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-} -.p016width { -width:338px; -} -.p041width { -width:291px; -} -.p061width { -width:346px; -} -.p064width { -width:351px; -} -.p079width { -width:313px; -} -.p084width { -width:285px; -} -.p085width { -width:284px; -} -.p089width { -width:271px; -} -.p094width { -width:296px; -} -.p108width { -width:288px; -} -.p125width { -width:287px; -} -.p134-1width { -width:328px; -} -.p134-2width { -width:337px; -} -.p136width { -width:292px; -} -.p160width { -width:341px; -} -.p176width { -width:279px; -} -.p206width { -width:229px; -} -.p214width { -width:293px; -} -.p228width { -width:332px; -} -.p240width { -width:194px; -} -.p245width { -width:335px; -} -.p248width { -width:134px; -} -.p262width { -width:528px; -} -.p279width { -width:319px; -} -.p303width { -width:227px; -} -.p349width { -width:150px; -} -.p351width { -width:329px; -} -.p352-1width { -width:351px; -} -.p352-2width { -width:373px; -} -.xd31e3270 { -font-size:xx-large; -} -.xd31e3272 { -font-size:x-large; text-align:center; -} -.xd31e3281 { -font-size:large; text-align:center; -} -.xd31e3296 { -font-size:x-large; -} -.xd31e3314 { -text-align:center; -} -@media handheld { -} -/* ]]> */ </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Our Humble Helpers, by Jean-Henri Fabre</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Our Humble Helpers</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:1em;'>Familiar Talks on the Domestic Animals</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Jean-Henri Fabre</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 2, 2022 [eBook #67073]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR HUMBLE HELPERS ***</div> -<div class="front"> -<div class="div1 cover"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure cover-imagewidth"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="Original Front Cover." width="489" height="720"></div><p> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 titlepage"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure titlepage-imagewidth"><img src="images/titlepage.png" alt="Original Title Page." width="434" height="720"></div><p> -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e103">[<a href="#xd31e103">1</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 frenchtitle"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first xd31e105">OUR HUMBLE HELPERS -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e107">[<a href="#xd31e107">3</a>]</span> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="titlePage"> -<div class="docTitle"> -<div class="mainTitle">OUR HUMBLE HELPERS</div> -<div class="subTitle">FAMILIAR TALKS ON -THE DOMESTIC ANIMALS</div> -</div> -<div class="byline">BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">JEAN-HENRI FABRE</span><br> -Author of “The Story Book of Science,” “Social Life in the Insect World,” etc. -<br> -TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH<br> -BY<br> -<span class="docAuthor">FLORENCE CONSTABLE BICKNELL</span></div> -<div class="docImprint">NEW YORK<br> -THE CENTURY CO.<br> -<span class="docDate">1918</span></div> -</div> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e143">[<a href="#xd31e143">4</a>]</span></p> -<div class="div1 copyright"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divBody"> -<p class="first xd31e145">Copyright, 1918, by<br> -<span class="sc">The Century Co.</span> -</p> -<p class="xd31e145"><i>Published, September, 1918</i> -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e155">[<a href="#xd31e155">5</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="div1 preface"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">In its purpose and style this book closely resembles the same author’s “Story-Book -of Science,” and it belongs to the same series. To many readers, however, it is likely -to prove even more interesting than its predecessor, inasmuch as the domestic animals -are more familiar and hence more interesting to many persons than the ant, the spider, -the plant-louse, the caterpillar, and other examples of insect life discussed in the -earlier work. Particularly at this time, when not a few of us, both old and young, -are turning our attention, however inexpertly, to farming in a small way, in order -to make the most of nature’s food resources within our reach, we like to become a -little better acquainted with the denizens of the farmyard and the four-footed helpers -in the field. The pig and the hen, the goose and the turkey, the ox and the ass, the -horse and the cow, the sheep and its canine keeper—these and many other old friends -of ours in the animal kingdom are made to enliven the following pages by the genius -and skill of him who knew and loved them all as few naturalists have known and loved -their dumb fellow-creatures. -</p> -<p>Faithfulness to the spirit of the French original <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e161">[<a href="#xd31e161">6</a>]</span>has throughout been striven for rather than a blind subservience to the letter. May -the attempt to render at least a little of the charm of that original be found not -wholly unsuccessful! -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e163">[<a href="#xd31e163">7</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="toc" class="div1 contents"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main">CONTENTS</h2> -<table class="tocList"> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum xd31e168">CHAPTER</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> -</td> -<td class="tocPageNum xd31e168">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">I</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch1" id="xd31e178"><span class="sc">The Cock and the Hen</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">3</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">II</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch2" id="xd31e188"><span class="sc">The Gizzard</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">9</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">III</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch3" id="xd31e198"><span class="sc">The Chief Kinds of Poultry</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">16</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">IV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch4" id="xd31e208"><span class="sc">The Egg</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">21</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">V</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch5" id="xd31e218"><span class="sc">The Egg</span> (<span class="sc">Continued</span>)</a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">27</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch6" id="xd31e232"><span class="sc">Incubation</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">36</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch7" id="xd31e242"><span class="sc">The Young Chickens</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">47</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">VIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch8" id="xd31e252"><span class="sc">The Poulard</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">54</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">IX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch9" id="xd31e262"><span class="sc">The Turkey</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">61</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">X</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch10" id="xd31e272"><span class="sc">The Guinea-Fowl</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">73</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch11" id="xd31e283"><span class="sc">The Palmipedes</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">84</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch12" id="xd31e293"><span class="sc">The Duck</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">94</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch13" id="xd31e303"><span class="sc">The Wild Goose</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">108</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch14" id="xd31e313"><span class="sc">The Domestic Goose</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">120</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch15" id="xd31e323"><span class="sc">The Pigeon</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">130</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch16" id="xd31e333"><span class="sc">A Story from Audubon</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">141</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch17" id="xd31e343"><span class="sc">A Supposition</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">150</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XVIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch18" id="xd31e353"><span class="sc">A Fragment of History</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">159</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XIX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch19" id="xd31e363"><span class="sc">The Jackal</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">173</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch20" id="xd31e373"><span class="sc">The Chief Breeds of Dogs</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">183</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch21" id="xd31e383"><span class="sc">The Chief Breeds of Dogs</span> (<span class="sc">Continued</span>)</a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">193</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch22" id="xd31e398"><span class="sc">The Various Uses of Dogs</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">204</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch23" id="xd31e408"><span class="sc">The Eskimo Dog</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">213</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXIV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch24" id="xd31e418"><span class="sc">The Dog of Montargis</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">221</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch25" id="xd31e428"><span class="sc">Hydrophobia</span></a> <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e434">[<a href="#xd31e434">8</a>]</span></td> -<td class="tocPageNum">227</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXVI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch26" id="xd31e439"><span class="sc">The Cat</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">239</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXVII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch27" id="xd31e449"><span class="sc">Sheep</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">255</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXVIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch28" id="xd31e459"><span class="sc">The Goat</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">271</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXIX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch29" id="xd31e469"><span class="sc">The Ox</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">279</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch30" id="xd31e479"><span class="sc">Milk</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">293</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch31" id="xd31e489"><span class="sc">Butter</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">298</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch32" id="xd31e499"><span class="sc">Rennet</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">303</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch33" id="xd31e510"><span class="sc">Cheese</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">308</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXIV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch34" id="xd31e520"><span class="sc">The Pig</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">316</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXV</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch35" id="xd31e530"><span class="sc">Pig’s Measles</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">329</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXVI</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch36" id="xd31e540"><span class="sc">A Persistent Parasite</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">334</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXVII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch37" id="xd31e550"><span class="sc">The Horse</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">343</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXVIII</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch38" id="xd31e560"><span class="sc">The Horse</span> (<span class="sc">Continued</span>)</a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">354</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tocDivNum">XXXIX</td> -<td class="tocDivTitle" colspan="7"> <a href="#ch39" id="xd31e574"><span class="sc">The Ass</span></a> </td> -<td class="tocPageNum">362</td> -</tr> -</table> -<p><span class="pageNum" id="xd31e580">[<a href="#xd31e580">11</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="body"> -<div id="ch1" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e178">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="super">OUR HUMBLE HELPERS</h2> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER I</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE COCK AND THE HEN</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Under the big elm tree in the garden Uncle Paul has called together for the third -time his usual listeners, Emile, Jules, and Louis. After the story of the Ravagers, -which destroy our harvests, and that of the Auxiliaries, which protect them, he now -proposes to tell the story of our Humble Helpers, the domestic animals. He thus begins: -</p> -<p>“The cock and the hen, those invaluable members of our poultry-yards, came to us from -Asia so long ago that the remembrance of their coming is lost. At the present day -they have spread to all parts of the world. -</p> -<p>“Is it necessary to describe the cock to you? Who has not admired this fine bird, -with its bright look, its proud bearing, its slow and sedate walk? On its head a piece -of scarlet flesh forms a scalloped crest; under the base of the beak hang two wattles -resembling pieces of coral; on each temple, by the side of the ear, is a spot of dull -white naked skin; a rich tippet of golden red falls from the neck over the shoulders -and breast; two feathers of a greenish metallic <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e592">[<a href="#xd31e592">12</a>]</span>luster form a graceful arch of plumage in the upper part of the tail. The heel is -armed with a horny spur, hard and pointed; a formidable weapon with which, in fighting, -the cock stabs his rival to death. His song is a resonant peal that makes itself heard -at all hours, night as well as day. Hardly does the sky begin to brighten with the -twilight of dawn when, erect on his perch, he awakens the nocturnal echoes with his -piercing <i>cock-a-doodle-doo</i>, the reveille of the farm.” -</p> -<p>“That,” said Emile, “is the song I like so much to hear in the morning when I am about -half-way between sleeping and waking.” -</p> -<p>“It is the cock’s crowing,” put in Louis, “that wakes me up in the morning when I -have to go to market in the next town.” -</p> -<p>“The cock is the king of the poultry-yard,” resumed Uncle Paul. “Full of care for -his hens, he leads them, protects them, scolds and punishes them. He watches over -those that wander off, goes in quest of the vagrants, and brings them back with little -cries of impatience, which, no doubt, are admonitions. If necessary, a peck with the -beak persuades the more refractory. But if he finds food, such as grain, insects, -or worms, he straightway lifts up his voice and calls the hens to the banquet. He -himself, however, magnificent and generous, stands in the midst of the throng and -scratches the earth to turn up the worms and distribute here and there to the invited -guests the dainties thus unearthed. If some greedy hen takes more than her share, -he recalls her <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e600">[<a href="#xd31e600">13</a>]</span>to a sense of her duty to the community and reprimands her with a peck on the head. -After all the others have eaten their fill he contents himself with their leavings. -</p> -<p>“Plainer in costume, the hen, the joy of the farmer’s wife, trots about the poultry-yard, -scratching and pecking and cackling. After laying an egg she proclaims her joy with -an enthusiasm in which her companions take such a share that the whole establishment -bursts into a general lively chorus in celebration of the happy event. She has a habit -of squatting down in a dusty and sunny corner where she flutters her wings with much -content and makes a fine shower fall between her feathers to relieve the itching that -torments her. Then with outstretched leg and wing she sleeps away the hottest hours -of the day; or, without disturbing her voluptuous repose, spying a fly on the wall, -she snaps it up with one quick dart of her beak. Like the cock, she swallows fine -gravel, which takes the place of teeth and serves to grind the grain in her gizzard. -She drinks by lifting her head skyward to make each mouthful go down. She sleeps on -one leg, the other drawn up under her plumage and her head hidden under her wing.” -</p> -<p>“These curious particulars of the hen’s habits,” said Jules, “are quite familiar to -us all; we see them every day with our own eyes. One only is new to me: hens, you -say, swallow little grains of sand which take the place of teeth for grinding the -food in the gizzard. I don’t know what the gizzard is, and I <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e605">[<a href="#xd31e605">14</a>]</span>don’t see how little stones that have been swallowed can be used as teeth.” -</p> -<p>“A short digression on the digestive organs of birds,” replied Uncle Paul, “will give -you the information you ask for. -</p> -<p>“Birds do not chew their food; they swallow it just as they seize it, or nearly so. -The beak, lacking teeth, is for that very reason unsuited for the work of grinding. -It merely seizes; it strikes, picks up, digs, pierces, breaks, tears, according to -the kind of food adapted to the bird’s needs. A solid horn covers the bony framework -of the two mandibles and makes their edges sharp and very well fitted for dismembering -if necessary, but not for triturating. -</p> -<p>“Rapacious birds that feed on live prey have the upper mandible short, strong, hooked, -and terminating in a sharp point, sometimes with serrate edges. With this weapon the -hunting bird kills its prey, and tears it to pieces while holding it with its vigorous -talons armed with sharp, curved nails. -</p> -<p>“Fish-eating birds that tear the fish to pieces in order to swallow it have the hooked -beak of the rapacious birds; those that swallow the fish whole have a straight beak -with long, wide mandibles. Some throw it into the air to catch it in their beak a -second time, head first, and swallow it without any difficulty in spite of the fin-bones, -which lie flat from front to back while the fish is passing through the narrow gullet. -A great fishing bird, the pelican, has in its lower mandible a large membranous pouch, -a sort of fish-pond, where it stores the fish as long as the catch <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e613">[<a href="#xd31e613">15</a>]</span>lasts. Thus stocked up, it seeks a quiet retreat on some ledge of rock by the water-side -and takes out, one by one, the fish packed away in its pouch, to feed on them at leisure.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p007width"><img src="images/p007.png" alt="Pelican" width="281" height="263"><p class="figureHead">Pelican</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The pelican seems to me a wise fisher,” remarked Emile. “Without losing a minute -in swallowing, it begins by filling the bag under its beak. The time will come later -for looking over the catch and enjoying the fish at leisure. I should like to see -it on its rocks with its bag full.” -</p> -<p>“And that other one,” said Jules, “that throws the fish it has caught into the air -so as to catch it again head first and not strangle when swallowing it—is not that -one just as clever?” -</p> -<p>“Each kind has its special talent,” replied Uncle Paul, “which it uses with the tool -peculiar to the bird, the beak. If the story of the auxiliaries, related some time -ago, is still fresh in your minds, you will remember that insect-eating birds have -the beak slender and sometimes very long, to dig into the fissures of dead wood and -bark; but those that catch insects on the fly, as the swallow and the fern-owl, have -the beak very short and exceedingly wide, so that the game pursued is caught in the -open gullet and becomes coated with a slimy saliva which holds <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e623">[<a href="#xd31e623">16</a>]</span>it fast. Finally, I will remind you of the granivorous birds—the sparrow, linnet, -greenfinch, chaffinch, and many others. All these birds, whose chief food consists -of grain, have the beak short, thick, pointed; adapted, in fact, to the picking up -of seeds from the ground, freeing them from their husks, and breaking their shells -to obtain the kernel. By virtue of its strong mandibles, the beak of the hen belongs -to this last category, although at the same time its rather long, sharp, and slightly -hooked extremity indicates carnivorous tastes. Such a beak calls not only for seeds, -but also for small prey, such as insects and worms.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e625">[<a href="#xd31e625">17</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch2" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e188">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER II</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE GIZZARD</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Nearly all the higher or mammiferous animals,” Uncle Paul continued, “such as the -dog, cat, wolf, horse, have only one digestive pouch—a stomach—where the alimentary -substances are dissolved and made fluid, so as to enter the veins and be turned into -blood, by which all parts of the body are nourished. But the ox, goat, and sheep—the -cud-chewers, in short—have four digestive cavities, which I will tell you about later. -I will tell you how, in the pasture, these animals hastily swallow almost unchewed -grass and put it by in a large reservoir called a paunch, from which it comes up again -afterward in a season of repose, to be rechewed at leisure in small mouthfuls. -</p> -<p>“Well, birds are fashioned in a similar way, as far as eating is concerned. Not being -able to chew, as they have no teeth, they swallow their food without any preparation, -nearly as the beak has seized it, and amass a quantity of it in a spacious stomach, -just as the ox does in his paunch. From this reservoir the food passes, little by -little, into two other digestive cavities, one of which immerses it in a liquid calculated -to dissolve it, and the other grinds and triturates it better than the best pair of -jaws could <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e633">[<a href="#xd31e633">18</a>]</span>do. There takes place a kind of chewing, it is true, only the food, instead of returning -to the beak, where teeth are lacking for its thorough mastication, continues its journey, -and on the way comes to the triturating machine. Birds, then, are generally provided -with three digestive cavities. -</p> -<p>“The first is the crop, situated just at the base of the neck. It is a bag with thin -and flexible walls, its size proportioned to the resistant nature of the food eaten. -It is very large in birds that feed on grain, especially the hen, and is medium-sized, -or even wholly wanting, in those that live on prey, which is much easier to digest -than dry and hard seeds. In the crop, the food swallowed in haste remains hours and -even days, as in a reservoir; there it softens somewhat, and is then submitted to -the action of the other digestive pouches. The crop corresponds in a certain sense -to the bag in which the pelican stores up his fishing; it represents also the first -stomach of the ox and the other cud-chewers or ruminants. -</p> -<p>“Next to the crop is a second enlargement, called the succenturiate ventricle, of -small capacity but remarkable for a liquid of a bitter taste that oozes in fine drops -through its walls and moistens the food as it passes. This liquid is a digestive juice; -it has the property of dissolving the alimentary substances as soon as trituration -has done the greater part of the work. The food does not remain in this second stomach; -it merely passes through to become impregnated with the digestive juice. -</p> -<p>“The third and last stomach is known as the gizzard. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e639">[<a href="#xd31e639">19</a>]</span>It is rounded and is slightly flattened on both sides, like a watch-case, and is composed—especially -in birds that live on grain—of a very thick, fleshy wall, lined on the inside with -a kind of hard and tenacious leather which protects the organ from attrition. Finally, -it is to be noted that at the same time the bird is swallowing grain it takes care -also to swallow a little gravel, some very small stones which, away down in the gizzard, -will perform the office of teeth.” -</p> -<p>“I know what the gizzard is,” volunteered Emile. “When they are cleaning a chicken -to cook, they take out of the body something round that they split in two with a knife; -then they throw away a thick skin all wrinkled and stuffed with grains of sand, and -the rest is put back into the chicken.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, that is the gizzard,” said Uncle Paul. “Let us complete these ideas got from -cooking. The bird, not having in its beak the molars necessary for grinding, as in -a mill, the seeds that are hard to crush, supplies its gizzard with artificial teeth, -which are renewed at each repast; that is to say, it swallows little pebbles. The -grain, softened in the crop and moistened with the digestive juice during its passage -through the succenturiate ventricle, reaches the gizzard mixed with the little stones -that are to aid the triturating action. The work then performed is easy to understand. -If you pressed in your palm a handful of wheat mixed with gravel, and if your fingers, -by continual movement, made the two kinds of particles rub vigorously against each -other, is it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e644">[<a href="#xd31e644">20</a>]</span>not true that the wheat would soon be reduced to powder? Such is the action of the -gizzard. Its strong, fleshy walls contract powerfully and knead their contents of -sand and seeds without suffering damage themselves from the friction, because of the -tough skin that lines their inside and protects them from the roughness of the gravel. -In such a mill the hardest kernels are soon reduced to a sort of soup. -</p> -<p>“To make you understand the prodigious power of the gizzard, I cannot do better than -relate to you certain experiments performed by a learned Italian, the abbot Spallanzani. -A century ago the celebrated abbot, while pursuing his researches on the natural history -of animals, caused a number of hens to swallow some little glass balls. ‘These balls,’ -he said, ‘were sufficiently tough not to break when thrown forcibly on to the ground. -After remaining three hours in the hen’s gizzard they were for the most part reduced -to very tiny pieces with nothing sharp about them, all their edges having been blunted -as if they had passed through a mill. I noticed also that the longer these little -glass balls remained in the stomach, the finer the powder to which they were reduced. -After a few hours they were broken into a multitude of vitreous particles no larger -than grains of sand.’ ” -</p> -<p>“A stomach that can grind glass balls to powder,” commented Jules, “is certainly a -first-rate mill.” -</p> -<p>“You shall hear something still more remarkable,” returned his uncle. “Wait. ‘As these -balls,’ continued the abbot, ‘were polished and smooth, they <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e651">[<a href="#xd31e651">21</a>]</span>could not create any kind of disturbance in the gizzard.’ So he was curious to see -what would happen if sharp and cutting bodies were introduced. ‘We know,’ he says, -‘how easily little pieces of glass, broken up by pounding, tear the flesh. Well, having -shattered a pane of glass, I selected some pieces about the size of a pea and wrapped -them in a playing card so that they would not lacerate the gullet in their passage. -Thus prepared, I made a cock swallow them, well knowing that the covering of card -would break on its entrance into the stomach and leave the glass free to act with -all its points and sharp edges.’ ” -</p> -<p>“With all those little pieces of glass in its stomach,” said Jules, “the bird must -surely have died.” -</p> -<p>“Not a bit of it. The bird would have come out all right if the experimenter had not -sacrificed it to see the result. The cock was killed at the end of twenty hours. ‘All -the pieces of glass were in the gizzard,’ the abbot tells us, ‘but all their sharp -edges and points had disappeared so completely that, having put these fragments on -my palm, I could rub them hard with the other hand without inflicting the slightest -wound. -</p> -<p>“ ‘The reader,’ he goes on, ‘must be curious to learn the effect produced on the gizzard -by these sharp-pointed bodies that rolled around there unceasingly until they lost -their keen edges and sharp points. Opening the cock’s gizzard, I examined minutely -the inside skin after having well washed and cleaned it. I even separated it from -the gizzard, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e657">[<a href="#xd31e657">22</a>]</span>which is done without difficulty, and thus it was easy to scrutinize it as closely -as I wished. Well, after all my pains I found it perfectly intact, without a tear -or cut, without even the slightest scratch. The skin appeared to me absolutely the -same as that of the cocks that had not swallowed glass.’ ” -</p> -<p>“So the bird that is made to swallow pieces of broken glass,” said Jules, “grinds -them up without injury and without even a scratch, while we could not so much as handle -this dangerous stuff with the tips of our fingers without wounding ourselves. This -power of the gizzard is really inconceivable.” -</p> -<p>“What follows is still more surprising,” resumed Uncle Paul. “Spallanzani continues: -‘The experiments with glass not having done the birds any harm, I performed two others -that were much more dangerous. In a leaden ball I placed twelve large steel needles -so that they stuck out of the ball more than half a centimeter, and I made a turkey -swallow this ball, bristling with points and wrapped in a card; and it kept the ball -in its stomach a day and a half. During this time the bird showed not the slightest -discomfort, and in fact there could have been none, for on killing the bird I found -that its stomach had not received the slightest wound from this barbarous device. -All the needles were broken off and separated from the leaden ball, two of them being -still in the gizzard, their points greatly blunted, while the other ten had disappeared, -ejected with the excrement. -</p> -<p>“ ‘Finally, I fixed in a leaden ball twelve little steel lancets, very sharp and cutting, -and I made <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e663">[<a href="#xd31e663">23</a>]</span>another turkey swallow the terrible pill. It remained sixteen hours in the gizzard, -after which I opened the bird and found only the ball minus the lancets; these had -all been broken, three of them, their points and edges entirely blunted, being found -in the intestines, the nine others having been ejected. As for the gizzard, it showed -no trace of a wound.’ -</p> -<p>“You see, my little friends, a bird’s gizzard is the most wonderful organ of trituration -in the world. What are the best-equipped jaws in comparison with this strong pouch -which, without suffering so much as a scratch, reduces glass to powder and breaks -and blunts steel needles and lancets? You can understand now with what ease the hardest -seeds can be ground when the gizzard of the granivorous bird presses and rolls them -pell-mell with small stones.” -</p> -<p>“Where glass and steel are broken up,” said Emile, “grain ought to turn to flour as -well as in a mill.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e668">[<a href="#xd31e668">24</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch3" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e198">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER III</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE CHIEF KINDS OF POULTRY</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p016width"><img src="images/p016.png" alt="Red Jungle Fowl" width="338" height="244"><p class="figureHead">Red Jungle Fowl</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Different kinds of poultry, the originals of our domestic species, are living to -this day in a wild state in the forests of Asia, notably in India, and in the Philippine -Islands and Java. The most noteworthy is the Bankiva or red jungle fowl. In shape, -plumage, and habits the male bird bears a striking resemblance to the common rooster -of our poultry-yards; but in size it is smaller even than the partridge. It has a -scalloped red comb, a tail of arched plumage, and a neck ornamented with a falling -tippet of bright, golden-red feathers. This graceful little cock, irritable and full -of fight, has the habits of ours. He struts proudly at the head of his flock of hens, -over whose safety he watches with extreme care. If hunters range the forest, or if -some dog prowls in the neighborhood, the vigilant bird, quick to perceive, suspects -an enemy. He immediately flies to a high branch and thence gives forth a cry of alarm -to warn the hens, which <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e679">[<a href="#xd31e679">25</a>]</span>hastily conceal themselves under the leaves or crouch in the hollows of trees and -wait motionless until the danger is past. To get within gun-shot of these birds is -well-nigh impossible, and to capture them one must have recourse to the same snares -one uses for catching larks.” -</p> -<p>“A fowl smaller than a partridge, and that they catch in the woods with snares for -larks,” remarked Jules, “ought to be a very pretty bird, but not of much use if raised -in poultry-yards. Does our poultry come from such a small kind as that<span class="corr" id="xd31e683" title="Source: !">?</span>” -</p> -<p>“It certainly comes either from the Bankiva fowl or from other kinds just as small -that live in a wild state in the forests of Asia; but when and how the hen and the -cock became domesticated is wholly unknown. From the dawn of history man has been -in possession of the barnyard fowl, at least in Asia, whence later the species came -to us already domesticated. During long centuries, improved by our care, which assures -it abundant food and comfortable shelter, the original small species has produced -numerous varieties differing much in size and plumage. They are classed in three groups: -the small, the medium, and the large. -</p> -<p>“To the first group belongs the bantam or little English fowl, about the size of a -partridge. It is a beautiful bird with short legs that let the tips of the wings drag -on the ground, quick movements, gentle and tame habits. Its eggs, proportioned to -the small size of the hen, weigh scarcely thirty grams apiece, while those of other -hens weigh from sixty to ninety <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e689">[<a href="#xd31e689">26</a>]</span>grams each. These pretty little pullets are raised rather as ornaments to the poultry-yard -than for the sake of their diminutive eggs.” -</p> -<p>“These little fowl,” observed Louis, “look from their size like the primitive kind.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, it was about like that they looked when man took it into his head to tame the -wild fowl. In the poultry-yards of those times lived, not the large species of our -day, but birds as small in body and as quick on the wing as the partridge. I leave -you to imagine what care and vigilance were necessary in order not to frighten these -timid little fowl and cause them to go back to the woods that they still remembered.” -</p> -<p>“It must have been as much trouble,” said Louis, “as it would be for us to tame a -covey of partridges. Such an undertaking would not be easy. We are a long way from -those first attempts at domestication with our hens of to-day, so tame, so importunate -even, that they come boldly and pick up crumbs under the very table.” -</p> -<p>“The common poultry, that which stocks the greater number of farms, belongs to the -medium-sized breeds. Its plumage is of all colors, from white to red and black. Its -head is small and ornamented with a red comb, sometimes single, sometimes double, -coquettishly thrown to one side. The cock, for its proud bearing and magnificent plumage, -has no equal among the other species. The common fowl is the easiest to keep, for -its activity permits it to seek and find for itself, by scratching in the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e696">[<a href="#xd31e696">27</a>]</span>ground, a great part of its food in the form of seeds and worms. It may be found fault -with for its wandering proclivities, favored by a strong wing which it avails itself -of to fly over hedges and fences, to go and devastate the neighboring gardens. -</p> -<p>“Among the other medium-sized species which, associated with the common fowl, are -found in poultry-yards as ornaments rather than as sources of profit, I will name -the following: -</p> -<p>“First, the Paduan fowl, recognizable by its rich plumage and particularly by the -thick tuft of feathers that adorns its head. This beautiful headdress of fine plumage, -so proudly spread out in fine weather, is, when once wet by rain, nothing but an ungraceful -rag, heavy and tangled, which tires the bird and makes the rustic life of the poultry-yard -impossible as far as it is concerned. -</p> -<p>“The Houdan fowl wears a thickly tufted top-knot which is thrown back over the nape -of the neck. Sometimes this headdress covers the eyes so completely that the bird -cannot see in front nor sidewise, but only on the ground, which makes it uneasy at -the slightest noise. The plumage is speckled black and white, with glints of purple -and green. The cheeks and the base of the beak are draped with little upturned feathers. -Each foot has five toes instead of four, the usual number—not counting the cock’s -spur, which is simply a horn, a fighting weapon, and not a toe. Three of the toes -point forward and two backward. -</p> -<p>“The fowl of la Flèche, so renowned for the delicacy <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e704">[<a href="#xd31e704">28</a>]</span>of its flesh and its aptness for fattening, has no crest and is long-legged, with -black plumage of green and purple luster. The legs are blue and the comb rises in -two little red horns. -</p> -<p>“Similar but better developed horns, accompanied by a thick headdress of feathers, -adorn the Crève-cœur species. The hen is a beautiful black; the cock wears, against -body plumage of the same dark color, a rich gold or silver tippet. -</p> -<p>“Finally, to the large species belongs the Cochin-China, an ungraceful bird, with -very strong body and shapeless and disordered plumage, generally reddish white. Its -eggs are brownish in color.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e709">[<a href="#xd31e709">29</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch4" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e208">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER IV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE EGG</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“When moistening your slices of bread with egg, has it ever occurred to you to examine -a little the structure of what furnishes your repast? I think not. To-day I am going -to tell you something about this: I will show you in detail this wonder called an -egg. -</p> -<p>“First, let us examine the shell. In hens’ eggs it is all white, as also in those -of ducks and geese. Turkeys’ eggs are speckled with a multitude of little pale red -spots. But it is particularly the eggs of undomesticated birds that are remarkable -for their coloring. There are sky-blue ones, such as those of certain blackbirds; -rose color for certain warblers; and somber green with a tinge of bronze is found, -for example, in the eggs of the nightingale. The coloring is sometimes uniform, sometimes -enhanced by darker spots, or by a haphazard sprinkling of pigment, or by odd markings -resembling some sort of illegible handwriting. Many rapacious birds, chiefly those -of the sea, lay eggs with large fawn-colored spots that make them look like the pelt -of a leopard. I will not dwell longer on this subject, interesting though it may be, -as in telling you the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e717">[<a href="#xd31e717">30</a>]</span>story of the auxiliary birds I have already described the eggs of the principal kinds.” -</p> -<p>“I have taken care,” interposed Jules, “to remember the curious variety of coloring -that eggs have. I recall very distinctly the nightingale’s, green like an olive; the -goldfinch’s, spotted with reddish brown, especially at the larger end; the crow’s, -bluish green with brown spots; and so many others that I hesitate to say which are -my favorites, so nearly equal are they in beauty.” -</p> -<p>“Let us learn now about the nature of the shell,” his uncle continued. “The substance -of the shell is, in the hen’s egg, as white as marble; its own color not being disguised -by any foreign pigment. This pure white and its other characteristics, hardness and -clean fracture, do they not tell you of what substance the shell is composed?” -</p> -<p>“Either appearances deceive me greatly,” answered Louis, “or the shell is simply made -of stone.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend, it is indeed of stone, but stone selected with exquisite care and -refined as it were, in the bird’s body. -</p> -<p>“In its nature the eggshell does not differ from common building-stone; or rather, -on account of its extreme purity, it does not differ from the chalk that you use on -the blackboard, or from the magnificent white marble that the sculptor seeks for the -masterpieces of his chisel. Building-stone, marble, and chalk are at bottom the same -substance, which is called lime, limestone, or carbonate of lime. The differences, -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e725">[<a href="#xd31e725">31</a>]</span>great as they may be, have to do with the state of purity and degree of consistency. -That which building-stone contains in a state of impurity from other ingredients is -contained also in white marble and chalk, but free from any admixture. Thus in its -nature the eggshell is identical with chalk and marble, harder than the first, less -hard than the second, being between the two in an intermediate state of pure lime. -To clothe the egg, therefore, with a solid envelope, the hen and all birds without -exception use the same material as the sculptor works with in his studio and the scholar -uses on the blackboard. -</p> -<p>“Now, no animal creates matter; none makes its body, with all that comes from it, -out of nothing. The bird does not find within itself the material for the eggshell; -it gets it from outside with its food. Amid the grain that is thrown to her the hen -finds little bits of stone left there through imperfect cleaning; she swallows them -without hesitation, knowing full well, however, that they are little stones and not -kernels of wheat. That is not enough; you will see her all day long scratching and -pecking here and there in the poultry-yard. Now and then she digs up some worm, her -great delicacy, and from time to time some fragment of limestone, which she turns -to account with as much satisfaction as if she had found a plump insect.” -</p> -<p>“I have often seen hens swallowing little stones like that,” remarked Emile. “I thought -it was all their own carelessness or gluttonous haste, but now <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e730">[<a href="#xd31e730">32</a>]</span>I begin to suspect the truth. Would not those little stones be useful in making the -eggshell?” -</p> -<p>“You are right, my little friend. The particles of lime swallowed with the food are -converted into a fine pap, dissolved by the digestive action of the stomach. By a -rigorous sorting the pure lime is separated from the rest, and it is made into a sort -of chalk soup which at the right moment oozes around the egg and hardens into a shell. -By swallowing little particles of lime, the hen, as you see, lays by materials for -her eggshell. If these materials were wanting, if the food given her did not include -lime, if, imprisoned in a cage, she could not procure carbonate of lime for herself -by pecking in the ground, she would lay eggs without any shell and simply covered -with a flabby skin.” -</p> -<p>“Those soft eggs that hens sometimes lay come then from lack of lime?” asked Louis. -</p> -<p>“They either come from the bird’s not having had the necessary carbonate of lime in -her food or in the earth she pecked, or else her bad state of health did not permit -the transformation of the little stones into that chalky pap which molds itself around -the egg and becomes the shell. In countries where carbonate of lime is scarce in the -soil, or even totally lacking, it is the custom to break up the eggshells and mix -the coarse powder in the fowl’s food. It is a very judicious way of giving the hen -in the most convenient form, the stony matter necessary for the perfect formation -of the egg.” -</p> -<p>“Sometimes,” observed Louis, “we find on the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e738">[<a href="#xd31e738">33</a>]</span>dunghill eggs of a queer shape and as soft as hens’ eggs without the shell. Instead -of a chicken, a snake comes out of them. They say they are laid by young cocks.” -</p> -<p>“You are repeating now one of the false notions prevalent in the country—a foolish -notion springing from a basis of actual fact. It is perfectly true that eggs soft, -rather long, almost cylindrical, and of the same size at both ends, may be turned -up by the fork as it stirs the warm manure of a dunghill. It is also perfectly true -that from these eggs snakes are hatched, to the great surprise of the innocent person -who thinks he sees there the product of some witchcraft. What is false is the supposed -origin of the egg. Never, never has the cock, be he young or old, the faculty reserved -exclusively for the hen, the faculty of laying. Those eggs found in dunghills, and -remarkable for their strange shape, do not come from fowl; they are simply the eggs -of a serpent, of an inoffensive snake which, when opportunity offers, buries its laying -in the warm mass of a dunghill to aid the hatching. It is quite natural, then, that -from serpents’ eggs serpents should hatch.” -</p> -<p>“The ridiculous marvel of the supposed cock’s eggs,” returned Louis, “thus becomes -a very simple thing; but one must first know that serpents lay eggs.” -</p> -<p>“Henceforth you will know that not only serpents but all reptiles lay eggs just as -birds do. Snakes’ eggs are flabby, and for covering have only a sort of skin resembling -wet parchment. Moreover, they are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e744">[<a href="#xd31e744">34</a>]</span>long in shape, which is far from being the usual form. But the eggs of some reptiles, -notably of lizards, have the shell firm and of the fine oval shape peculiar to birds’ -eggs. If you ever encounter in holes in the wall, or in dry sand well exposed to the -sun, little eggs, all white, with shell as fine as a little canary bird’s, do not -cry out at the strangeness of your discovery; you will simply have come across the -eggs of a gray lizard, the usual inhabitant of old walls.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e746">[<a href="#xd31e746">35</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch5" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e218">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER V</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE EGG</h2> -<h2 class="sub">(<i>Continued</i>)</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Let us return to the hen. We know the calcareous nature of the shell; now let us -look at the structure. Open your eyes wide and look attentively; you will see on the -shell, chiefly at the large end, a multitude of tiny dents such as might be made by -the point of a fine needle. Each of these dents corresponds to an invisible hole that -pierces the shell through and through and establishes communication between the interior -and the exterior. These holes, much too small to let out the liquid contents of the -egg, nevertheless suffice both for the emission of humid vapors, which are dissipated -outside the shell, and for the admission of air, which penetrates within and replaces -the evaporated humidity. -</p> -<p>“The presence of these innumerable openings is absolutely necessary for the awakening -and keeping up of life in the future chicken. Every living thing breathes, and all -life springs into being and continues through the action of air. The seed that germinates -under ground must have air. Planted too deep, it perishes sooner or later without -being able to rise, because the thick bed of earth prevents <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e758">[<a href="#xd31e758">36</a>]</span>the air from reaching it. The egg must have air so that its substance, gently warmed -by the brooding mother hen, may spring into life and become a little chicken; it must -have it continually, shut up as it is in its shell. Thanks to the openings with which -the shell is riddled, the air penetrates sufficiently to meet the needs of respiration; -it quickens the substance of the egg and the little being slowly forming within.” -</p> -<p>“One might say,” Emile here put in, “that these holes are so many little windows through -which air reaches the bird in its narrow cell of the egg.” -</p> -<p>“These windows, as Emile calls them,” his uncle went on, “deserve our attention from -another point of view. Eggs are a precious alimentary provision; the difficulty is -to keep them for any length of time. If they get too old they spoil and give out then -an infectious, bad smell. Well, then, what causes the eggs to spoil and changes them -to repulsive-smelling filth is again air—the same air so indispensable to the formation -of the chicken. That which gives life to the egg under the heat of the brooding hen -brings destruction just as quickly when the warmth is wanting. If, then, it is proposed -to preserve in a state of freshness as long as possible eggs destined for food, it -is necessary to prevent the access of air into their interior, which is done by closing -the openings in the shell. Several means may be employed. Sometimes eggs are plunged -for a moment into melted grease, from which they are drawn out covered with a coating -that obstructs all the orifices; sometimes they are varnished. The simplest <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e763">[<a href="#xd31e763">37</a>]</span>method is to keep them in water in which a little lime has been dissolved. This dissolved -lime deposits itself on the shell and closes the openings. These precautions taken, -the air can no longer find a passage to penetrate into the interior and the eggs are -preserved in good condition much longer than they would be without this preparation. -Nevertheless they always spoil in the long run.” -</p> -<p>“If I have properly understood what you have just told us about the need of air for -the awakening of life,” remarked Jules, “eggs thus coated with varnish or lime will -not hatch when under the brooding hen?” -</p> -<p>“Evidently not. Rendered impervious to air by the varnish, lime, grease, or what not, -the eggs might remain indefinitely under the brooding hen without ever coming to life; -for want of the quickening action of the air, life would no more awaken in them than -in simple stones. You understand, then, that the method of preservation by means of -a coating that closes the orifices of the shell must only be employed for eggs destined -for food, and that care must be taken not to make use of it in those destined for -hatching. -</p> -<p>“But this is enough about the outside of the egg. Now let us break the shell. What -do we find within? We find a delicate membrane, a supple skin which lines the whole -of the shell and forms a kind of bag, without any opening, filled with the white and -yolk. When by some accident the limy coating is lacking, this membrane constitutes -the sole covering of the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e769">[<a href="#xd31e769">38</a>]</span>egg—a covering as soft as thin parchment soaked in water.” -</p> -<p>“Then soft eggs without any shell have this membrane all exposed?” queried Jules. -</p> -<p>“Exactly. A new-laid egg has its shell completely filled; but it soon loses some of -its humidity, which evaporates through the orifices in the shell. A void is then created -in the interior, near the large end, where the evaporation is most rapid. At this -end, therefore, the membrane detaches itself from the shell that it lined and draws -further in with the contents of the egg shrunk by the evaporation. Thus is produced -at the large end a cavity which the air from outside enters and which for this reason -is called the <i>air-chamber</i>. This chamber, wanting at first, grows little by little according to the space left -by the moisture’s evaporation; consequently, the older the egg, the larger the space. -If the egg is placed under the hen, the heat of the mother aids evaporation and causes -the quick formation of the air-chamber. There gathers, as in a reservoir, the supply -of air needed for the vitality of the egg and the respiration of the coming bird. -So the empty space at the large end is a respiratory storehouse. -</p> -<p>“When you eat an egg boiled in the shell, break it carefully at the large end. If -the egg is very fresh the white will be seen immediately under the shell without any -empty space; but if it is old you will find an unoccupied hollow of varying size. -That is the air-chamber. According to its size you can judge of the egg’s freshness. -But it would be more desirable <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e779">[<a href="#xd31e779">39</a>]</span>to be able to recognize, before using and breaking it, whether an egg is fresh or -stale. I have seen the following means used, which would seem very strange if what -I have just told you about the air-chamber did not furnish the explanation. The tip -of the tongue is applied to the large end. If the egg is fresh a slight impression -of coolness can be felt; if stale, the tongue remains warm. This little mystery is -based on the different manner of behavior of liquids and gases when brought into contact -with heat. Water and liquids in general take away rather quickly the heat of the bodies -with which they come in contact; air and other gases, on the contrary, take it away -very slowly. That is why water seems cold when we plunge our hand into it, while the -air, lower in temperature, seems warm by comparison. In reality, if both be of the -same temperature, air and water give us different sensations: water is cool to us -because it draws our heat away; air warm because it does not take away that same heat. -So if the egg is fresh, and consequently the shell completely filled, the tip of the -tongue applied to the large end feels the same sensation as comes from contact with -liquids; that is to say, a feeling of coolness. But if the egg is stale, an air-chamber -has formed and the resulting sensation is that produced by contact with a gas; that -is to say, a sensation of warmth, since the tongue loses none of its natural heat.” -</p> -<p>“That is certainly a curious test,” said Jules, “and I shall make it a point to carry -it out at the next opportunity.