animals of the deaf-mute system (as used by Dr. Howe with Laura Bridgman), and began to test it on his black poodle Van. After preparing a number of cards, printed in large clear letters, with such words as “water,” “tea,” “bone,” “food,” “out,” etc., he by degrees associated them in the dog’s mind with the objects they represented, and in a few weeks succeeded in teaching Van their meaning. When the little fellow wished to go out, he would bring the card with that word, if food, then that card, and so on; selecting the desired card from anumber of others with evident discrimination, and greatly pleased with his own success.

Lately too, Prof. Bonnetty and his troupe of feline actors have come to the fore in Paris, where they have aroused immense enthusiasm. The professor takes his cats at random from gutters, streets or roofs, as chance may have it, and for about three months leaves them at perfect liberty in a large room, quietly observing their dispositions and manners. At the end of this time he begins to train them—in no case compelling them by fear. Their education usually requires a year and a half.

PROF. BONNETTY’S TROUPE.

Master and pupils are on the best possible terms with each other. Their “hours in school” are short, their quarters exquisitely tidy, and their food—of milk, bread and liver—invariably the best and freshest of its kind.

They are really cats of high culture; the best proof whereof is the simplicity and ease with which they do difficult things. No circus-rider ever jumped through hoops, walked ropes, climbed poles or waltzed over chairs, with greater agility. They sheathetheir claws to live and play in amity with birds and mice. They are “cats with a conscience,” as the professor says, and their helpless, confiding little associates have no more fear of them than of one another.

Juno, Sjenni, Maor, Tommek, Blanc, Cæsar, Brutus, Paris, Bruxelles, Henderik, Swart and Gora were the members of the troupe some years past—together with Boulanger, a tiger-marked kitten who displayed “little fear and a great thirst for fame,” and Tyber, the star-actor. The latter was a wonderful performer, evincing a fine intellect, and, says De Biez, would certainly have been a god in Egypt!

A parallel may be found for these clever French felines in the Brighton cats of England. They are more discriminatingly chosen than Prof. Bonnetty’s actors; but their performances, although different in some respects, are no more wonderful. One of them, a white Angora, rides a bicycle with much grace. When fairly started she becomes enthusiastic, and urges her two-wheeler rapidly along, with an evident enjoyment that the by-standers find contagious. The tabbies do housework to perfection, scrub little handkerchiefs or towels in a tub, hang up the washing, preside over the roast beef of Old England, or the tea things, skate on rollers, and all with such blithe content and spirit, that they seem like little witches masquerading in fur.

THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY.FIVE O’CLOCK TEA.A FAVORITE DIVERSION.“A SPIN.”(The Brighton Cats.)

THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY.

FIVE O’CLOCK TEA.

A FAVORITE DIVERSION.

“A SPIN.”

(The Brighton Cats.)

One of the most notable efforts at educating Pussy has been made recently by a Russian, Prince Krapotkine. This gentleman’s revolutionary sentiments landed him one day in a prison, where he had plenty of leisure to educate anything he could find. The anything in this case proved to be the prison cat. His fellow-prisoner, M. Emile Gautier, being already educated, was a disinterested observer of the experiment. He reports among otherthings, that Pussy became very expert at the game of hide-and-seek. He adds:

“I ought to tell you, besides, that Nature has ornamented my head with a luxurious mass of hair. Krapotkine, on the other hand, is extremely bald.... It has often happened when playing with her, that she softly passed her paw over our respective heads, as if to ascertain that her eyes did not deceive her. This inspection concluded, and the visual notions confirmed by touch, her physiognomy took the air of comic surprise. The variety of sensations perplexed her. Nearly every evening the scene was gone through, to our great edification, as you may imagine.”

A CAT WITH A CONSCIENCE.(One of Prof. Bonnetty’s Troupe.)

A CAT WITH A CONSCIENCE.

(One of Prof. Bonnetty’s Troupe.)

The birds which act with these different troupes have been comparatively unimportant, except in connection with their feline companions. Nevertheless, birds, too, can be trained, and are. There is a charming pathetic story of a little Sardinian, Francesco Micheli, who turned his liking for birds to account in earning money for his family. He trained sparrows, thrushes, linnets, canaries—whatever feathered creature came within his reach. Some he taught to pipe simple tunes, others to play hide-and-seek with his white Angora cat; a nest of young partridges, under his teaching, embraced the military profession, learned to drill, hold little swords, fire off little cannon, pretend to be killed, and then come to life again. One of these intelligent partridges, Rosolotta, grieved with a human grief when her dear master died, and is said—like “Greyfriars’ Bobby”—to have watched over his grave so long as she lived.

“TELL ME THY SECRET, BEPPO.”(The Roman Bird Girl.)

“TELL ME THY SECRET, BEPPO.”

(The Roman Bird Girl.)

I was reminded of this little Sardinian and his pets by a scene I witnessed one morning in Rome. A crowd of people had gathered near the broad base of the Antonine column, watching the performance of four pigeons and three canaries. The little maid with the pigeons was charming—and so were they—as she bid them tell her their secrets, and in response they fluttered up her shoulders, and cooed into her ear. But the true interest of the entertainment—its dramatic part—began with the canaries. The little actors were sitting in a row on top of their cage, demurely waiting for orders. Their mistress talked to them meanwhile, now praising their talents, now admiring their beauty, they following each motion of her lips with keen, inquisitive glances.

“Thou, Beppo, art a bird of great character,un gran carattere! Really, thou art wonderful! Zirlo, my fine fellow” (to the second), “what a bird art thou! Who like thee can climb thescaletta(little ladder)! No one, in truth, and they are baseladronithat deny thy merits; eh Pippa?” (to the third). “Dost thou hear?Bellissima!One, two, three, come then, my Pippa, kiss me.” She extended a finger. Pippa transferred herself to it from the perch, and climbing the arm to her face, gave a fluttering little salute first to one cheek, then to the other. After which, hopping back to the finger, she made a droll little bow, and returned to the perch.

Then it was Zirlo’s turn; and this enterprising bird not only climbed thescaletta, but finding a gun at the top, shouldered it, pulled the trigger with an infinitesimal claw, and—bang!—who should tumble from his perch but poor Beppo, and lie perfectly rigid on the ground. Zirlo’s fit of anger was quenched at this piteous sight; carefully he examined the stiff figure and at last, picking up an inch-square pocket-handkerchief with one foot, applied it to his eyes, and wept bitterly. Then up jumped Beppo, who had only been feigning, and the two touched bills in token of reconciliation, and waltzed—wing in wing—fraternally off the stage.

It was a pretty scene—the sunshine, the people, the tiny performers below, and the mighty column towering high above them—the grandeur of old Rome looking down upon the present thus lightly amusing itself.

Back to Index Next