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e783">[<a href="#xd31e783">40</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Let us go on with the egg. Now comes the <i>glair</i> or white, so called because heat hardens it to a pure white matter. For the same -reason, science calls it <i>albumen</i>, from a Latin word, <i lang="la">albus</i>, meaning <i>white</i>. The glair is arranged in a number of layers, which at both ends of the egg twist -round one another and form two large knotty cords called <i>chalazæ</i>. To see these cords you must break a raw egg carefully in a plate. Then you can distinguish, -on each side of the yolk, a mass where the glair is thicker and rather knotty. There, -somewhat injured by the breaking of the egg, are found the two cords in question. -To give you a clear idea, take an orange, put it in your handkerchief, and twist the -latter in opposite directions at both ends. The orange in its handkerchief covering -will represent the spherical yolk surrounded by the glair; the two twisted ends of -the handkerchief will be the two strings of white, the two chalazæ. By means of these -two tethers the yolk, the most important and most delicate part of the egg, is suspended -as in a hammock, in the center of the glair, without being exposed to disturbances -that would be dangerous for the germ of life situated at a point on its surface. This -glairy hammock, with its two suspending cords, has another rôle—a very delicate one. -The first outlines of the coming chick will appear at a certain point of the yolk. -As the little being forms and grows, it needs more space while still remaining tightly -enveloped and held in position so as to avoid the slightest disturbance in the half -fluid flesh just beginning to assume its <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e798">[<a href="#xd31e798">41</a>]</span>proper shape. How are these conditions realized in the egg? To understand the matter -thoroughly let us go back to the orange wrapped in a handkerchief twisted at both -ends. Is it not true that if both ends untwist a little, the orange, supposing it -to need by degrees more room, will always find the necessary space without for a moment -ceasing to be enveloped and motionless? In the same manner the suspending cords of -the white slacken and gradually untwist as the little bird grows, at the expense of -the yolk, in its soft hammock of glair; the needed space is made, and at the same -time the feeble little bird remains just as finely swaddled and suspended in the center -of the egg, protected from contact with the hard shell.” -</p> -<p>“At the beginning,” interposed Jules, “you called an egg a marvel. I see that there -are, in fact, in the egg things very worthy of our admiration: the shell, with its -numerous air-holes; the cavity at the large end; the air-chamber where provision is -made for breathing; the soft little bed of glair with its suspending cords that untwist -to make more room, and perhaps that is not all?” -</p> -<p>“No, my friend, that is very far from being all. I limit myself here to the simplest -things and those that are not beyond your grasp. How would it be if you could follow -me in the unfolding of higher ideas? You would see how everything in the egg is arranged -with infinite delicacy, with a foresight that we may call maternal, and then you would -find my word <i>marvel</i> the right one. But, not to go beyond <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e805">[<a href="#xd31e805">42</a>]</span>your small powers of comprehension, I abridge, much to my regret. -</p> -<p>“The yolk or yelk (which means the yellow part) is round and bright yellow; hence -its name. At a point on its surface, generally at the top, no matter what the position -of the egg, is seen a circular spot, dull white, where the matter is a little more -condensed than elsewhere. It is called the <i>cicatricle</i>, or little scar. That is the sacred spot where lies the spark of life which, animated -by incubation, will quicken the substance of the egg and mold it into a living being; -it is the point of departure, the origin, the germ of the bird. The yolk itself is -the nutritive reservoir whence are drawn the materials for this work of creation. -Quickened by the heat of the brooding hen and by the action of the air, it becomes -covered with a network of fine veins. These swell with the substance of the yolk, -which turns to blood; and this blood, carried hither and thither, becomes the flesh -of the being in process of formation. The yolk, then, is the bird’s first food, but -food that no beak seizes and no stomach digests, none being in existence yet. It changes -to blood and afterward to flesh without the preparatory work of ordinary digestion; -it enters the veins directly, and thus nourishes the whole body. -</p> -<p>“Animals with udders—the mammifers—also have nutriment for the very young in the form -of milk, which is indispensable for the weak stomach of the nursling. Well, the yolk -is to the bird in its shell what milk is to the lamb and kitten; it is its milk-food, -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e813">[<a href="#xd31e813">43</a>]</span>as it can have no recourse to maternal udders. The popular saying has perfectly caught -the strict resemblance: they call a drink prepared with the yolk of an egg, ‘hen’s -milk.’ ” -</p> -<p>“That is what Mother Ambroisine makes me take when I cough in the winter,” said Emile. -</p> -<p>“The delicious beverage that Mother Ambroisine gives you when you have a cold is very -properly called ‘hen’s milk,’ since it is made with the equivalent of milk; that is -to say, the yolk of an egg.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e818">[<a href="#xd31e818">44</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch6" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e232">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VI</h2> -<h2 class="main">INCUBATION</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Incubation means <i>lying upon</i>. The brooding bird does in fact crouch or lie upon her eggs, warming them with the -heat of her body for a number of days with indefatigable patience. When a hen wishes -to set,<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e827src" href="#xd31e827">1</a> she makes it known by her repeated cluckings, little cries of maternal anxiety, by -her ruffled feathers, her restless movements, and particularly by the perseverance -with which she stays on the nest, even when it has no eggs, where she has been in -the habit of laying. -</p> -<p>“Some hens with wandering dispositions go back to the instincts of their wild race. -They leave the hen-house and seek a hedge or thicket, where they select a hiding-place -to suit them, and there make a little hollow in the earth which they line as well -as they can with a mattress of dry grass, leaves, and feathers. That is a nest in -the rough, without art, a shapeless construction in comparison with the clever masterpiece -of the chaffinch and goldfinch. It is, furthermore, worthy of remark that all the -domestic birds, as if man’s intervention had destroyed their skill by freeing them -from want, fail to display in <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e833">[<a href="#xd31e833">45</a>]</span>the construction of their nests the admirable resourcefulness shown by most wild birds. -Here might be repeated the saying, as true for man as for beast, necessity is the -mother of invention. Sure of finding, when the time comes for laying, the basket stuffed -with hay by the hand of the housewife, the domestic fowl does not trouble herself -to build a nest, an undertaking in which the tiniest bird of the fields shows itself -a consummate architect. At the most, when her adventurous disposition makes her prefer -the perilous shelter of the hedge to the safe retreat of the poultry-yard, the hen, -gleaning with her beak a few straws and leaves, and plucking, if need be, some of -her own feathers, succeeds in making, for her period of brooding, a disordered heap -rather than a nest. There, every day, unknown to all, she goes and lays her egg. Then -for three whole weeks she is not to be seen, or only at intervals. That is the time -of incubation. At last, some fine day, she reappears, very proud, at the head of a -family of young chickens, peeping and pecking around her.” -</p> -<p>“I should like,” said Emile, “to have some hens that set like that in the fields and -then come home again some day with their family of little chickens.” -</p> -<p>“I must admit it is a sight worthy of interest, that of a hen that has stolen her -nest returning to the farmhouse at the head of her newly hatched young chickens. Her -eyes shine with satisfaction; her clucking has something joyful about it. ‘Look,’ -she seems to say to those who welcome her, ‘see how <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e838">[<a href="#xd31e838">46</a>]</span>fine, alert, and vigorous these young chickens are; they are all mine; I raised them -there all alone in a corner of the hedge, and now I bring them to you. Am I not a -fine hen?’ Yes, my dear biddy, you are a fine hen, but also an imprudent one. In the -fields prowl the weasel and the marten which, if you are absent a moment, will suck -the blood of your little ones; in the fields the fox is watching to wring your neck; -in the fields there are cold, rain, bad weather, grave peril for your shivering family. -You would do better to remain at home. -</p> -<p>“The greater number follow this prudent advice and do not leave the poultry-yard. -In the semi-obscurity of a sheltered quiet corner is placed the egg-basket, lined -with a bed of hay or of crumpled straw. In it are put from twelve to fifteen eggs, -the largest and freshest being chosen, and preferably those not more than a week old. -If they were two or three weeks old they would not be sure to hatch, as in many of -them the germ would have become too old and would have lost the power to develop. -These arrangements made, the eggs are left to the setting hen without being touched -again. -</p> -<p>“Whoever has not seen a setting hen has missed one of the most touching sights in -this world: the devotion of the mother-bird to her eggs, her self-forgetfulness even -to the point of sacrificing her own life. Her eyes shine with fever, her skin burns. -Eating and drinking are forgotten, and in order not to leave her eggs a moment a hen -might even let herself die of hunger on the nest if some one did not <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e843">[<a href="#xd31e843">47</a>]</span>come every day and gently take her off and make her eat. Others, less persevering, -leave the basket of their own accord, snatch up a little food, and immediately go -back to the nest.” -</p> -<p>“Do hens keep up that tiresome setting very long?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“It takes twenty or twenty-one days for the young chickens to come out of the shell. -During the whole of that time, night and day, the mother remains squatting on the -eggs, except for the rare moments that she spares, as if grudgingly, for the necessities -of nourishment. Her only distraction in this complete retirement is to turn the eggs -over every twenty-four hours and change their place, moving those outside into the -center, and <i>vice versa</i>, so that all may have an equal share of heat. That is a delicate operation, and it -must be left to the hen’s care to move the eggs with her beak. Let us be careful not -to interfere with our clumsy hands, for the bird knows better than we how to manage -it.” -</p> -<p>“If the hen is so careful to move the eggs every day and give them all the same amount -of heat,” said Jules, “it must be heat alone that makes them hatch?” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend, simply the heat of the mother makes the eggs hatch. That is why the -hen can be dispensed with and the eggs hatched by artificial heat, provided it be -well regulated, gentle, and continued for a long time without interruption. The Egyptians, -an ancient people of great skill, practised this method thousands of years ago. They -put the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e854">[<a href="#xd31e854">48</a>]</span>eggs by hundreds of dozens into a sort of oven gently heated for three weeks, the -period of natural incubation. At the end of that time the peepings of the countless -brood did not fail to announce the success of the operation.” -</p> -<p>“What a big family that oven-hatched brood must have been!” exclaimed Emile. “It would -have taken a hundred hens to set on all the eggs, but in this way they were all hatched -at once.” -</p> -<p>“A setting hen ceases to lay, and it was doubtless in order not to interrupt the beneficent -daily production of eggs that the Egyptians invented artificial incubation in an oven. -For the same reason sometimes with us recourse is had to this means, especially where -the raising of poultry is made a business; only the incubation is no longer carried -out in an oven but in ingeniously contrived incubators. In a drawer, on a bed of hay, -the eggs are placed in a single layer. Above, and separated from the brooder by a -sheet-iron partition, is a bed of water, which a lamp, kept always alight, warms and -maintains at the temperature that the hen’s body would give; that is to say, forty -degrees centigrade. In twenty-one days under this warm ceiling the eggs hatch just -as they would under the hen.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, Uncle,” cried Emile, “I should really like to have an incubator like that in -a corner of my room and watch the progress of the hatching every day by opening the -drawer.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p041width"><img src="images/p041.png" alt="Incubator" width="291" height="263"><p class="figureHead">Incubator</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“What you would like to do, others, more skilful, have already done, not only opening -the drawer but <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e865">[<a href="#xd31e865">49</a>]</span>breaking an egg each day so as to see how things are going. I told you that the germ -of the bird is a round spot of dull white, the cicatricle, which by its mobility is -always on top at the surface of the yolk, no matter what the position of the egg. -After five or six hours of incubation you can already distinguish in the center of -the cicatricle a minute glairy swelling which will be the head, and a line which will -be the backbone. Pretty soon there begins to beat, at regular intervals, the organ -most necessary to life, the heart, which chases through a network of fine veins the -blood formed, little by little, out of the substance of the yolk, and distributes -it everywhere to furnish materials to the other organs just coming into being. It -is toward the second day that these first heart-beats, destined to continue henceforth -until death, become apparent. Thus irrigated with running flesh—for blood is nothing -else—this organism thenceforward makes rapid progress. The eyes show themselves and -form a large black spot on each side of the head; the quills of the large feathers -form in their sheaths; the scales of the feet are outlined in a bluish tint; the bones, -at first gelatinous, acquire firmness by becoming incrusted with a small quantity -of stony matter. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e867">[<a href="#xd31e867">50</a>]</span>From the tenth day all the parts of the young chicken are well formed. The little -being, softly suspended in its hammock by means of the two suspending cords that untwist -little by little to give more room as it grows, is bent over on itself, the head folded -against the breast and hidden under its wing. Note, my friends, that it is precisely -this attitude of deep sleep inside the egg that the hen assumes when she wants to -sleep. Crouched on her perch, she again folds her head on her breast and tucks it -under her wing, just as she did when she was a little chicken in its shell. -</p> -<p>“In the meantime the little bird keeps growing on the yellow and white matter; matter -which soaks and penetrates it and, vivified by the air, becomes its blood and its -flesh. One day it breaks the thin membrane under the shell, and there it is more at -ease with the increase of space given it by the air-chamber. Now an attentive ear -can distinguish feeble peepings inside the shell; it is the seventeenth or eighteenth -day. A couple of days more, and the young chicken, summoning all its strength, will -apply itself to the arduous work of deliverance. A pointed callosity, made expressly -for the purpose, has formed on the upper part of the tip-end of the beak. Here is -the tool, the pick, for opening its prison; a tool for that particular purpose and -of very short duration, which will disappear as soon as the shell is pierced. With -this provisional pick, the little chicken begins to hammer the shell; perseveringly -it pushes, strikes, scratches, until the stone <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e871">[<a href="#xd31e871">51</a>]</span>wall yields. For the most vigorous it takes several hours. Oh, joy! the shell is broken; -there is the young chicken’s little head, and all yellow velvety down, and still wet -with the moisture of the egg. The mother comes to its aid and completes its deliverance; -others, weaker or less skilful, take twenty-four hours of painful effort to free themselves. -Some even exhaust themselves in the undertaking and perish miserably in the egg without -succeeding in breaking the shell.” -</p> -<p>“Those are the very ones the mother ought to help,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“She would be careful not to, for fear of a worse accident than a difficult birth. -How could she direct her blows accurately enough not to wound the tender little chicken -just inside the shell? The slightest false move would cause a wound, and at so tender -an age any wound is death. We ourselves, with all the dexterity and care possible, -could not, without danger, help the bird in distress; it can be tried as a last resort, -but the chance of success is very small. The young chicken is the only one capable -of carrying through this delicate deliverance if strength does not fail it. The hen -knows this wonderfully well, and so does not interfere except to finish freeing the -prisoner when half out of its shell. Let us hope that things will turn out as we wish, -and that on the twenty-first day the whole family may be warmed under the mother’s -wings without mortal accident at the moment of hatching. -</p> -<p>“From the instant of leaving the shell the young <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e877">[<a href="#xd31e877">52</a>]</span>chickens already know how to peck food and how to run around the mother who, clucking, -leads the way. They have besides a little fur of downy hair that clothes them warmly. -This development is not found in all birds; far from it. Pigeons, for example, come -naked from the egg and do not know how to eat; the father and mother have to feed -them by disgorging a mouthful of food into their beaks. The young of the warbler, -chaffinch, goldfinch, tomtit, lark, in fact of nearly all the field birds, are naked, -very weak, at first blind, and completely incapable of feeding themselves, even with -the food just under their beaks. The parents, with infinite tenderness, have for a -number of days to bring it to them and put it into their beaks.” -</p> -<p>“That is a difference that has always struck me,” commented Jules. “Little sparrows -open their mouths wide to receive the food offered them, but for a long time they -do not know how to take it even if it is put at the very end of their beak. On the -contrary, little chickens easily pick up from the ground for themselves the seeds -and worms that the mother digs up for them.” -</p> -<p>“I will tell you, if you do not already know,” continued Uncle Paul, “that the young -of the duck, turkey, goose, and, among wild birds, the partridge and quail, have the -same precocity as those of the hen. They are clothed with down on coming out of the -egg, and know how to eat. One of the causes of this difference in the way young birds -act immediately after <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e883">[<a href="#xd31e883">53</a>]</span>hatching comes from the size of the egg. The chick is formed wholly from the substances -contained in the egg; the larger the egg in proportion to the size of the animal, -the stronger and more developed the young. Therefore the kind with the largest eggs -are clothed at the time of hatching; they can run and know how to eat, unaided. Where -the eggs are relatively small the young are hatched weak, naked, blind, and for a -long time, motionless in their nest, demand the mother’s beakful of food. -</p> -<p>“The largest egg known is that of an enormous bird that formerly lived in the island -of Madagascar, and of which the species appears to-day to have been completely destroyed. -This bird is called the epyornis. It was three or four meters tall and thus rivaled -in stature a very long-legged horse or, better still, the animal called a giraffe. -Such birds ought to lay monstrous eggs; such in fact they are; their length is three -decimeters and a half and their capacity nearly nine liters.” -</p> -<p>“Nine liters!” exclaimed Emile. “Oh, what an egg! Our large vinegar jug only holds -ten liters. Certainly the young that come from that ought to know how to run and to -eat.” -</p> -<p>“To equal in bulk the egg of the epyornis it would take one hundred and forty-eight -hen’s eggs.” -</p> -<p>“I think they could make a famous omelet with only one of those eggs.” -</p> -<p>“A fine large one could be made, too, with an ostrich-egg, which in size represents -nearly two dozen <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e891">[<a href="#xd31e891">54</a>]</span>hen’s eggs. It need not be added that young ostriches know how to run and to eat as -soon as they come out of the shell. -</p> -<p>“Those are the largest eggs; now let us consider the smallest ones. They are those -of the humming-bird, a charming creature whose splendid plumage would outshine the -most brilliant costly metals, precious stones, and jewels. There are some as small -as our large wasps and that certain spiders catch in their webs just as the spiders -of our country catch gnats. Their nest is a cup of cotton no bigger than half an apricot. -Judge then the size of the eggs. It would take three hundred and forty to make one -hen’s egg, and fifty thousand to make one laid by the epyornis.” -</p> -<p>“I imagine the little humming-birds in their nest must be all naked at first and blind, -taking their food from their mother’s beak.” -</p> -<p>“From the smallness of the egg it could not be otherwise.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e897">[<a href="#xd31e897">55</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e827"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e827src">1</a></span> Uncle Paul and his nephews are here allowed to defy the purist, as they probably would -in real life.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e827src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch7" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e242">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE YOUNG CHICKENS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“The hatching of the eggs does not take place all at once; sometimes it is twenty-four -hours before all the eggs are broken. A danger thus arises. Divided between her desire -to continue setting and her wish to give her attention to the newly born, the mother -may make some sudden movement and unintentionally trample on the tender creatures, -or even leave the nest too soon, which would cause the loss of the backward eggs. -What, then, is to be done? The first-born are taken as carefully as possible and placed -in a basket stuffed with wool or cotton and put in a warm place near the fire. When -the whole family is hatched it is restored to the mother. -</p> -<p>“The first days are hard ones for the young chickens; they are so delicate, poor little -things, so chilly under their light yellow down. Where will they be kept at first? -Shall it be with the grown-up poultry, a turbulent crowd, quarrelsome, rough, and -without any consideration for the weak? What would become of them, the little innocents, -not yet well balanced on their legs, in the midst of the greedy hens which, in scratching -for worms, might give them some brutal kick? How dangerous for them to be with the -quarrelsome cocks that disdain to look out <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e905">[<a href="#xd31e905">56</a>]</span>for the frightened little giddy-heads straying about under their very spurs! No, no, -that is not the place for them. -</p> -<p>“What they require is a place set apart, isolated from the rough grown-up poultry, -heated to a mild temperature, and carpeted with fine straw. If this place is wanting, -recourse is had to a coop, a sort of large cage, under which the mother is placed -with some food. Sometimes the bars of this refuge are far enough apart to permit the -young chickens to come in and go out at will, so as to enjoy their play; sometimes -they are too close together for this, and then the coop is lifted a little at one -side when it is desired to give liberty to the captives. But the mother always stays -in the cage, whence she watches over the young chickens, calling them to her at the -least appearance of danger. If the weather is fine, the coop is placed out of doors -in an exposed spot, with a sheltering canopy of canvas, foliage, or straw, when the -sun is too hot.” -</p> -<p>“There the young chickens are safe,” said Emile, “out of danger of any accident amongst -the boisterous population of the poultry-yard. If some danger arises, the hen gives -her warning call, and those that are outside immediately scamper through the narrow -passage and take refuge with their mother. Now about their food.” -</p> -<p>“Food is not forgotten: under the coop is a plate containing water, and another with -pap. For very young chickens it is not yet time for strong food, hard grain which -requires a vigorous stomach to digest; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e911">[<a href="#xd31e911">57</a>]</span>they must have something at once nutritious and easy to digest. Their pap is composed -of finely crumbled bread, a few salad leaves well chopped up, hard-boiled eggs, and -a pinch of fine millet to accustom them by degrees to a diet of grain. The whole is -carefully mixed. -</p> -<p>“On coming out of the shell, the young chickens, like other birds from a relatively -large egg, are quick at taking food for themselves; nevertheless it is necessary, -from their utter inexperience, for the mother to show them how to strike the beak -into the pap. Let us witness this lesson of the first mouthful. The farmer’s wife -has just put the food under the coop. ‘What is this?’ perhaps the innocent little -chickens ask, their stomachs beginning to cry hunger now that they have been nearly -twenty-four hours out of the shell. ‘What is this?’ All flurried with joy, the mother -calls them to the plate in accents resembling articulate speech. They approach, tottering -on their little legs. The hen then gives a few pecks in the mess, but only pretends -to eat, so as not to diminish the dainty food reserved for the little ones. One of -the chickens, perhaps a little quicker of apprehension than the rest, seems to have -understood; it seizes a crumb of bread in its beak but immediately lets it fall again. -The mother begins again, urges, encourages with her voice and look, and this time -swallows in plain sight of them all. The young chicken returns to its crumb and after -two or three attempts succeeds in swallowing it, half closing its eyes with satisfaction. -‘Ha! how good it is!’ it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e915">[<a href="#xd31e915">58</a>]</span>seems to say; ‘let us try again.’ And another crumb goes down; then a little piece -of yolk of egg follows. Henceforth it can manage for itself. The example spreads; -one here, another there, tries its beak; the hen repeating her patient lesson for -the less clever of the brood. Soon they have all understood and are vying with one -another in their assaults on the pap. Then comes a lesson in drinking. How to plunge -the beak fearlessly into the water, how to raise the head heavenward so as to let -the mouthful of liquid go down the throat, is what the hen will show her pupils by -repeated examples. In imitating her, some giddy one will perhaps put its foot into -the water or even fall into the plate, a fearful possibility for the inexperienced -drinker. But the hen will dry the unfortunate one under her wings and show it another -time how to manage better. To be brief, in a single short session the whole brood -has been taught the two chief needs of this world, eating and drinking.” -</p> -<p>“They are scholars quick to learn,” said Jules. “It is true the prompting of the stomach, -hunger, must have helped them.” -</p> -<p>“Hardly a week has passed before the young chickens are out of the coop and running -around, though not to any great distance, for if one appears to want to go off the -mother admonishes it and recalls it to more prudent ways. If she suspects the slightest -danger she recalls them all to her retreat by a persuasive clucking. Immediately the -little chickens scamper back, squeeze between the bars or crawl <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e920">[<a href="#xd31e920">59</a>]</span>under the lifted end of the coop, and regain the refuge where no intruders can penetrate. -When the time comes for these first sallies outside the coop, the hen can be set free -and allowed to lead her family where she pleases. -</p> -<p>“One of the most interesting sights of the farm is that of the hen at the head of -her young chickens. With a slow step, measured by the feebleness of her brood, she -goes hither and thither on the chance of finding something of value to her, always -with vigilant eye and attentive ear. She clucks with a voice made hoarse by her maternal -exertions; she scratches to dig up little seeds which the young ones come and take -from under her beak. Here is a good place chanced upon in the sunshine for a rest -from walking and for getting warm. The hen crouches down, ruffles up her plumage and -slightly raises her wings, arching them in a sort of vault. All run and squat under -the warm cover. Two or three put their heads out of the window, their pretty heads, -all alert, framed in their mother’s somber plumage. One, in its boldness, settles -down on her back, and from this elevated position pecks the hen’s neck; the others, -the great majority, hide in her down and sleep or peep softly. The siesta finished, -they resume their promenade, the mother scratching and clucking, the little ones trotting -around her. -</p> -<p>“But what is this? It is the shadow of a bird of prey, which for a moment has darkened -the sunshine of the courtyard. The menacing apparition did not last more than the -twinkling of an eye; nevertheless <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e926">[<a href="#xd31e926">60</a>]</span>the hen saw it. Danger threatens, the rapacious bird is not far away. At the note -of alarm the young chickens hasten to take refuge under the mother, who makes a rampart -for them of her wings. And now the ravisher may come. This mother, so feeble, so timid, -that a mere nothing would put her to flight on all other occasions, becomes imposingly -audacious where her brood is concerned. Let the goshawk appear, and the hen, full -of tenderness and intrepidity, will throw herself in front of the terrible talons. -By the beating of her wings, her redoubled cries, her furious pecks with her beak, -she will hold her own against the bird of prey, until at last it beats a retreat, -repulsed by this indomitable resistance. -</p> -<p>“The attachment of the hen to her young is shown in another very remarkable circumstance. -As she is an excellent brooder, they sometimes give her ducks’ eggs to hatch. The -hen brings up her adopted family as she would her own; she exercises the same care -over the little ducks as she would over chickens of her own. All goes well as long -as the ducklings, covered with a velvety yellow down, conform to the ways of their -nurse and run under her wing at the first summons. But a time comes when their aquatic -instinct awakens. They smell the pond, the neighboring pond, where the frog croaks -and the tadpole frisks. They go waddling along, one after another, the old hen following -them in ignorance of their project. They reach the pond and dash into the water. Then -it is that the hen, believing the very lives of her little ones in peril, gives vent -to the most desperate <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e930">[<a href="#xd31e930">61</a>]</span>outcry. In her mortal terror the poor mother races in distraction along the bank, -her voice hoarse with emotion, her plumage bristling with fear. She calls, menaces, -supplicates. An angry red mounts to her comb, the fire of despair illumines her eye. -She even goes—miracle of mother love—she even goes so far as to risk one foot in the -water, that perfidious element, the sight of which makes her almost faint with fear. -But to all her supplications the little ducklings turn a deaf ear, happy in their -pursuit of the silver-bellied tadpole among the cresses.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, the little rascals,” exclaimed Emile, “not to listen to their nurse’s warnings! -However, as they are ducks they can’t get along without water.” -</p> -<p>“They go there very often alone at first, in spite of the hen’s remonstrances; then, -reassured by the first attempts, she willingly leads them to the bath and from the -bank watches their joyful gambols.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e935">[<a href="#xd31e935">62</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch8" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e252">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER VIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE POULARD<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e941src" href="#xd31e941">1</a></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“In a month the young chickens are strong enough to do without the tender care of -their early days. The pap, the dainty dish of hard-boiled eggs mixed with lettuce -and bread crumbs, is no longer served to them, but their rations consist simply of -grain and green stuff. This kind of weaning is not effected without some regret on -their part at the remembrance of the pap; but the mother makes amends for it by teaching -them to scratch the earth and seek insects and worms, a royal feast for them. She -shows them how a fly should be snapped up when warming itself in the sun against the -wall; how the worm is to be caught and drawn from the ground before it goes into its -hole. She shows them in what manner to proceed in order to derive the largest profit -from a tuft of grass where the ants have stored their eggs; with what nice attention -they must search the under side of large leaves where various insects are in hiding. -How to carry out little predatory excursions in the neighboring cultivated fields -when opportunity offers, how to scratch up the newly made garden-plots and rummage -in every nook and corner, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e948">[<a href="#xd31e948">63</a>]</span>pillaging here and pilfering there—this, too, is all comprised in the educational -curriculum prepared by the careful mother. After a couple of weeks of such practice -the pupils are past masters; they lose the name of chickens and take that of pullets -and roosters. Then the family disbands, the hen returning to her laying of eggs, and -the chickens, thenceforth expert in the difficult science of earning their living, -being left to themselves. -</p> -<p>“Very diverse fates await them. Some, fortune’s favorites, will grow peacefully to -increase the poultry-yard; others, more numerous, as soon as they are large enough -will be given over to the kitchen knife; some, chosen from those easiest to fatten, -will undergo a diet that will make them peculiarly suitable for the table. Let me -tell you to-day through what grievous trials the poor bird passes to become, by artificial -aid, the plump, fat, succulent fowl that we call a poulard.” -</p> -<p>“Then a poulard is not a separate species of hen?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“No, my friend. The poulard is only an ordinary hen artificially subjected to a kind -of life that fattens it. All species do not lend themselves with equal success to -this artificial fattening; the best known in this respect is that of la Flèche, which -furnishes the celebrated poulard of Mans. -</p> -<p>“I have already told you a few words about this species, which is distinguished from -the others by its dashing appearance and long legs. The plumage is entirely black, -touched with glints of violet and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e955">[<a href="#xd31e955">64</a>]</span>green. The cock carries proudly, for comb, two horns of brilliant red flesh; its wattles -are pendent and very long. The hen has two similar but shorter horns; her wattles -are small and rounded; finally, her legs have not the disproportionate length of the -cock’s tall stilts. Such are the patients preëminently destined for the cruel industry -of fattening. Let us come now to the practice of it. -</p> -<p>“The greatest care in this world is that of the family. You know with what continual -and laborious solicitude the hen watches over her little ones, with what self-sacrifice -the mother spends herself in order to keep her nest of eggs warm. If pains were not -taken to remove her from the nest and make her eat, she would let herself starve to -death, sacrificing her own life for the sake of her eggs. Is it possible for a bird -to take on flesh with such ardent maternal love burning in her veins? Certainly not. -The first condition for becoming large and fat is to consider one’s self alone, a -thing permitted only to the beast whose end is to become an excellent roast. -</p> -<p>“Well, in order that the hen may consider solely herself, think of nothing but eating -and digesting well, so as to take on fat and flesh abundantly, it is put out of her -power to lay, which in turn takes from her all idea of brooding and of raising young -chickens. Out of a mother, ready to devote herself unstintingly, is made a brute that, -if only its crop be full, has no care of any kind; in fact, a veritable fat-factory. -The operation is a cruel one. With the blade of a penknife a slight incision is made -in the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e960">[<a href="#xd31e960">65</a>]</span>stomach, and the organ in which the eggs are formed is removed. With a little care -the slight wound soon heals, and the mutilated bird is ready for the life of a poulard. -Let loose in the poultry-yard, it has henceforth nothing to do but eat, digest, and -sleep; sleep, digest, and eat. Leading such a life, the bird soon begins to grow fat. -Things go all the better and quicker, however, if the bird cannot move freely, cannot -come and go at will; for it is to be remarked that no more than love of offspring -does love of liberty fatten those that feel its generous ardor. You will ponder that -later, my children, when you are older. So they confine the poulards in coops.” -</p> -<p>“What sort of coops?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“They are low cages divided into cells, with one poulard to a cell. Crouching in its -narrow compartment, the fowl cannot move or even turn round. Solid partitions bar -the view except in front near the feed-trough, and prevent its seeing its neighbors, -its companions in confinement, so that nothing may distract it from its ceaseless -work of digestion. The cage is placed in a room heated to a mild temperature, far -from all noise and in a semi-obscurity which induces sleep, so favorable to the functions -of the stomach. At punctually regulated hours, far enough apart for appetite to be -aroused, but near enough together to prevent its becoming actual hunger, which would -impair the well-being of the stomach and hinder the fattening of the bird, three meals -a day are served in the feed-trough. Raw beets, cooked potatoes, crushed grain, curdled -milk, barley, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e965">[<a href="#xd31e965">66</a>]</span>wheat, maize, buckwheat, compose the menu in turn, so as to excite by variety and -choice of food an appetite that satiety daily makes more languishing. Thus fed to -repletion, the poor creature, with nothing to distract it from the filling of its -crop, eats to pass the time, falls asleep from sheer stupor, awakes, and begins to -eat again, only to fall asleep once more. Toward the end of this treatment the poulard, -gorged beyond measure, refuses to eat any more. To arouse the last feeble promptings -of appetite recourse is had to more delicate food, calculated to keep alive a few -days longer the desire for nourishment. For solid food a dough of fine flour is served, -and for liquid refreshment, milk, pure milk, if you please. If the bird, already stuffed -to bursting, positively refuses to eat any more, it is made to eat by force.” -</p> -<p>“By force?” said Emile, “when it is bursting and can eat no more?” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend, by force. Willy, nilly, it must still swallow for some days longer, -after which comes the end of its miseries. It is killed and appears on the table as -a tender and juicy roast abounding in fat. -</p> -<p>“This forced feeding is the essential feature in the method followed to obtain the -renowned poulards of Mans. -</p> -<p>“According to the masters of this art, the process is as follows: Without preliminary -subjection to the mutilation I spoke of, the fowls are placed in narrow cages in a -warm, dark room, the doors and windows <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e973">[<a href="#xd31e973">67</a>]</span>of which have been made tight to prevent the free circulation of air. For food, a -mixture of barley-flour, oats, and buckwheat is moistened with milk, and the dough -is divided into little pieces or oblong balls shaped like an olive and of about the -length of the little finger. At meal times, which must be very regular, the feeder -takes three hens at a time, ties them together by the legs, puts them on his knees, -and, by the light of a lamp, begins by making them swallow a spoonful of water or -whey; then, taking them by turns, he introduces a bolus into the beak of each of the -hens, and to facilitate the descent of the large pieces he presses lightly with his -fingers, passing from the base of the beak down to the crop. While the bird that has -been fed is recovering from its painful deglutition, the two others are treated in -the same manner. To this first ball are added a second, a third, and so on up to a -dozen or fifteen, all put into the beak and swallowed willingly or otherwise. Their -crops sufficiently full, the three hens are replaced in their cages, where they have -nothing to do but sleep and peacefully digest their copious meal. The others go through -the same treatment, three by three, in a fixed order.” -</p> -<p>“And if the crop is stuffed too full with these twelve or fifteen lumps of dough,” -asked Jules, “may not the bird die, choked with food?” -</p> -<p>“There is no great danger; all will go well. Remember the bird’s astonishing powers -of digestion and the experiments I related to you on this subject.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e978">[<a href="#xd31e978">68</a>]</span></p> -<p>“It is true that a gizzard capable of getting rid of leaden balls stuck with needles -or lancets ought easily to dispose of a few lumps of dough.” -</p> -<p>“Besides, heed is taken not to go beyond the fowl’s digestive powers. A halt is called -as soon as the crop appears to be full. It takes from six weeks to two months of this -treatment to bring the poulard to perfection.” -</p> -<p>“I am too fond of the poulard served up as a choice roast to speak ill of what I have -just heard; nevertheless I will admit, Uncle, that this barbarous fattening process -is repulsive to me. I pity those poor things crouching there in the dark, in cells -where they cannot move, and forcibly crammed with food until almost stuffed to death.” -</p> -<p>“This sympathy proceeds from a good disposition, and I approve of it; but, after all, -what is to be done? Since we need the poulard, we must needs countenance the process -by which the hen is turned into the poulard. Our life is sustained by animal life. -Therefore all that our pity can do is to lessen as much as possible the unavoidable -suffering and, above all, see to it that the victims of our needs do not become also -the victims of a useless and stupid brutality.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e984">[<a href="#xd31e984">69</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e941"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e941src">1</a></span> The poulard (French <i>poularde</i>) bears the same relation to the pullet as the capon does to the young rooster.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e941src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch9" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e262">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER IX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE TURKEY</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p061width"><img src="images/p061.png" alt="Turkey" width="346" height="307"><p class="figureHead">Turkey</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Of our barnyard fowls, the turkey is the most remarkable except the peacock, which -is raised only for the incomparable richness of its plumage. The turkey-gobbler has -his head and neck covered with bare bluish skin, embellished behind with white nipples -and in front with red ones, which swell and hang down in large pendants, resembling -sealing wax in color. Over his beak falls a piece of flesh, short and wrinkled when -the bird is in repose, hanging far down and of brilliant coloring when he wishes to -display his charms. In the middle of his breast is fastened an unkempt sort of mane. -To show off, he bridles up, inflates his red pendants, elongates the piece of flesh -over his beak, throws his head back, spreads out his tail feathers in the shape <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e995">[<a href="#xd31e995">70</a>]</span>of a wheel, and lets the tips of his half-opened wings trail on the ground. In this -grotesquely proud posture he turns slowly to let himself be admired from all sides. -From time to time a low sound, <i>puff-puff</i>, accompanied by a sort of convulsive stretching of the wings, is the sign of his -supreme satisfaction. If some noise, especially whistling, disturbs him, he hauls -down his colors and, stretching his neck, hastily gives a <i>gloo-gloo-gloo</i> that seems to burst from the very depths of his stomach.” -</p> -<p>“By whistling to the turkeys feeding in the fields,” said Emile, “I can make them -repeat their cry as often as I want to. The turkey hens do not say <i>gloo-gloo</i>; they peep plaintively.” -</p> -<p>“This fowl is a recent acquisition of our poultry-yards,” resumed Uncle Paul. “It -came to us from North America in the sixteenth century. As America was called West -Indies in contrast with the Asian or East Indies, the bird originating in the forests -of the New World was called the Indian cock (<i lang="fr">coq d’Inde</i>) and the Indian hen (<i lang="fr">poule d’Inde</i>); from which have come the French terms <i>dindon</i> and <i>dinde</i>. For a long time the bird spread but little; it was raised merely as a curious rarity. -The first that appeared on the table was, they say, at the wedding feast of Charles IX. -</p> -<p>“The turkey lived, and still lives to-day, in a wild state, in the forests of the -United States of North America. Its habits are described by a celebrated naturalist, -Audubon,<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e1019src" href="#xd31e1019">1</a> who, with his gun on his shoulder, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1027">[<a href="#xd31e1027">71</a>]</span>his notebook, pencil, and brushes in his game-bag, traversed the most secluded solitudes -in order to observe, paint, and describe birds. -</p> -<p>“ ‘The nest,’ he tells us, ‘which consists of a few withered leaves, is placed on -the ground, in a hollow scooped out by the side of a log, or in the fallen top of -a dry leafy tree, under a thicket of sumach or briars, or a few feet within the edge -of a cane-brake, but always in a dry place.… When depositing her eggs, the female -always approaches the nest with extreme caution, scarcely ever taking the same course -twice, and when about to leave them covers them carefully with leaves, so that it -is very difficult for a person who may have seen the bird to discover the nest.… -</p> -<p>“ ‘The mother will not leave her eggs when near hatching, under any circumstances, -while life remains. She will even allow an enclosure to be made around her, and thus -suffer imprisonment, rather than abandon them. I once witnessed the hatching of a -brood of turkeys, which I watched for the purpose of securing them together with the -parent. I concealed myself on the ground within a very few feet, and saw her raise -herself half the length of her legs, look anxiously upon the eggs, cluck with a sound -peculiar to the mother on such occasions, carefully remove each half-empty shell, -and with her bill caress and dry the young birds, that already stood tottering and -attempting to make their way out of the nest. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1032">[<a href="#xd31e1032">72</a>]</span>Yes, I have seen this, and have left mother and young to better care than mine could -have proved—to the care of their Creator and mine. I have seen them all emerge from -the shell, and, in a few moments after, tumble, roll, and push each other forward, -with astonishing and inscrutable instinct.’ ” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p064width"><img src="images/p064.png" alt="Turkey" width="351" height="285"><p class="figureHead">Turkey</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“That’s the kind of hunter I like,” declared Jules; “one who knows how to restrain -himself at the touching sight of a nest of young birds. What did you say his name -was?” -</p> -<p>“Audubon.” -</p> -<p>“I shan’t forget that name again.” -</p> -<p>“And that will be right, for few observers have discoursed on birds with so much sympathetic -understanding as he. -</p> -<p>“I continue to draw from his account. ‘About the beginning of October,’ says he, ‘when -scarcely any of the seeds and fruits have yet fallen from the trees, these birds assemble -in flocks, and gradually move towards the rich bottom lands of the Ohio and Mississippi.… -When they come upon a river, they betake themselves to the highest eminences, and -there often remain a whole day, or sometimes two, as if for the purpose of consultation. -During this time, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1045">[<a href="#xd31e1045">73</a>]</span>the males are heard <i>gobbling</i>, calling, and making much ado, and are seen strutting about, as if to raise their -courage to a pitch befitting the emergency. Even the females and young assume something -of the same pompous demeanor, spread out their tails, and run round each other, <i>purring</i> loudly, and performing extravagant leaps. At length, when the weather appears settled, -and all around is quiet, the whole party mounts to the tops of the highest trees, -whence, at a signal, consisting of a single <i>cluck</i>, given by a leader, the flock takes flight for the opposite shore. The old and fat -birds easily get over, even should the river be a mile in breadth; but the younger -and less robust frequently fall into the water—not to be drowned, however, as might -be imagined. They bring their wings close to their body, spread out their tail as -a support, stretch forward their neck, and striking out their legs with great vigor, -proceed rapidly toward the shore; on approaching which, should they find it too steep -for landing, they cease their exertions for a few moments, float down the stream until -they come to an accessible part, and by a violent effort extricate themselves from -the water. It is remarkable that, immediately after thus crossing a large stream, -they ramble about for some time, as if bewildered. In this state, they fall an easy -prey to the hunter. -</p> -<p>“ ‘Of the numerous enemies of the wild turkey, the most formidable, excepting man, -are the lynx, the snowy owl, and the Virginia owl.… As turkeys usually roost in flocks, -on naked branches of trees, they <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1055">[<a href="#xd31e1055">74</a>]</span>are easily discovered by their enemies, the owls, which, on silent wing, approach -and hover around them for the purpose of reconnoitering. This, however, is rarely -done without being discovered, and a single <i>cluck</i> from one of the turkeys announces to the whole party the approach of the murderer. -They instantly start upon their legs, and watch the motions of the owl, which, selecting -one as its victim, comes down upon it like an arrow, and would inevitably secure the -turkey, did not the latter at that moment lower its head, stoop, and spread its tail -in an inverted manner over its back, by which action the aggressor is met by a smooth -inclined plane, along which it glances without hurting the turkey; immediately after -which the latter drops to the ground, and thus escapes, merely with the loss of a -few feathers.’ ” -</p> -<p>“To make a breastplate of the tail spread out like a wheel is a very ingenious means -of defense,” remarked Emile. “The turkey is not so foolish as people think.” -</p> -<p>“It is so far from being foolish that we have not in the poultry-yard a more impassioned -lover of liberty. In their native country turkeys wander through the great woods from -morning to night in untiring search of insects and fat larvæ, fruit and seeds of all -kinds, acorns and nuts especially, of which they are very fond. Thus the stay-at-home -habits of the poultry-yard do not suit them at all. They must have the open air of -the fields and the exercise of long walks. Moors, woods, hills abounding in grasshoppers, -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1062">[<a href="#xd31e1062">75</a>]</span>are their favorite haunts. Their timid nature makes them very docile. A child armed -with a long switch is enough to lead the flock to the fields, however numerous it -may be. Then, step by step, to-day in one direction, to-morrow in another, the flock -explores the stubble and gleans the grain fallen from the ear, traverses the grassy -meadows where the crickets leap, and penetrates the woods where is found abundant -pasturage of chestnuts, beechnuts, and acorns. -</p> -<p>“In spite of these rambles afield, which remind it a little of the wandering life -it leads in the immense forests of its native country, the turkey never acquires in -domesticity the plumpness of body and richness of plumage that belong to it in its -free state. It is a curious fact that, contrary to all our experience with other animals, -which have improved under human care and have increased in size, the turkey alone -has degenerated in our hands, as if preyed upon by an ineradicable regret for its -native forests, where bellows the buffalo, chased by the red-skinned Indian. The domestic -turkey is not much more than half as large as the wild one. And then what a difference -in the plumage! Our poultry-yard fowl is of a uniform black or of a dull red, sometimes -white. The bird of the wooded solitudes of the New World is splendid in costume. Bronzed -brown predominates, but the neck, throat, and back have, in the light, metallic reflections; -and as the plumage is clearly imbricated, the whole gives the appearance of scale -armor in gold and steel. Furthermore, the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1066">[<a href="#xd31e1066">76</a>]</span>large wing-feathers have a pure white spot on the tip.” -</p> -<p>“From that description,” said Jules, “I see well enough that the bird has not gained -by living with us.” -</p> -<p>“Nor has its flesh gained in nutritive quality, that of the wild turkey being considered -incomparably superior.” -</p> -<p>“It is just the opposite with the common hen,” observed Louis. “Originally as small -as the partridge and with as little flesh, it has developed into the fat poulard.” -</p> -<p>“Such as it is,” said Uncle Paul, “the domestic turkey is none the less, next to the -common fowl, the most valuable acquisition of the poultry-yard. Let us now turn our -attention to it. -</p> -<p>“The laying of its eggs takes place in April, when about twenty to a nest are laid, -of a dull white with reddish spots. These eggs are scarcely ever used as food; not -that they are bad—far from it—but they are too precious and too few to be converted -into omelets. As fast as the turkey-hen lays them they are gathered and kept in a -basket lined with hay or old rags until the time for setting. The gathering of these -eggs is not always easy. Faithful to her wild habits, the turkey-hen does not willingly -accept the poultry-house nest. She steals away to lay her eggs in neighboring straw-ricks, -underbrush, and hedges. One must watch her proceedings therefore, foil her ruses, -and from time to time visit her favorite haunts. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1075">[<a href="#xd31e1075">77</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Incubation presents no difficulties, the female turkey being so good a brooder. Like -the common hen, she devotes herself to her eggs with passionate love; like the hen, -too, while setting she forgets her food, so that she must be taken off the nest every -day and made to eat and drink, as otherwise she might let herself die of hunger. The -little ones hatch at the end of thirty days. There is nothing more delicate than these -new-born chicks; the least cold chills them, a shower of rain is fatal to them, even -the dew imperils their lives, and a hot sun kills them in a trice. If there is delay -in feeding, and the mother, of ponderous bulk, awkwardly plants her feet in the midst -of her numerous offspring, then the greedy little things are liable to be trampled -on and crushed to death. Another danger awaits them at the age of two or three months. -Young turkeys hatch with the heads covered with down, with no sign of the red nipples -that will ornament them later. Within two or three months these nipples, real collars, -and pendants of coral begin to show; they say then that the red is starting. At this -time there takes place in the bird a painful change which to many is mortal, especially -in a damp season. To succor the sick ones, they are made to swallow a few mouthfuls -of warm wine. All things considered, there are numberless chances of death for the -turkey-hen’s brood. Add to that the small number of eggs laid, and we can understand -why, in spite of its great utility, the turkey is less common than the ordinary fowl. -</p> -<p>“Audubon has told us that when, from his concealment <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1079">[<a href="#xd31e1079">78</a>]</span>in the bushes, he witnessed the mother turkey’s anxious procedure, the young ones -left the nest almost as soon as the shell was broken. For a moment the mother warms -and dries them under her breast; then, trotting and tumbling, they abandon the bed -of leaves, never to return. In domesticity it is much the same; no sooner are they -hatched than the little turkeys leave the nest and thenceforth have no other shelter -than the cover of their mother, who protects them under her wings exactly as the hen -protects her brood. She also takes the same care of her family, exercises the same -vigilance in foreseeing danger, shows the same audacity in coping with the bird of -prey. For the first few days the refuge afforded by the wide and deep coop, so useful -to the little chickens, is not less useful to the young turkeys. The hen-turkey is -put there with choice provisions, and the little ones are free to come and go as they -please. These provisions consist of a pap similar to that given to young chickens -and composed of bread-crumbs, curds, chopped salad leaves and nettles, a little bran, -and hard-boiled eggs. Later comes grain, oats in particular. When the weather is fine -the coop is put out of doors in a sunny spot, on very dry ground, and the brood is -allowed to play about for a couple of hours in the middle of the day. Great care must -be taken to avoid rain, dew, and dampness; a wet turkey chick is in grave danger. -</p> -<p>“The more delicate the bird at the beginning, the more robust it is when it has successfully -passed the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1083">[<a href="#xd31e1083">79</a>]</span>period called the red. It no longer needs the shelter of the poultry-house at night. -However cold it may be, it sleeps in the open air, roosting on the branches of some -dead tree or on a perch fixed to the wall. Vainly does the north wind whistle and -the frost nip; the turkey rests peacefully in the manner of its fellows in the woods -of America, and without fear lest a snow-owl come to disturb its slumbers and compel -it to spread its tail quickly and make a breastplate against the marauder’s talons. -</p> -<p>“I will finish this story with a few words on a curious method of fattening used in -certain countries, especially in Provence, Morvan, and Flanders. Over and above the -usual food that fattening birds eat voluntarily, they force both the gobbler and the -hen to swallow whole nuts.” -</p> -<p>“Whole, but without the shell?” queried Emile. -</p> -<p>“No, my friend; with the shell too; in fact, nuts just as the tree bears them.” -</p> -<p>“A nut with the shell, no matter how small, must make a hard mouthful to swallow, -and still harder to digest.” -</p> -<p>“I don’t deny it; but finally, with the finger pushing the nut a little into the throat, -and the hand gently pressing from the base of the beak to the crop, the voluminous -mouthful ends by going down, not without some grimaces on the part of the bird.” -</p> -<p>“And reason enough for them!” exclaimed Emile. -</p> -<p>“One nut would be nothing; but that is not all. The next day they force it to swallow -two, the next <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1094">[<a href="#xd31e1094">80</a>]</span>three, and so on, augmenting the dose each day. In Provence they stop at forty nuts -a day; elsewhere they go on to a hundred.” -</p> -<p>“And the turkey does not die, stuffed thus with nuts as large and hard as stones?” -asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“You would be pleased to see how the bird prospers and fattens on food that would -choke any other creature.” -</p> -<p>“With a hundred nuts in its crop, or even only forty,” was Louis’s comment, “the turkey -can’t be very comfortable.” -</p> -<p>“They are not swallowed all at one time, but in portions during the day.” -</p> -<p>“No matter,” persisted Jules; “if you hadn’t already told us, according to that learned -Italian—Wait a minute; what was his name?” -</p> -<p>“The abbot Spallanzani.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, the abbot Spallanzani. If you hadn’t told us about his experiments and the wonderful -power of the gizzard, I should never be able to understand how a turkey could manage -to digest nuts, shell and all, up to forty and even a hundred a day.” -</p> -<p>“Everything is reduced to a sort of soup in the gizzard—shells and kernels; all becomes -as soft as butter; and the bird, fat as a pig, finally serves as the chief dish at -the Christmas feast.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1105">[<a href="#xd31e1105">81</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e1019"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e1019src">1</a></span> The quoted passages are from Audubon’s “Ornithological Biography,” <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1021">[<a href="#xd31e1021">71</a>]</span>vol. I, pp. 2–9, and are here reproduced <i>verbatim</i>, though very freely treated by the French author.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e1019src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch10" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e272">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER X</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE GUINEA-FOWL</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Once upon a time—That begins, you see, like the stories of Cinderella and of the -Ass’s Skin. Are we going to spend our time in the recital of the wonders of some fairy -godmother? Not at all. I am simply going to tell you the story of the guinea-fowl; -and this story happens to be connected, in its first part, with a certain fable told -thousands and thousands of years ago, in the evening by the fire-side, to little boys, -just as to-day you are told the tragic adventures of Hop o’ my Thumb with the Ogre. -I start again then. -</p> -<p>“In that corner of the world known as Greece, a corner so illustrious in ages long -past, there was once upon a time a valiant young man, son of the king of the country, -whose favorite occupation was hunting. I say occupation and not recreation, because -in those hard times when industrial pursuits were just beginning, the country was -overrun with wild animals from which one had constantly to defend oneself and one’s -flock, only recently herded together under the shepherd’s crook. At the risk of their -own lives brave men undertook this harsh duty. Many succumbed to it, some acquired -renown great enough to survive the lapse of centuries and come down to our <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1113">[<a href="#xd31e1113">82</a>]</span>time. Surrounded by a heroic aureole, the names of these ancient slayers of monsters -have reached us. Such is the name of Meleager, borne by the young man I just mentioned. -</p> -<p>“The skin of a wild beast on his back for clothing, in his hand a stout stake sharpened -to a point and hardened in the fire, on his shoulder a quiver full of arrows pointed -with little sharp stones, in his belt a bludgeon of hard wood and a stone hatchet -sharpened on the sandstone, the ardent hunter ranged over the country, tracking the -formidable animals to their very lairs in dark forests and mountain caves overgrown -with an impenetrable barrier of reeds.” -</p> -<p>“Why didn’t those men,” asked Emile, “if they had to fight such ferocious animals, -use something better than sharpened sticks and stone-pointed arrows? Why didn’t they -take regular firearms?” -</p> -<p>“For the very best of reasons: metals were unknown, and iron, one of the latest to -be discovered, was not used by man until long after this time. Men armed themselves, -therefore, as best they could, with the point of a bone or the sharp edge of a broken -stone.” -</p> -<p>“I understand, then,” said Louis, “how dangerous such hunts must have been, and how -courageous the hunters. To-day one would cut a sorry figure attacking a wolf with -only a sharpened stake for a weapon.” -</p> -<p>“And how would it be if one found oneself face to face with the wild boar of which -Meleager rid the country? According to the old writers who handed <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1121">[<a href="#xd31e1121">83</a>]</span>down the affair to us, it was an animal such as had never been seen before and will -never be seen again. Heaven, in its wrath, had sent it to ravage the fields. It surpassed -in size, they say, the strongest bulls. From its bloodshot eyes lightning darted; -from its horrible mouth exhaled a fiery breath that instantly withered the leaves -of trees; with a few blows of its snout it uprooted oaks; with its tusks, more formidable -than the elephant’s, it ripped up the earth and sent great masses of rock flying like -so much dust. What <span class="corr" id="xd31e1123" title="Source: become">became</span> of the poor people when this brute rushed at them in all its fury? They all fled, -wild with terror, their hands upraised to heaven, their voices choked with fright.” -</p> -<p>“There must be some exaggeration there,” interposed Louis. “A wild boar does not grow -to such a size and such strength.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, certainly, there is exaggeration in this as in many other stories in which the -real facts, coming down through long centuries, finally become greatly magnified and -take on most marvelous additions. Let us bring things back to something like probability. -An enormous wild boar sets the country in a panic. For a people unprovided with good -weapons and having no refuge but fragile huts of reed, it must be a very dangerous -situation. -</p> -<p>“To exorcise the common peril, Meleager calls together the best men in the neighborhood -and places himself at the head of the hunters, among whom are to be found two of his -uncles, his mother’s brothers, violent men and very jealous of the fame their <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1131">[<a href="#xd31e1131">84</a>]</span>nephew has already acquired by his valorous exploits. They go to meet the monster. -The first to approach the beast pay for their temerity with their lives. Already several -have been made to bite the dust, without any result, when Meleager, more fortunate -and no doubt also more skilful, succeeds in stabbing the beast with his stake. Victory -is his, and the boar should belong to him, or at least the head, as a trophy of his -courage; but his uncles, furious at their nephew’s acquisition of a new title to fame -in addition to so many former ones, do not look at it in that light. The dispute becomes -heated, and, as usual in those brutal times, the disputants pass quickly from argument -to blows. Meleager, beside himself with wrath, kills his two uncles with the same -stake that has drunk the blood of the beast.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, wretched man!” cried Jules. -</p> -<p>“Evil overtook him. On hearing of the death of her two brothers, Meleager’s mother -loses her reason from grief. She draws from a cupboard, where she has kept it with -the greatest care, a firebrand blackened at one end. With a hand trembling with anguish, -she takes this firebrand, this precious firebrand for which hitherto she would have -given her very eyes, life itself, and throws it into the fire, where it is straightway -consumed. Ah, what has she done, the unhappy mother, what has she done! At that moment -her son Meleager is dying, consumed by an inner fire; he is dying, he is dead, for -the firebrand has just given its last flicker. In her despair the poor mother kills -herself. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1136">[<a href="#xd31e1136">85</a>]</span></p> -<p>“The connection between this firebrand that was reduced to ashes and Meleager’s end -escapes you; I hasten to throw some light on this point. I will tell you then that -at Meleager’s birth a firebrand suddenly sprang from beneath the ground and began -to burn in the middle of the room, while a voice from the depths, like an infernal -rumbling, said: ‘This child will live until the firebrand is consumed.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Why, this is nothing but a fairy tale!” Jules exclaimed. -</p> -<p>“Very true. History here gives place to fable. Now the firebrand was burning on the -floor and threatened soon to be entirely consumed. They hastened to pick it up and -extinguish it with water. From that time the mother preserved it with the greatest -care, as the most precious thing she had, persuaded that her son would live to a great -age, when, crazed with grief at the news of her brothers’ death, she threw it into -the fire. As the subterranean voice had said, the moment the firebrand was consumed -Meleager succumbed, devoured by an inner fire.” -</p> -<p>“It’s a good story,” was Emile’s comment, “but I don’t at all see what it has to do -with the guinea-fowl.” -</p> -<p>“You will see in a minute,” his uncle reassured him. “Inconsolable at the death of -their brother, Meleager’s sisters unceasingly shed tears that rolled like pearls over -their mourning garments; night and day they filled the house with their distressing -sobs. Heaven had pity on them and changed them into <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1143">[<a href="#xd31e1143">86</a>]</span>birds until then unknown, into guinea-hens, whose plumage is still sprinkled with -the tears of the unhappy girls, and whose unceasing cries are the continuation of -their sobs. Such, according to the ancients, is the origin of guinea-fowls, called -by them <i>Meleagridæ</i> in honor of the hero of the legend. -</p> -<p>“The childish imagination of the ancients elaborated this story of the metamorphosis -of Meleager’s sisters out of the two most prominent traits of the guinea-fowl, its -plumage and its cry. On a background of bluish gray, the color of mourning, are sprinkled -innumerable round white spots. Those are the tears, running in pearly drops over the -bird as they ran over the somber garments of the inconsolable sisters. The guinea-fowl’s -voice is a discordant, continuous, unendurable cry, in which the fable recognizes, -unquestioningly, the painful sobs of Meleager’s sisters.” -</p> -<p>“Those resemblances are ingenious,” said Louis, “but they do not take the place of -real knowledge of the guinea-fowl’s origin. Not even in those old days could every -one have believed in the singular tale you have just told us.” -</p> -<p>“Many were satisfied with it and sought no further information. And even in our day, -my friend, in this so-called enlightened century, is it so unusual that the more absurd -a thing is the more easily it takes root in our minds? Many were satisfied with the -story, but the wise knew well that the bird came to us from Africa, and for that reason -called it the African fowl. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1151">[<a href="#xd31e1151">87</a>]</span></p> -<p>“These old names are now out of use and are replaced by the word guinea-fowl, or <i>pintade</i>, which some, not without reason write <i>peintade</i> (painted). In fact, the white spots, spread over the bluish-gray ground of the plumage, -are so round and so regularly distributed that one might say they were traced with -a brush by a painter. The bird looks painted; hence its name. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p079width"><img src="images/p079.png" alt="Guinea-fowl" width="313" height="203"><p class="figureHead">Guinea-fowl</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The guinea-fowl has rounded outlines. Its short wings, its drooping tail, and the -general arrangement of the feathers on its back give it a deformed appearance, which -is misleading, for when plucked the bird shows none of its former gibbosity. The neck -is lank. Imitating in that respect its compatriot, the camel, the guinea-fowl straightens -it up and stretches it out when it runs away, and then it looks like a rolling ball. -The head is small and partly bald, like the turkey’s. Two wattles, tinted red and -blue, hang from the base of the beak. The top of the skull is protected by dry skin, -which rises in the shape of a helmet and is perhaps not without use when in their -quarrelsome moods the guinea-fowls have a trial of skill in splitting one another’s -head with blows of the beak. -</p> -<p>“Many qualities recommend this bird to our notice. The eggs are excellent and numerous, -a hundred <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1166">[<a href="#xd31e1166">88</a>]</span>and more annually. They are a little smaller than the hen’s, with remarkably thick -shells of a yellowish or dull reddish color. Its flesh is superior, veritable game, -nearly equal to that of the pheasant and partridge; and yet the guinea-fowl is rare -almost everywhere. Three great faults are the reason: its cry, its quarrelsome disposition, -and its wandering habits. -</p> -<p>“First, its cry. He who has not had, for hours and hours, his ear tortured by the -satanic music of the bird is ignorant of one of the most irritating of minor torments. -The rasping of a file upon the teeth of a saw in process of sharpening, the discordant -screech of a strangling cat, the final roulade of a braying donkey, are trifles in -comparison. And this charivari goes on from morning to night with a reënforcement -of the orchestra when the weather is about to change or something unexpected happens -to worry the performers. If one is not blessed with a special ear, if the head is -not void of all preoccupation, one simply cannot stand this deafening racket. They -say the guinea-hens have inherited the wailings of Meleager’s sisters; but I like -to think that the poor girls put a little more reserve into the heartbreaking expression -of their grief. In short, never tell Uncle Paul to have guinea-hens under his window; -he would flee to the farthest depths of the forest, never to return. There are others, -and they are numerous, whose nerves are irritated just as much by the insufferable -bird; that is why the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1170">[<a href="#xd31e1170">89</a>]</span>guinea-fowl is rare in poultry-yards, and by reason of its music escapes the spit. -</p> -<p>“Second, its love of fighting. The parchment helmet standing up on top of the head -betrays at the first glance the quarrelsome mania of the bird. The guinea-fowl is -the bully of the poultry-yard; it domineers over the others and for a mere nothing -will pick a quarrel. Hens and chickens are tormented for the possession of a grain -of oats; the cock must on all occasions have a trial of skill with the beak to make -his and his family’s rights respected; the turkey-gobbler himself, the burly gobbler, -must reckon with it. The guinea-cock, quick at attack, delivers ten assaults and twenty -blows of the beak before his big adversary can put himself on the defensive. When -at last the gobbler parries and thrusts, the turbulent aggressor makes use of tactics -that he seems to have learned from his compatriot, the Arab. He turns his back on -the enemy, flees in haste, then abruptly returns to the charge and hurls himself suddenly -on the gobbler at a moment when the latter is off his guard. The beak having dealt -its blow, the flight recommences. Nearly always the gobbler is forced to capitulate. -I leave you to imagine what sort of harmony must prevail in a poultry-yard harboring -such disturbers of the peace. -</p> -<p>“Third, its <i>wanderlust</i>. The narrow limits of the poultry-yard are irksome to guinea-fowls. They are glad -enough to be on hand at feeding time, but, their crops once full, they must have a -long walk across <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1177">[<a href="#xd31e1177">90</a>]</span>country. Off they go, always by themselves, without ever admitting the common poultry -to their ranks. To the music of its harsh chatter the flock goes on from one hedge -to another, one bush to the next, snapping up insects. The distraction of the hunt -makes them forget distance, and soon they are beyond supervision. Let a dog appear, -and these half-tamed game-birds are seized with a foolish panic. They fly in all directions, -with a cry of alarm resembling the harsh note of a rattle. The disbanded flock will -have much trouble in getting together again; perhaps when they do come together one -or two will be missing. Another inconvenience no less grave: during these excursions -the eggs are laid almost anywhere, in the wheat-field, on the broad meadow, amid the -tangled underbrush. Except by attentive watching at the moment of laying, it would -take a sharp eye to find the nest of the suspected bird. -</p> -<p>“The guinea-hen broods in about the same manner as the common hen, but it is preferable -to set the eggs under a common hen; she will perform the imposed task perfectly and -make no distinction between her own eggs and those of a stranger. The hatching takes -place about the twenty-eighth or thirtieth day. On coming out of the shell, the little -guinea-chicks can walk and eat alone quite as well as the other chickens. They need -warmth and assiduous care. The first week they are fed with a pap of bread-crumbs -and hard-boiled eggs, to which are added ants’ eggs or at least a little chopped meat. -After that they have the same diet as ordinary chickens. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1181">[<a href="#xd31e1181">91</a>]</span>Like young turkeys they pass through a critical period, the time when the red begins -to show on the bald skin of the head. To pass through it well, the best way is to -give them strengthening food and shelter them from all dampness.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1183">[<a href="#xd31e1183">92</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch11" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e283">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE PALMIPEDES</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p084width"><img src="images/p084.png" alt="Hawk" width="285" height="251"><p class="figureHead">Hawk</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The workman is known by his tools, and by the tools of the feathered creatures—that -is to say, their beaks and claws—their way of life is not less easily recognized. -If it were not already known to us, who could fail to infer the carnivorous disposition -of the hawk from the shape of its beak—short, sharp, and hooked—and from the structure -of its talons, armed as they are with pointed nails grooved underneath with a narrow -channel after the manner of certain daggers, to facilitate the flow of blood from -the wound? Does it call for any extraordinary perspicacity to recognize, in the heron’s -long legs, veritable stilts which enable it to traverse, step by step, without getting -wet, the inundated flats, as does the hunter in his long, waterproof marsh boots? -And then, that long beak, pointed like a nail, does it tell us nothing? Does it not -say that the bird bores deep <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1194">[<a href="#xd31e1194">93</a>]</span>in the tufts of rushes and in the soft mud to pull out reptiles and worms?” -</p> -<p>“It is the heron,” put in Emile, “that the fable tells about when it says: -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">“The long-necked, long-beaked heron went walking; -</p> -<p class="line">On its stilt-like legs one day it went stalking.”</p> -</div> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p085width"><img src="images/p085.png" alt="Heron" width="284" height="276"><p class="figureHead">Heron</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Yes,” said Uncle Paul, “that is the bird. Everything about the heron is long—legs, -beak, neck. The length of its legs enables the bird to explore the swamp at its ease -all day long without wetting a feather; its length of neck is needed that it may reach -the ground without stooping; and the long beak is indispensable for burrowing in the -tall tufts of grass where the reptile lurks, and for probing the mud where the worm -buries itself.” -</p> -<p>“I begin to see now,” said Jules, “how the character of a bird may be judged from -its shape. The heron bears its trade stamped on its form.” -</p> -<p>“The duck, in its turn, makes an equally unmistakable announcement. Let us forget -its habits, which are so familiar to us, and try to rediscover them in the shape of -the legs and beak. -</p> -<p>“The duck’s beak is very wide and flat, and round at the end. Shall we compare it -with the hen’s beak, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1209">[<a href="#xd31e1209">94</a>]</span>a slender pair of pincers that snaps up seeds and kernels one by one? Comparison is -impossible. Do we see there a tool working in the manner of the heron’s pointed probe? -Still less. Shall we make it the equivalent of the bloody hooked beak of the bird -of prey? No one would dream of such a thing, so great is the difference. But one sees -at once in this wide, rounded beak a spoon shaped expressly for scooping up food from -the water, just as our table-spoons enable us to take out pieces of bread or lumps -of rice swimming in a thin soup. The duck dabbles, then: it dips up water in large -spoonfuls—that is to say, in beakfuls—and seeks its food therein. It is a soup of -the thinnest sort and, in itself, of no nutritive value. Consequently the liquid that -fills the bird’s mandible must be rejected, but at the same time it must be drained -out in such a manner as to leave behind what little alimentary matter it may contain. -For this purpose the edges of the beak are fringed with a row of thin, short blades -which let the liquid run out when the bird has once filled its mouth.” -</p> -<p>“That’s an ingenious way to eat,” remarked Jules. “In order to snap up what it takes -a fancy to, perhaps a tadpole, or a little water shell, or a worm, the duck is obliged -to fill its beak with water. To swallow the whole mouthful without sorting would simply -stuff the crop with a useless liquid. What does the bird do? It closes the beak, and -the water, driven back, runs out through the fringed edges as if through a grating. -The tadpole alone remains <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1214">[<a href="#xd31e1214">95</a>]</span>behind the grating, and goes down into the stomach.” -</p> -<p>“You can see, any time,” observed Louis, “the ducks on the pond dipping up water by -the mouthful. It certainly isn’t just for drinking that they work their beaks so.” -</p> -<p>“Certainly not,” assented Uncle Paul; “they drain the water of the pond through the -fringe of the beak to gather worms and other small aquatic prey. -</p> -<p>“The spoon-shaped beak of the duck indicates the bird’s dabbling habits; now let us -see what the feet have to say. They are composed of three toes connected by an ample -and supple membrane. Is that, I ask you, the footgear of a bird destined to long walks? -With such a sole, so fine, so tender, and by its extent of surface exposing itself -so much to the hardness of the stones, is the duck made for foot-racing? Note, on -the contrary, the foot of the hen and the guinea-fowl, both untiring walkers. The -toes are short, knotty, and sheathed with strong leather, without any connecting membrane. -That is the true footgear of the pedestrian. But what will become of the duck on rough -ground, with its wide sandals that a mere nothing can wound? You all know its pitiful -walk. It waddles along, as ill at ease as a person afflicted with corns on the rough -pavement of some of our streets. No, the duck is not made for walking. -</p> -<p>“But in water those expanded feet will make vigorous swimming oars. If the bird throws -them out behind, they spread wide open merely with the resistance <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1221">[<a href="#xd31e1221">96</a>]</span>of the water; and their fan-shape gives them purchase enough to send the duck forward. -When the duck draws them in again under its breast, they are closed automatically -by the resistance of the liquid acting in a contrary direction; the membrane refolds -in the manner of a closed umbrella, thus doing away with all shock or recoil. The -twofold essential of a perfect oar lies in its presenting to the water the greatest -possible surface on the stroke, and the least possible surface on the recovery, so -as to furnish adequate purchase against the water in the first movement and to offer -only very feeble resistance in the second. If the oar moved alternately forward and -backward while presenting the same extent of surface to the water and driven with -the same vigor, the recoil would equal the advance and there would be no progress. -Man, with all his skill, does not yet know how to ply his oar so that it shall offer -this alternating maximum and minimum of surface. Therefore, in propelling a boat, -he is obliged to bring the oars back to their first position through the air instead -of through the water, which latter would be much more direct. The duck scorns this -clumsy method: with its foot, which opens wide of itself in the backward thrust and -closes again of its own accord in the return movement, it moves forward or puts about, -without ever lifting the oars from the water. -</p> -<p>“Thus the duck is an expert swimmer; the shape of its feet tells us as much, and a -glance at any duck-pond demonstrates it. Who has not admired the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1225">[<a href="#xd31e1225">97</a>]</span>aquatic evolutions of the bird, so awkward on land with its tender feet, so graceful -when once on the water, its proper element? Sometimes they race with one another, -whitening their breasts with a band of foam; sometimes, in order to explore the depths -with their beaks, they plunge half-way in and point their tails heavenward; sometimes, -also, yielding to the current, they let themselves drift idly down-stream or hold -their position by paddling a few strokes when necessary. Water is their chosen domain; -there they take their recreation, seek their food, and enjoy their sleep. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p089width"><img src="images/p089.png" alt="Albatross" width="271" height="394"><p class="figureHead">Albatross</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The membrane connecting the duck’s toes is called a web, and the feet converted into -oars by means of this membrane are spoken of as webbed. Similar feet are found in -all good swimming birds such as the swan, teal, goose, and many others. Hence this -group of birds, especially skilled in swimming, is designated by the term of <i>palmipede</i>, meaning web-footed.” -</p> -<p>“Then the duck is a palmipede?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“It is a palmipede, as also the goose, swan, and teal. All four are equally endowed -with a large <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1238">[<a href="#xd31e1238">98</a>]</span>spoon-bill shaped for dabbling in the water; that is to say, a wide, round beak; but -there are palmipedes, notably among sea-birds, that live on prey, on fish, and consequently -are equipped with the crooked mandible appropriate for a predatory life. Such, to -take but a single example, is the albatross, of which I here show you the picture. -By its ferociously hooked beak it can easily be recognized as a sea pirate, an insatiable -devourer of fish.” -</p> -<p>“I certainly don’t like its looks,” declared Emile. “But tell me now what name they -give the heron on its tall stilts.” -</p> -<p>“The heron belongs to the group of stilt-birds or wading-birds. That is what they -call all birds mounted on long legs for traversing the marshes.” -</p> -<p>“A bird on stilts is a stilt-bird; it would be hard to improve on that. It is just -the kind of name I like.” -</p> -<p>“Instead of allowing ourselves to be turned from our theme by the heron and its stilts, -let us come back, my little friend, to the palmipedes, the swimming birds. Clothing -made expressly for the purpose is required by the bird that passes the greater part -of its time on the water. It is indispensable that this clothing should keep out both -cold and wet. Well, the plumage of an aquatic bird, especially in very cold countries, -is a marvel of delicate precautions. The outside feathers are strong, placed very -accurately one on the other and glossed with an oily varnish that water cannot wet. -Have you ever noticed ducks as they come out of the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1246">[<a href="#xd31e1246">99</a>]</span>water? They may have prolonged their bath for hours, swimming, diving, playing; but -they leave the stream without getting the least bit wet. If a drop of water has got -between their feathers, they have only to shake themselves a moment, and they are -perfectly dry. That, you must agree, is a precious privilege, to be able to go into -the water and not get wet.” -</p> -<p>“A privilege that, for my part,” rejoined Emile, “I have often envied without being -able to explain—the secret of a duck’s keeping dry when right in the water.” -</p> -<p>“I will explain the secret to you. Watch the ducks as they come out of their bath. -In the sun, some lying at ease on their stomachs, others standing up, they proceed -to make their toilet with minute care. With their large beak they smooth their feathers, -one by one, coat them over with an oily fluid, the reservoir of which is situated -on the bird’s rump. There, just at the base of the tail, is found, hidden under the -down, a kind of wart of grease, from which oil oozes constantly. From time to time -the beak presses the wart, draws from the oily reservoir, and then distributes here -and there, methodically, all over the plumage, the oil thus obtained.” -</p> -<p>“That greasy wart might be called a sort of pomatum pot,” suggested Emile. -</p> -<p>“It is a pomatum pot, if that comparison pleases you. Thus greased, thus anointed -with pomatum, feather by feather, the duck furnishes no foothold for moisture, because, -as you all know, water and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1253">[<a href="#xd31e1253">100</a>]</span>oil do not mix, and from an oiled surface drops of water run off without wetting it. -Such is the secret of the duck’s keeping itself dry when immersed in water.” -</p> -<p>“That is one of the most curious things I ever heard of,” declared Jules, “and one -that I shouldn’t have known anything about for a long time if it hadn’t been for Uncle -Paul. Should I ever have guessed that the duck presses a certain wart on its rump -to get the grease for oiling its feathers?” -</p> -<p>“The duck’s secret is known to all birds without exception; all have this oil-sac -on the rump, and obtain from it the oil for giving luster to their plumage and making -it impervious to wet; but aquatic birds are more abundantly provided in this respect. -And it is only right that those most exposed to dampness should have the largest reservoir -of this oily coating.” -</p> -<p>“In all birds the fattest part is always the rump,” said Louis. “Grease gathers there -by preference, no doubt, to maintain the store of oil in the oil-sac?” -</p> -<p>“Evidently. It is in this storehouse that the oil attains its perfect state and becomes -the finished product that oozes from the sac. As to the making of it in the first -place, nearly all parts of the body take part; and as the swimming bird uses a great -deal of this pomatum, the result is that the palmipede tends to fatness and, as it -were, sweats grease: witness the plump duck and goose, which carry under the breast -a heavy, fat swelling. As a general rule, the web-footed fowl of our poultry-yards -is <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1260">[<a href="#xd31e1260">101</a>]</span>analogous to the pig: it is a fat-factory. We divert to our own use the excess of -fat accumulated primarily for the supply of the oil-sac on the rump and the maintenance -of the luster that distinguishes the plumage. -</p> -<p>“The palmipede, you see, is admirably protected against wet. Neither rain nor the -finest drizzle can penetrate the first covering of feathers, always kept, as it is, -well coated with the varnish laid on by the point of the beak. The bird can plunge -into the deepest water, swim on its surface, or sleep there cradled by the waves, -and the wet will not reach it. Neither will cold affect it, for under this outer covering -is found a second, designed for resisting inclement weather and made of what is most -efficacious for preserving the heat of the body. This under-clothing of aquatic birds -is a down so delicate and soft that, unable to compare it with anything else, we have -given it a special name, that of eiderdown. In its proper place I will come back to -this down. For the present let us confine ourselves to a general survey of the palmipedes, -and of the duck in particular.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1265">[<a href="#xd31e1265">102</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch12" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e293">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE DUCK</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p094width"><img src="images/p094.png" alt="Wild Duck" width="296" height="230"><p class="figureHead">Wild Duck</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“I will begin with the wild duck, parent stock of our domestic duck. It is a splendid -bird, at least the male, for the costume of the female is less rich, as may be remarked -in all the other species. The head and upper part of the neck are emerald green, with -glints as of polished metal, while beneath is a white collar, its dull coloring contrasting -with the brilliance of the adjacent tints. A brownish purple extends from the base -of the neck down over the breast, where it gradually fades into gray on the sides -and stomach. Changeable green, mixed with black, colors the region of the tail, whence -rise four small feathers curling in the shape of a crook. In the middle of each wing -a spot of magnificent azure is encircled, first, with velvety blue, then with white. -The back, sides, and stomach are speckled with black spots on a gray ground. Finally, -the beak is yellowish green, and the feet are orange. Such is the duck in its wild -state, and such it often is under <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1277">[<a href="#xd31e1277">103</a>]</span>domestication, notwithstanding the numerous variations of plumage that captivity has -caused it to undergo.” -</p> -<p>“The head superbly clothed in green,” observed Emile, “the little curly tail-feathers, -and the spot of blue in the middle of the wing—I have noticed all these lots of times -in tame ducks.” -</p> -<p>“The wild duck is strong of wing and a passionate lover of travel. Consequently it -is found nearly everywhere; but it does not stay long anywhere, unless it be in the -most northerly regions, Lapland, Spitzbergen, and Siberia, where it delights in the -solitude so favorable for nesting undisturbed and passing the summer. Twice a year -it visits us: in the spring on its way to the North, and in the autumn on its return -from the Pole, when it goes as far as Africa to take up its winter quarters in warmer -countries. On a gray November day when it threatens snow you can see, passing from -north to south, at a great height, migrating birds arranged one behind another in -two files which meet in a point, like the two arms of a V. It is a flock of ducks -emigrating. They are fleeing the approach of cold weather and seeking a milder climate, -perhaps beyond the sea, where they may find assured nourishment in waters that do -not freeze. The better to cleave the air and husband their strength on such a long -journey, the flying squadron arranges itself in the form of a wedge, the point of -which opens the way through the resisting air. The post at the tip is the hardest, -since the leader of the file, being the first, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1282">[<a href="#xd31e1282">104</a>]</span>has to overcome the resistance of the atmosphere. Each one takes it in turn for a -certain time, and when it is tired falls back to the rear to rest while another takes -its place.” -</p> -<p>“To come from countries near the Pole to this one, and still more to Africa,” said -Jules, “is a very long journey, at least a thousand miles. I can understand how, in -order to accomplish it, the ducks must save their strength by arranging themselves -in the form of a wedge, point foremost. But tell me, Uncle, what makes these birds -prefer the countries of the extreme north, where they go to pass the summer and build -their nests? Wouldn’t they be better off with us than in those wild countries, so -cold and covered with snow and ice a great part of the year?” -</p> -<p>“Such is not the opinion of the duck, which prefers the gloomy solitudes of the most -desolate islands to countries disturbed by the presence of man. In those peaceful -spots it can raise its family in complete security; and, besides, provisions abound -in the neighboring waters, which are thawed out for several weeks by the summer sun. -Neither is it the opinion of the teal, goose, plover, lapwing, and many others, which -all, as soon as spring comes, leave us and return to the North, journeying by long -stages. Then it is that, from his ambush in a hut of foliage in the middle of a swampy -field or in the dried bed of a wide torrent, the hunter imitates with a reed whistle -the plaintive note of the plover, to call the migrating bird to his nets. The flock -arrives, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1287">[<a href="#xd31e1287">105</a>]</span>circles about a moment undecided, suspects danger, and flies off again into the distant -blue, where it is soon lost to sight. Whither is it going? It is going where its instinct -calls it, to the solitudes of the North. At the first thawing of the ice, when the -ground, still wet from the melting snows, begins to be clothed with flowers, in fact -in May or June, it will reach perhaps the Faroe Islands, perhaps the Orkneys or Iceland, -or maybe Lapland. It is never without a lively interest that I watch the flight of -one of these migrating flocks, better guided on its audacious journey than the navigator -with the aid of the compass. I picture to myself the joys of arrival, the common delight -when the long flight finally ends on the home island, the friendly land where, in -a mossy hollow, the red-marbled eggs will presently be laid. -</p> -<p>“For a great many birds, and among them the duck, the archipelagoes of the North are -a promised land, an earthly paradise. The most varied species meet here from all parts -of the world. What a lively scene, therefore, what a festival, when nesting time comes! -Nowhere else is there such a reunion of birds. Let me tell you the strange scene that -takes place then, according to travelers who have witnessed it. -</p> -<p>“We are at Spitzbergen, facing some towering cliffs that overlook the sea and extend -back in the form of receding shelves, one above another, like the rows of seats in -a theater. These shelves are all covered with myriads of female birds sitting on their -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1292">[<a href="#xd31e1292">106</a>]</span>eggs, with heads turned seaward, as numerous and as crowded as the spectators in a -theater at a first-night performance. They cackle to each other from neighbor to neighbor -and seem to be engaged in an animated conversation, as a diversion from the tedium -of prolonged incubation. All around the cliff, on the bosom of the waters, swimmers -of all kinds dive and dabble, chasing, pecking, and beating one another. Others fill -the air with their hoarse or shrill cries, going unceasingly from sea to nests and -from nests to sea, calling to their mates, wheeling around above them, caressing their -little ones, playing with their brothers, and showing in a noisy and innocent way -their fears and wants, their joy and happiness. To describe the agitation, confusion, -noise, cries, croakings, and whistlings of these countless birds of all shapes and -colors and styles, is quite impossible. The hunter, dizzy and stunned, knows not where -to fire in this living whirlpool; he is incapable of distinguishing and still more -of following the bird he wishes to aim at. Wearied by vain effort, he directs his -fire at the very midst of the cloud. The shot is sped. Immediately confusion is at -its height; clouds of birds, perched on the rocks or swimming on the water, take flight -in their turn and mingle with the others; a deafening discordant clamor rises to the -skies. Far from dissipating, the cloud grows thicker and whirls about still more. -Cormorants, at first motionless on the rocks betwixt wind and water, become noisily -excited; sea-gulls fly in circles about the hunter’s head and strike <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1294">[<a href="#xd31e1294">107</a>]</span>him in the face with their wings. All these different species, peacefully assembled -on an isolated rock in the midst of the glacial ocean waves, seem to reproach man -for coming to the very end of the world to trouble the joys of the brooding mother. -The females, still motionless on their eggs in the midst of this disorder, content -themselves with joining their protests to those of the indignant males.” -</p> -<p>“I have never heard anything like that before, Uncle,” said Jules. “Under the roof-tiles -we sometimes find a dozen nests of sparrows living as neighbors; but how far these -little gatherings are from the Spitzbergen throngs! Those rocks on the borders of -the sea are populous towns, with nests for houses and birds for inhabitants.” -</p> -<p>“Are there ducks on those rocks, too?” asked Louis. -</p> -<p>“No, my friend,” replied Uncle Paul; “there are only sea-birds. Wild ducks and geese -flock by themselves and make their nests inland, far from the waters of the sea, which -do not suit them. They prefer the borders of a lake or swamp. Their nests are built -on the ground among tufts of grass. Sometimes they are so numerous one could not take -a step without treading on eggs.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, what a fine harvest of eggs I should have if I were there!” -</p> -<p>“You forget, my child, that Uncle Paul expressly forbids you to touch birds’ nests. -However, as once is not a habit, and as, moreover, the temptation would be irresistible, -I would shut my eyes and would <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1303">[<a href="#xd31e1303">108</a>]</span>leave you to your own devices if we were on those famous bird-rocks of Spitzbergen, -Greenland, or Lapland. Basket, hat, handkerchief, all would soon be full; you would -simply be perplexed what to take and what to leave. All shapes are there together. -There are some eggs as round as balls, some oval and like those of our own poultry, -some equally pointed at both ends, and some very much enlarged at one end and small -at the other, almost like pears. All these sea-birds’ eggs are large, because the -young, on leaving the shell, must be strong enough to follow their parents on the -water and begin to earn their own living. And then, what variety of color and design! -There are white eggs, yellowish eggs, and red eggs. Some are dark green, imitating -the color of the waves that roar at the base of the rock; others seem to borrow their -pale blue from the azure itself. These are diversified with areas of different colors, -like the maps in your geography; those are painted with large spots and remind one -of the leopard’s skin.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, if I were only there!” sighed Emile. -</p> -<p>“As we are not there, let us leave the beautiful rock-eggs to the birds and return -to the duck. -</p> -<p>“It is in order to get back to these northern countries, their paradise, that wild -ducks pass over us at the end of winter. The journey is chiefly made at night, the -day being reserved for rest among the rushes. While the flock sleeps, each bird’s -head under its wing, some members station themselves at favorable points and, vigilant -scouts, watch over <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1309">[<a href="#xd31e1309">109</a>]</span>the common welfare. At the first appearance of danger the cry of alarm is sounded, -a sort of hoarse clarion call. Immediately the flock takes wing or dives under the -water. In descending from the upper air and alighting on a suitable spot, the cautious -bird is equally prudent. The flock comes and goes several times, and circles about -repeatedly to give the place a thorough examination. If nothing disquieting appears, -it descends in an oblique flight, grazes the surface of the water with the tips of -its wings, and then swims to the middle of the pond, far from the shore where the -danger would be greatest. Nothing, then, is more difficult than to catch a flock of -wild ducks off their guard. The hunter has recourse to a ruse and turns to his own -account the friendly relations that always exist between the tame duck and its brother, -the wild duck. Hidden on the edge of the pond in a reed hut, he releases two or three -tame ducks, whose cries call the strangers and bring them within gunshot. -</p> -<p>“Although the laying of eggs generally takes place in the northern regions, there -are always a few pairs of ducks that linger and make their nests with us, either from -being tired with too long a journey or because they have strayed away from the migrating -flocks. For her nesting place, the mother chooses some cluster of reeds in the middle -of the swamp. She beats down and flattens the central rushes; then, using her beak -to intertwine the outer ones, she succeeds in weaving a kind of coarse basket, which -she lines with warm down, plucked <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1313">[<a href="#xd31e1313">110</a>]</span>from her breast and stomach. More rarely she establishes herself in some large tree -where she makes use of a nest abandoned by the magpie. The rude structure of dry sticks -is restored, and especially is it well lined with fine feathers plucked from her own -body. The eggs are laid in March and number about fifteen. Incubation takes thirty-one -days. Whenever the need of food makes her leave the nest for a few minutes, the mother -takes care to cover the eggs with a thick layer of down, so that they shall not become -cold. When she comes back it is never in a straight line or uninterrupted flight. -She alights at some distance from the nest, then cautiously approaches by tortuous -windings, varied every time and calculated to baffle whoever may be watching her. -</p> -<p>“The young ones are born clothed with a delicate fur of yellow down, which they keep -for some time. As soon as hatched, the brood is led to the water and abandons the -nest, never to return to it. If the pond is too far away for such young legs, or if -the nest is at the top of some tall oak, the father and mother take the little ones -tenderly by the nape of the neck and carry them one by one to the shore. The removal -accomplished, the mother goes into the water, the boldest one of her brood follows -her, and the others imitate its example. Their aquatic education immediately begins. -In order to swim you must do so and so, are the parents’ instructions; and to dive -and tack about you must do like this. The tadpole, that dainty morsel, is caught in -this manner, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1317">[<a href="#xd31e1317">111</a>]</span>but if you don’t catch it with the first snap of the beak, you get it by diving. The -little shell-fish hides under the leaves, and that’s where you must hunt if you want -to find it. The larva frequents warm mud; seek, my children, near the shore and you -will find it. The lively frog calls for nimble tactics: a quick snap of the beak will -fetch him. All that is so soon and so well understood by the ducklings, that the mother -does not have to look after their food; her part is simply to gather them under her -wing to keep them warm when the family retires to the shore to rest or to pass the -night. -</p> -<p>“Apart from the love of traveling, which many centuries of domestication have caused -to be forgotten, the habits of the tame duck do not differ from those of the wild. -The female duck begins to lay in February or March, and lays from forty to fifty eggs -a year, if one is careful to remove them as they are laid. These eggs are slightly -larger than the hen’s, smoother, rounder, sometimes dull white, sometimes a little -greenish. The duck is impelled by instinct to lay them among the neighboring reeds -and rushes, and it is therefore necessary to watch her if one does not wish to run -the risk of losing the eggs. -</p> -<p>“Domestication does not by any means always improve the qualities of animals subjected -to our care. If there is gain in corpulence, in quantity of alimentary matter, there -is frequently loss on the side of what might be called the moral qualities. So it -is that the tame duck is not so good a brooder nor so devoted a mother as the wild -one. The hen, on the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1322">[<a href="#xd31e1322">112</a>]</span>contrary, has forgotten none of her maternal duties; she even carries them to excess -in the hen-house, until she lets herself die of starvation on her nest, a thing she -would not do in her wild state. Hence, it is to the hen, a better mother than the -duck, that the latter’s eggs are usually entrusted. -</p> -<p>“The period of incubation is thirty-one days, the same as with the wild duck. If the -brood is hatched at a time of year when the weather is still cold, it would be dangerous -for the ducklings to go immediately into the water, whither their instinct calls them, -and whither the mother duck that had brooded them would not fail to lead them. Hence -the little ones and their mother, hen or duck, are put under a coop in a place apart, -where there is no danger of trampling or other rough treatment from the rest of the -poultry. During this sequestration the food consists of a mixture of barley flour, -boiled potatoes, bran, and chopped nettles, all made into a mush with greasy dish-water. -Ducklings have a strong stomach and active digestion; they need from six to eight -meals a day, so quickly does their food pass. Let us not forget to put a large plate -of water under the coop. It will serve them as a swimming basin in which their wide -beaks will practise dabbling and their webbed feet will learn their destined use. -Daily sport on this little sheet of water will help them to have patience until the -great day when larger evolutions on the broad pond will be allowed. -</p> -<p>“A week, two weeks, pass in this way. At last the longed-for moment arrives. The mother -duck <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1328">[<a href="#xd31e1328">113</a>]</span>leads her family to the neighboring pond, or the ducklings find their way thither -unaided if they have a hen for a nurse. I have told you of the fright of that adoptive -mother when she sees her little ones throw themselves joyously into the water, deaf -to her supplications. If the pond is not too deep, the hen wades in till the water -reaches half-way up her legs, and runs along the edge, calling her dear brood. In -vain her courageous devotion, to no purpose her anxiety and grief: the ducklings gain -the deep water whither she cannot follow them, and, heedless of the mother admonishing -them from the shore, they wag their little pointed tails with joy. -</p> -<p>“Like the pig, the duck will eat anything and everything. In still waters, in which -it delights, it snaps up tadpoles and little frogs, worms of all kinds and soft shell-fish, -water insects and little minnows. In the field it eats the tender herbage and makes -prey of the slimy slug and even the snail, no whit abashed by the latter’s shell. -In the poultry-yard offer it the kitchen leavings, parings of all kinds, garden refuse, -dish-water, and garbage, and the glutton will feast royally. -</p> -<p>“Thus because of its voracity the duck is easy to fatten; provided it has abundant -food and a chance to play in the water, you may be sure it will take on fat without -any other care. Nevertheless, in order to obtain certain results it is necessary to -go beyond the bird’s natural gluttony and have recourse to forcible feeding. For a -couple of weeks ducks are shut up in a dark place. Morning and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1333">[<a href="#xd31e1333">114</a>]</span>evening, a servant takes them on her knees, crosses their wings, and opens their beak -with one hand while with the other she stuffs their crop with boiled maize. Thus gorged -to excess with food, the miserable ducks pass their captivity resting on their stomachs, -always panting, almost breathless, half stifled. Some die of surfeit. Finally the -rump, distended with fat, spreads the tail-feathers out fan-wise so that they cannot -be closed again. This is a sign that the fattening process has reached its extreme -limit. Haste is then made to behead the poor creature, which otherwise would soon -die of suffocation.” -</p> -<p>“And why, if you please,” asked Jules, “these horrible tortures if the duck fattens -so easily by itself?” -</p> -<p>“Alas, my friend, the satisfaction of the stomach makes us cruelly ingenious. In the -state of continual suffocation that overtakes the bird when it is gorged with boiled -maize, a mortal disease sets in, the disease of the glutton, among men as among ducks. -The liver becomes tremendously enlarged and changes to a soft, shapeless mass, oozing -grease. Well, this liver, decomposed by disease, furnishes to the palate of connoisseurs -an incomparable delicacy. I take their word for it, not being able to speak from experience, -as I have none; for, between you and me, my friend, I own that such delicacies would -be repugnant to your Uncle Paul. In my humble opinion, it is paying too much for a -greasy mouthful to subject the duck to those frightful tortures. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1338">[<a href="#xd31e1338">115</a>]</span>I will add that the pasties of Amiens and the celebrated ragouts of Nérac and Toulouse -are made of these livers. -</p> -<p>“To bring this subject to a close, a few words on a second kind of duck, less common -in our poultry-yards than the first. It is the Barbary duck, called also the musk -duck on account of its odor of musk, and likewise known as the silent duck, because -it utters no cry. It is much larger than the common duck, its plumage is darker, of -a variegated black and green, and the head of the male is adorned with scales and -with fleshy growths of a bright red color.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1342">[<a href="#xd31e1342">116</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch13" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e303">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE WILD GOOSE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“When we say of some one, ‘He is as silly as a goose,’ we think we have applied the -strongest term indicative of foolishness that our language furnishes. Is the goose -then so silly? That is what I am about to discuss with you, my friends. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p108width"><img src="images/p108.png" alt="Goose" width="288" height="219"><p class="figureHead">Goose</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“I agree at the outset that its appearance is not such as to give a high idea of its -intellectual faculties. Its head is too small for its body, its diminutive and expressionless -eyes, its enormous beak hiding its whole face, its waddling walk made still more awkward -by the fatty protuberance that hangs down under its stomach and strikes its feet, -its neck sometimes awkwardly outstretched, sometimes sharply bent as if broken, its -cry surpassing in hoarseness the note of the hoarsest clarion, its angry or frightened -whistle resembling the hiss of the snake when surprised—all that, I hasten to acknowledge, -does not prepossess one in favor of the bird. But how often, under a rude exterior, -is hidden a refined nature! Let us not judge the goose by its appearance, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1354">[<a href="#xd31e1354">117</a>]</span>but let us go deeper before forming a fixed opinion.” -</p> -<p>“I see what you are up to, Uncle,” interrupted Jules; “you are taking up your favorite -refrain, the praise of the slandered. A while ago you extolled the two ugliest of -creatures, the bat and the toad; now you are going to undertake the defense of the -goose and clear it of the slander it suffers in being called silly.” -</p> -<p>“Why should I deny it, my child? Yes, my favorite occupation is pleading the cause -of the weak, the miserable, the traduced, the outlawed. The strong and the powerful -are not wanting in admirers, so I can pass them over very quickly; but I should reproach -myself all my life were I to forget the forsaken and not bring to light their good -qualities, unrecognized and, indeed, too often shamefully misrepresented as they are. -As to its treatment, the goose needs no pleading of mine: it is too valuable to us -not to be taken care of as it deserves. The only reproach I have to bring has to do -with the reputation for stupidity it has been made to bear. I am well aware that the -goose, as a sensible creature, is superbly indifferent to this calumny, and I offer -it my congratulations; but, after all, this false repute is an instance of error, -and wherever I find error I give it battle. -</p> -<p>“First, I will show you the goose as an adept in geography. In spite of our books, -maps, and atlases, how the reputedly silly bird would surpass all of us and many others! -Know that in its wild state <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1360">[<a href="#xd31e1360">118</a>]</span>the goose is an impassioned traveler, even more so than its companion, the duck. Influenced -by considerations of convenience, the latter often nests in our latitudes; the goose -is more given to mistrust and passes us by. For the laying of its eggs it must seek -regions as near the Pole as possible, regions of never-melting ice. The desolate wastes -of Greenland and Spitzbergen, and, still farther north, the islands lost in the fogs -of the polar ocean, are the regions whither they feel bound to return every summer. -The point of departure, where the bird has passed the winter in the midst of plenty -when its native country was plunged in continual night and buried under fathomless -depths of snow and ice—the point of departure is far south, in central Africa perhaps, -so that the distance to be covered measures almost a quarter-circumference of the -earth. Now, my friends, let us put ourselves in the place of the wild goose just about -to take its flight for the long expedition, and see which of the two parties will -be the more perplexed, the more stupid. I leave out of the account means of transportation: -however good a mount we might have, we should cut a pitiable figure beside the goose, -which with powerful wing soars above the clouds and conquers space. I pass by the -means of transportation and ask only what direction is to be taken. I appeal to your -knowledge of geography.” -</p> -<p>“Since it is only necessary to go north,” answered Jules, “I should first make sure -of the points of the compass. I should turn toward the sun, and if it is <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1364">[<a href="#xd31e1364">119</a>]</span>rising, the north would be on the left; if setting, the north would be on the right. -This direction fixed, I should set out accordingly.” -</p> -<p>“In the supposed case that method is inapplicable. As an experienced traveler husbanding -its strength and hence making the most of the cooler hours, the goose travels only -at night.” -</p> -<p>“Then I would turn toward the constellation of the Bear, toward the polar star. The -north is in that direction.” -</p> -<p>“Very good: you would find the north in that way if the night were clear; but if the -night were dark and you could not see the stars, what would you do?” -</p> -<p>“I should use a compass, the needle of which always points nearly northward.” -</p> -<p>“But if you did not have that precious instrument, the traveler’s guide in the midst -of the waste solitudes of land and sea—if you had no compass, how would you find your -way, my friend?” -</p> -<p>“In that case, Uncle, I should be very much perplexed. Perplexed is not the word; -on the contrary, I should see very clearly that there was no possibility of my finding -my way. I should not budge from the spot, for I might as well try to guide myself -blindfolded.” -</p> -<p>“Here, my dear child, the bird reputed to be so stupid, so foolish, towers above us -all by a thousand cubits. Without consulting the rising or setting sun, paying no -heed to the constellations, for which it has no use, availing itself of no compass -but its <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1375">[<a href="#xd31e1375">120</a>]</span>instinct, which says, ‘This is the way’—in darkness as well as in light, the goose -plunges into space and flies northward. -</p> -<p>“But that is only the beginning of the problem. A simple northern direction leads, -according to the point of departure, to very different regions, sometimes to Siberia, -sometimes to Spitzbergen and Lapland, sometimes to the northern islands of Iceland, -Greenland, and what others shall I say? But no such vague destination will do for -the goose. The bird must return to its native country, of which it retains an ineffaceable -remembrance, just as a man, through all the shifts and changes of his stirring life, -preserves the cherished memory of his own village. The goose, then, must again find -the sea whose murmur it listened to in youth. In that sea is a certain islet, on that -islet a certain moor, and on that moor a certain hidden retreat covered with rushes -and sheltered from the wind by a rock. That is its birthplace; it must find its way. -</p> -<p>“Propose such an undertaking to a navigator provided with first-rate charts and versed -in all the special lore of his calling, and he would finally succeed, it is true, -but would encounter difficulties due to the inhospitable seas of those parts. Propose -it to one of us, who have none of the requisite nautical knowledge, and it would put -our geography to the test without any chance of ultimate success. But this task which -man, with all his reasoning powers, would in the great majority of instances be incapable -of performing, the goose accomplishes without the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1380">[<a href="#xd31e1380">121</a>]</span>slightest hesitation. As though the desired spot were right before its eyes, it goes -straight forward. The featureless expanse of ocean and the confusing details of the -landscape, the halts on the margins of lakes, the damp and obscurity of clouds that -have to be traversed, the emotions of terror excited when the ambushed hunter discharges -his leaden hail—none of these things diverts it from its course. If detours must be -made in order to avoid danger or find food, it makes them, however long they may be, -and then resumes the right direction without a moment’s hesitation. It calculates -its speed and regulates its halts so as to arrive neither too early nor too late; -for it knows perfectly the order of the seasons, when the snow melts and when the -grass turns green. At last, on a fine day when the first little flowers are just peeping -through their snowy shrouds, it reaches its ocean inlet, its little island, its native -heath, its cherished nesting-place. -</p> -<p>“I have finished. Now, my friends, which one of you would like to engage in a geography -match—not with a veteran goose experienced in such voyages; you would be too hopelessly -outclassed—but with the youngest gosling, the merest novice of them all?” -</p> -<p>“On that subject,” Jules made answer, “I admit that the youngest gosling knows more -than I.” -</p> -<p>“And than I,” chimed in Louis, and Emile added: “If the goose knew that I can’t even -find my bearings yet on the map, how it would make fun of poor Emile! You will tell -us so much about its cleverness, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1386">[<a href="#xd31e1386">122</a>]</span>Uncle, that after this I shan’t be able to meet a goose without blushing.” -</p> -<p>“It is very praiseworthy to blush at one’s ignorance,” his uncle assured him, “especially -on a subject as necessary as geography; for it is a sign that in future one will do -one’s best; but none may expect to rival the goose. We acquire our knowledge by reflection, -study, observation, experience; an animal does not acquire knowledge, it possesses -knowledge from its birth. Without ever having learned it, without ever having seen -it done, it does everything belonging to its manner of living, and does it admirably -well. A feeling not reasoned, a secret impulse proper to its nature, guides it in -its acts; it is instinct, the marvels of which I have often related to you. If, to -accomplish its astonishing journeys, the goose had to learn geography as we do, it -would never see its beloved native land again; but it has as guide the infallible -inspiration of instinct, and with this inner compass it wings its unerring way straight -toward its natal islet, however hidden by polar fogs that islet may be. -</p> -<p>“Its manner of traveling is not less remarkable. I have already told you something -about the duck; I come back to the subject in order to emphasize the high degree of -mechanical science possessed by the goose. A bird on the wing is held up by the air -which its wings strike; it is also impeded in its progress by the air, the resistance -of which it must conquer. To overcome this obstacle with the least <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1392">[<a href="#xd31e1392">123</a>]</span>possible fatigue what does the bird do, especially the crane, heron, stork, and other -wading birds encumbered with long legs and a long neck? They bring the neck back on -the breast, point their sharp beak forward, and, holding their outstretched legs close -together, trail them behind. With form thus trimmed to extreme slimness, and with -beak acting as the point of a spear-head, they cleave the air as a ship plows the -wave with its sharp prow. No bird is wanting in this elementary principle of mechanics: -to gather the members together and taper the body in the direction of motion, so as -to encounter the least resistance. By undertaking these very long flights in large -flocks the duck and the goose improve upon this general method. -</p> -<p>“Before going further let us draw a comparison. I will suppose that you are a company -of playmates running across lots, and you come to a tract all covered with thick brushwood -that has to be parted with feet and hands before you can get through. If each one -goes about it in his own way, one here and another there just as it happens, is it -not true that the sum total of fatigue for the whole company will be the greatest -possible, since each one will have spent his strength in opening a way for himself -through the thicket? But now let us suppose, on the other hand, that one of you, the -most vigorous of the company, walks at the head, parting the underbrush, and that -the others follow him, step by step, taking advantage of the path opened by the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1396">[<a href="#xd31e1396">124</a>]</span>leader of the file. Is it not true that under these conditions the sum total of fatigue -will be the least possible?” -</p> -<p>“All that is obvious,” Emile replied. “They could even, if it were a long way through -the brushwood, take turns in going ahead, and then no one would be really tired out.” -</p> -<p>“This device of Emile’s has, as you already know, been put in practice from time immemorial -by ducks on their long flights. Nor is the goose less happily inspired. If the flock -is a small one, the birds composing it range themselves in a continuous single file, -each following bird touching with its beak the tail of the preceding one, in order -that the way opened through the air may not have time to close again. If the flock -is numerous, two files of equal length are formed, and they join each other at an -acute angle, advancing point first. This angular arrangement, which we find imitated -in the ship’s prow, in the farmer’s plowshare, in the thin edge of a wedge, and in -any number of utensils fashioned for penetrating a dense mass by overcoming resistance, -is the one best suited for cleaving the air with the least possible fatigue. If, to -arrange its flying squadron, the goose had taken counsel of the most consummate science -of our engineers, it could not have done better. But the goose has no need of others; -advised by its instinct, it knew long before us, who call it stupid, one of the great -secrets of mechanics, the principle of the wedge. -</p> -<p>“Moreover, to divide among all the members of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1402">[<a href="#xd31e1402">125</a>]</span>the flock the excess of fatigue felt by the leader of the file in being the first -to cleave with a stroke of his wing the resisting atmosphere, each one in its turn -occupies the post of honor, the forward end of the single file, or the apex of the -two joining files. It is a repetition of Emile’s expedient for penetrating a considerable -extent of brushwood. After its turn of service at the front the leading goose retires -for rest to the rear of one or other of the branches of the angle, while a new leader -takes its place. By this means of equitable rotation excessive fatigue on the part -of any one of the migrating flock is avoided, and no stragglers are left behind.” -</p> -<p>“And no goose has to be urged to take what you call the post of honor, the arduous -post at the front?” queried Emile. -</p> -<p>“None has to be urged. It is their duty, and they all fulfil it with a zeal that in -many instances man might take as a model. To the recusant slacker the smallest gosling -would give a lesson in what is owing to the common welfare. As soon as the leader -feels its strength weakening, the next one in order takes its place without having -to be told.” -</p> -<p>“Decidedly,” interposed Jules, “those geese, with their cleverness in geography and -their skill in the art of flying in flocks and in devising means for mutual assistance, -are not so silly as they are said to be.” -</p> -<p>“The flight of a flock of geese is generally very high; they do not come near the -ground except in foggy weather. If on such an occasion some farm <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1409">[<a href="#xd31e1409">126</a>]</span>chances to be near, it occasionally happens that resounding clarion calls answer each -other from sky to earth and earth to sky. That is the interchange of greetings between -wild and tame geese. The wild ones invite the captives to come and join them in their -pilgrimage to the promised land of the North. The proposal puts the poultry-yard all -in a turmoil, so compelling is the call of instinct. The farm geese become excited, -scream, beat their sides with their large wings; but the plumpness of captivity prevents -their flight. One less impeded takes wing, rises in the air, and is gone.” -</p> -<p>“To Spitzbergen?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“Yes, to Spitzbergen, if strength does not fail it, but it is very doubtful whether -it will be able to follow its wild companions to the end. -</p> -<p>“The goose feeds chiefly on herbage. With its wide beak furnished at the edges with -little scales resembling sharp teeth, it browses the turf very much as does the sheep. -A field of green wheat particularly delights it. If a rather large flock alights there -the harvest is seriously injured. During the devastation sentries keep a look-out, -some here, others there, motionless, neck outstretched, eye and ear on the alert. -Let danger approach, and immediately the trumpet sounds. At the warning the flock -ceases grazing, runs with wings open to get a start, then takes flight and mounts -obliquely to heights above the reach of a shot. The same precautions are taken in -the hours of repose; furthermore, actuated by an excess of prudence, they refuse to -trust <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1416">[<a href="#xd31e1416">127</a>]</span>entirely to the sentinels, but each sleeps with one eye open, as we say. Thus are -the ruses of the hunter nearly always baffled when he tries to get near them. -</p> -<p>“I will stop here for to-day. I hope that, without going into other details that would -carry us too far, I have reinstated the slandered bird in your esteem. The goose is -not silly; on the contrary, it possesses to a high degree the wiles, the talents, -in fact everything necessary for the admirable fulfilment of its mission as a goose.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1420">[<a href="#xd31e1420">128</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch14" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e313">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XIV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE DOMESTIC GOOSE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"><span class="corr" id="xd31e1426" title="Not in source">“</span>Before America had given us the turkey, the goose was sought for its flesh, which -does not lack merit, although inferior to that of the bird from the New World. Roast -goose was the dish of honor at family feasts. Now that the turkey has supplanted it -in the solemnities of the table, it is raised chiefly for its fat, which is very fine -and savory, rivaling butter in its uses. As to its flesh, relegated to secondary rank -and regarded as a mere accessory, it is salted and preserved like pork. The region -of which Toulouse is the center is the most renowned for this branch of agricultural -industry. Large flocks are raised there of a species of goose called the Toulouse -goose, remarkable for its large size and its tendency to corpulence. Its pouch of -fat hanging down under its stomach reaches even to the ground, and grows so heavy -as to interfere with the bird’s walk. The plumage is dark gray, with brown or black -spots; the beak is orange, and the legs flesh color. -</p> -<p>“When it is desired to fatten the goose to the utmost limit, the process calls for -the fundamental conditions expounded in the chapter on the poulard; that is to say, -as much food as the stomach can bear, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1430">[<a href="#xd31e1430">129</a>]</span>immobility, complete repose, and almost continual sleep. These principles recalled -to mind, let us consider the Toulouse method. The geese are shut up in a dark place, -cool without being damp, where they cannot hear the noises of the poultry-yard. The -trumpet-calls of their free companions would awaken in them vexatious regrets and -would interfere with their digestion. Three times a day the woman employed to fatten -them seats herself on a low chair and takes them one by one between her knees so as -to control their movements. She opens the beak by force and thrusts far down the throat -the tube of a tin funnel.” -</p> -<p>“That funnel is for feeding them?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“Precisely.” -</p> -<p>“Then they are compelled to swallow even if they don’t want to.” -</p> -<p>“What does the fattener care? All that concerns her is not to wound the bird during -the operation. Furthermore, to make the utensil slip into its place better she takes -care to oil the end of it a little. The poor creature struggles and protests as best -it can against the violence to which it is subjected. But all in vain: the woman keeps -at it. Now she pours a handful of maize into the funnel, and as the grains would not -descend of themselves, the bird contracting that part of its throat not reached by -the tube, she pushes them down with little blows on the crop with a wooden rammer; -she crams (that is the word) the patient’s stomach with maize. From time to time a -little cold water is given to aid this <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1437">[<a href="#xd31e1437">130</a>]</span>painful deglutition. When the crop is full, which is ascertained by the touch of the -hand, the bird is set free; another takes its place and, willy nilly, receives the -funnel in its throat. During the thirty-five days that this feeding lasts, a goose -consumes forty liters of corn; that is to say, more than a liter a day.” -</p> -<p>“After such a cramming with quantities of corn rammed down by main force,” remarked -Jules, “the goose must get discouraged and pine away.” -</p> -<p>“Get discouraged! You don’t realize a goose’s appetite. The miserable creature becomes -accustomed to this diet, even takes a liking to it, and toward the end of the operation -comes of its own accord and opens its beak to receive the funnel which ere long proves -fatal to it. Soon we see the pouch of fat under the stomach dragging on the ground, -the orange color of the beak turning pale, the breathing rendered difficult, and every -sign pointing to a near end—suffocation by excess of corpulence. But the knife forestalls -this. The bird is cut into quarters and salted; its melted grease is put into pots -or bottles, where it can be kept for two years with its beautiful white color and -fine flavor unimpaired. -</p> -<p>“In other countries the fattening process includes the application, in its utmost -rigor, of the principle of immobility. Under an earthen pot, the bottom of which has -been broken, the goose is put in such a way that only its head is left free, projecting -through the opening. Thus immured in its earthenware <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1443">[<a href="#xd31e1443">131</a>]</span>coffin, which barely permits it to turn round, the goose has only one distraction, -eating. With food served in abundance, it eats just for the pleasure of it, and consumes -so much that at the end of two weeks it becomes a ball of fat. To get it out of its -cell the pot must be broken. -</p> -<p>“Elsewhere, especially in Alsace, the goose is shut up in a little pine box so narrow -that the bird cannot turn round in it. The floor of the cell is made of slats far -enough apart for the dung to fall through; the front wall is pierced with an opening -for the passage of the head, and beneath this opening is a trough always full of water, -in which are placed a few pieces of charcoal as a disinfectant. Charcoal, in fact, -possesses the property of absorbing infectious gases, and thus prevents the corruption -that might develop in the bird’s drink. The captive in its narrow cage is kept in -the cellar or at least in a dark place. Morning and night it is forcibly stuffed with -corn softened by several hours’ soaking in water; the rest of the time it thrusts -its head through its dormer-window and drinks, dabbling as much as it pleases in the -trough just below. With twenty-five liters of corn—for the northern species is smaller -than that of Toulouse—the goose, at the end of a month, is fattened sufficiently. -</p> -<p>“The presence of a ball of grease under each wing, together with difficulty in breathing, -announces that the time has arrived for cutting the prisoner’s throat; if deferred, -it would die from suffocation. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1449">[<a href="#xd31e1449">132</a>]</span></p> -<p>“The lack of exercise that attends the fattening process in captivity, whether in -a pot with broken bottom or in a pine box, makes its effects felt principally in the -structure of the liver, which grows to an enormous size and becomes charged with fat, -as I have already told you in speaking of the duck. With the method used in Alsace -the liver attains the weight of half a kilogram and sometimes double that. Moreover, -in the process of cooking, a goose yields from three to five pounds of fat admirably -suited for use with vegetables through the rest of the year. Goose livers serve the -same purposes as ducks’ livers: they go to the making of the ragouts of Nérac and -Toulouse, and they form the chief ingredient in the celebrated Strasburg <i lang="fr">pâtés de foie gras</i>. -</p> -<p>“We have not yet exhausted the uses of the goose. Before the invention of steel pens, -in general use to-day, large goose quills were employed for writing. Their preparation -consisted in passing them through hot ashes and then scraping them a little to remove -their greasy coating, which would prevent the ink’s flowing. Of very convenient size -for the fingers, their combined firmness and elastic flexibility made them also admirably -adapted for writing; but they had to be recut from time to time, and the handling -of a penknife was not without its difficulties, its dangers even, in inexperienced -hands like yours. So steel pens have almost entirely supplanted them. -</p> -<p>“Another product of the goose’s plumage consists in the small feathers and down used -for bedding. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1458">[<a href="#xd31e1458">133</a>]</span>I have told you how aquatic birds, especially those of cold countries, have under -their outside coat of feathers, which is impregnated with oil to resist wet and storm, -an inner coat composed of the finest down and very fit for protecting the bird from -the cold. This down we called eiderdown. I revert to it now on account of its importance. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p125width"><img src="images/p125.png" alt="Eider-duck" width="287" height="253"><p class="figureHead">Eider-duck</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The best eiderdown is furnished by a kind of duck called the eider-duck, intermediate -in size between the goose and the tame duck. This duck lives in a wild state in the -frozen regions of the North. It is whitish in color with a black head as well as black -stomach and tail. The female, which is rather smaller than the male, is gray except -for some brown spots under the body. Its food is composed of fish, which its untiring -wing enables it to catch at long distances from the coast and well out to sea. On -the water all day searching for fish, the eider-duck returns at night to some icy -islet, a warm enough resting place for its purpose, well muffled as it is in eiderdown. -</p> -<p>“In some hollow of the sharp rocks of the shore it builds its nest, composed on the -outside of mosses and dry seaweed, and on the inside of a thick eiderdown lining which -the mother plucks from her stomach <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1467">[<a href="#xd31e1467">134</a>]</span>and breast. On this soft little bed rest five or six dull green eggs.” -</p> -<p>“We have already seen the wild duck plucking its stomach to cover its eggs with down,” -put in Jules. -</p> -<p>“The eider-duck does the same, but with a greater expenditure of down. When the mother -leaves her nest for a moment, she shelters her eggs under an abundant covering of -her finest down. After the departure of the brood, those who hunt for eiderdown, especially -the Icelanders, visit the abandoned nests and collect the down, but not without danger, -since the nests are generally situated in inaccessible places on the ledges of high -cliffs. They can reach them only by being lowered with ropes along the face of the -precipitous rocks. -</p> -<p>“The quilts that we call eiderdown are large coverlets filled with these very fine -feathers. Their flocky mass, very light in spite of its size, is the best covering -for retaining heat. Those most in demand are made of the down of the eider-duck, and -are so elastic and light that one can press and hold in two hands the quantity of -down necessary for a large bed-coverlet. But as this down is rare and very high-priced, -the coarser kind, from the poultry-yard duck and goose, is commonly used. -</p> -<p>“Every year the sheep yields its fleece to the shearer, and in the same way, four -times a year, the goose is robbed of a part of its fine feathers and down. The operation -is especially easy at molting time, for then the feathers come out with the least -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1475">[<a href="#xd31e1475">135</a>]</span>effort. The goose is plucked, but not entirely, you understand, beneath the stomach, -on the neck, and on the under side of the wings; it is only when dead that it is plucked -completely. This harvest of feathers is put into a bag without being pressed, and -must next be subjected for some time to the heat of an oven from which bread has just -been taken out. This removes its disagreeable odor and the parasites that often infest -it. If, however, other parasites appear later, notably moths, greedy, as you know, -for anything of animal origin, such as cloth, hair, down, or wool, the feathers must -be fumigated with burning sulphur. -</p> -<p>“The eggs of the goose are white and remarkably large, as one would expect from the -size of the bird. When one sees, generally in February, a goose dragging with its -beak some bits of straw and carrying them to its nesting place, it is a sign that -laying time is approaching. The goose is then kept at home instead of being sent out -into the fields. A laying numbers fifteen eggs at the most; but if care is taken to -visit the nest and remove the eggs as fast as they are laid, the number increases -and may go, it is said, as high as forty. The goose has the same fault as the duck: -she is not a very assiduous brooder. Hence it is thought best to have the turkey do -the setting. As for the hen, she is, despite her motherly qualities, out of the question, -however small the setting may be: goose eggs are so large that she could not cover -more than half a dozen at the most. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1479">[<a href="#xd31e1479">136</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Incubation lasts a month. As the eggs do not all hatch at the same time and as the -brooder, goose or turkey, might be tempted to abandon the backward eggs in order to -take care of the first-born goslings, it is advisable to take the little ones from -the nest as fast as they hatch and to put them in a wool-lined basket. When the hatching -is all finished, the family is given back to the mother. Warmth and a special diet -are necessary the first few days. The goslings are fed with a mixture of bread-crumbs, -corn-meal, milk, lettuce, and chopped nettles. At the end of eight or ten days this -careful treatment may cease, and if the weather is fine the mother goose can be allowed -to lead the brood whither she pleases, even to the neighboring pond, providing the -water is warm. The male, the gander, as it is called, generally accompanies the family, -protects it, and proves his courage in time of danger. Woe betide the thoughtless -person who, even with no evil intention, approaches the goslings. The gander runs -at him, neck outstretched, with loud and hissing cry, and gives him battle with wing -and beak. When I was young I knew a little scamp who threw a stone at the goslings -and was straightway knocked down by a blow of the gander’s wing and then well thrashed. -Timely aid was rendered, else the imprudent assailant would have been disfigured by -the bird.” -</p> -<p>“You caught it that time, stone-thrower!” cried Emile. “For my part, I never pick -a quarrel with geese; but one day they chased me and caught me by the blouse. Oh, -how frightened I was!” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1483">[<a href="#xd31e1483">137</a>]</span></p> -<p>“If you are not strong enough to defend yourselves, children, do not go near the goose -when she has her little ones with her. She is very distrustful then and might do you -harm.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1486">[<a href="#xd31e1486">138</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch15" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e323">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE PIGEON</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“The strong resemblance that the tame pigeon often bears to the wild one known as -the rock-pigeon makes us suspect this latter to be the ancestor of the bird that inhabits -our dove-cotes. The rock-pigeon has ashy-blue plumage with black-spotted wings and -pure-white tail. The neck and breast are changeable in color according to the light -in which they are seen, and shine with a metallic luster, in which sometimes purple -and sometimes golden green dominates.” -</p> -<p>“That is exactly the ordinary plumage of our pigeons,” said Emile. “When they come -and peck the bread that I crumble for them in the sun, I like to see their <span class="corr" id="xd31e1494" title="Source: magnificient">magnificent</span> breasts shining first with one color and then with another, every time the bird moves.” -</p> -<p>“Fond of traveling and endowed with a power of flight in accord with this predilection, -the rock-pigeon is scattered over the greater part of the world. Nevertheless it is -rare in France, where a few wretched pairs, always in dread of the talons of the bird -of prey or the hunter’s shot, make their nests in the most sparsely settled cantons, -on the shelves of high rocks. The rocky and mountainous regions <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1499">[<a href="#xd31e1499">139</a>]</span>of the Mediterranean islands are their chosen haunts in Europe.” -</p> -<p>“But it is no uncommon thing,” Louis remarked, “to hear of wild pigeons being shot -in this country.” -</p> -<p>“You confound the rock-pigeon, my friend, with another kind of wild pigeon, the wood-pigeon. -This, as its name indicates, perches on the branches of tall trees, which the rock-pigeon -never does.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, that’s so,” Jules interjected. “I have never seen pigeons that are descended -from the rock-pigeon alighting on trees. They alight on rocks, on roofs, or on the -ground.” -</p> -<p>“In its free state the rock-pigeon builds its nest in the hollows of rocks; the wood-pigeon, -on the <span class="corr" id="xd31e1506" title="Source: comtrary">contrary</span>, builds in trees, in the depths of dense forests, where it finds in abundance the -acorn and beech-nut, its principal food. These habits are not the only difference -between the two birds. The wood-pigeon is much larger; its breast has the color of -lees of wine; its neck, gleaming with variegated metallic glints like that of its -brother, is further adorned on each side with a white spot in the shape of a cross. -Its flight is sustained and rapid, its cooing sonorous, its sight piercing. It feeds -on all sorts of seeds, especially acorns, which it swallows whole. -</p> -<p>“Wood-pigeons like to perch on dead branches at the tops of trees. During the cold -winter mornings they stay there motionless, waiting for a little warmth to come with -the rising sun and arouse them from their torpor. In summer they frequent full-grown -forest-trees, and their cooing may be heard in <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1511">[<a href="#xd31e1511">140</a>]</span>the very midst of the dense foliage. Their nesting place is by preference at the junction -of several forking branches. The male goes forth and gathers from neighboring trees, -never from the ground, the building material of dry twigs. If he sees a dead twig -attached to the branch on which he is perching, he seizes it with his claws, sometimes -with the beak, and tries to break it either by leaning on it with all his weight or -by pulling it toward him. Possessed of his prize, he returns at once to his mate, -who contents herself with putting the materials into place without taking part in -getting them. In building the nest, therefore, the male is the worker and the female -the architect; but an architect without talent, we must admit, for the structure is -nothing but a mass of intertwined sticks without lining of feathers and flock, and, -worse still, without firmness. Hence it is not unusual for this nest to fall to pieces -before the brood has taken its flight; fortunately the strong branches on which it -rests save the young ones from a disastrous fall. -</p> -<p>“Wild and mistrustful, the wood-pigeon has never been willing to accept the calculated -hospitality of the pigeon-house; it prefers the perilous life of the woods to the -full-fed existence of servitude. This is the wild pigeon that frequently falls before -the hunter’s fire. In certain defiles of the Pyrenees it is caught with large nets, -hundreds at a time. The rock-pigeon, on the contrary, has from time immemorial been -dependent on man; and in return for the shelter of the pigeon-house which protects -it from <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1515">[<a href="#xd31e1515">141</a>]</span>birds of prey it has been willing to forget so completely the rocks where it first -nested that to-day one seldom finds, at least in our country, any wild pairs. -</p> -<p>“Not all our pigeons, however, show the same degree of tameness; far from it. Some, -voluntary captives rather than real prisoners, are faithful to the pigeon-house only -as long as they find suitable food in the neighboring fields, whither they go in flocks. -If the house is not to their liking, or if food is lacking, they seek another abode, -the more adventurous sometimes even returning to the wild life. The others, thoroughly -enslaved, have completely lost their desire for independence. Seldom do they leave -their roof, and some are such stay-at-homes that the most pressing hunger could not -make them go out and try to find a little food for themselves in the neighboring furrows. -Food must always be given them, for they are incapable of procuring it themselves. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p134-1width"><img src="images/p134-1.png" alt="Domestic Pigeon" width="328" height="279"><p class="figureHead">Domestic Pigeon</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Those first mentioned, the pigeons that venture afield and find food for themselves, -are called rock-pigeons, after the wild pigeon whose ways, and frequently whose plumage, -they have retained in part. They are also known as flighty pigeons (<i>fuyards</i>), either on account of their occasional distant expeditions, or because they sometimes -take flight from the pigeon-house and never return. They are the least costly to raise, -but they are small and not very productive, as they lay only two or three times a -year. The second kind, those that scarcely ever leave the pigeon-cote and cannot do -without our care, are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1527">[<a href="#xd31e1527">142</a>]</span>called cote-pigeons. Their maintenance costs more because they must be fed all the -year round; but in compensation they do not ravage the neighboring harvests, which -cannot be said of the rock-pigeons; and beside they are much more productive, their -periods of laying numbering as many as ten a year. Modified from the earliest times -by man’s intervention, the cote-pigeon includes a number of varieties in which the -traits of the primitive species are often no longer recognizable. Let us mention some -of these. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p134-2width"><img src="images/p134-2.png" alt="Pouter Pigeon" width="337" height="402"><p class="figureHead">Pouter Pigeon</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“First of all are the pigeons with feathered legs and feet, looking as if they wore -gaiters. This growth of feathers reaches to the very tips of the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1535">[<a href="#xd31e1535">143</a>]</span>claws, forming a cumbersome and unsightly sort of footgear which is found to be due -to captivity, the wild bird never having anything of the kind. Then come the pouter -pigeons, which have the faculty of swallowing air and inflating the crop in a large -ball, so that the base of the neck seems to be affected with the deformity known as -goiter. That is their way of showing off: the larger the ball, the prouder they are -of their figure.” -</p> -<p>“What a queer idea,” Emile exclaimed, “to think it improves one’s looks to have a -frightful goiter or to wear those feathered leggings that trail in the mud and interfere -with walking!” -</p> -<p>“A life of idleness, my friend, engenders many caprices: examples abound in man even -more than in pigeons. But let us get on; these things do not concern us. -</p> -<p>“Now, here are some pigeons that have their heads adorned with a crown of feathers, -are shod like the preceding, and imitate in their cooing the roll of a drum.” -</p> -<p>“Then they ought to be called, from the roll of the drum, drummer-pigeons,” declared -Emile. -</p> -<p>“You have hit it exactly: that is precisely their name. Here are others with trailing -wings, tail erect and expanded like a fan, and the body in an almost continual state -of trembling. You would say they had a fever. The spread tail gives them the name -of fan-tails, while from their ceaseless shaking they are sometimes called shakers. -Ruffled pigeons <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1543">[<a href="#xd31e1543">144</a>]</span>have the neck encircled with a ruff of disordered feathers. Jacobins wear a sort of -hood resembling a monk’s cowl. The turbit carries on the nape of its neck a tuft of -feathers thrown back and hollowed out like a shell. Tumblers are remarkable for their -strange evolutions in the air: in mid-flight they will suddenly let themselves fall -and turn a somersault as if shot in the wing. This recreation is their favorite pastime.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p136width"><img src="images/p136.png" alt="Jacobins" width="292" height="232"><p class="figureHead">Jacobins</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The pleasure of a vertical fall,” remarked Jules, “accompanied by a somersault, must -carry some fear with it. Perhaps that is what gives zest to this exercise.” -</p> -<p>“But the pigeon pulls up in time?” queried Emile. -</p> -<p>“Whenever it wishes to,” his uncle replied, “it brings to an end its downward hurtling -from these airy heights, ordinary flying is resumed, and presently the tumbles begin -again finer than ever. Here let us pause, without exhausting the list of varieties, -amounting to twenty-four, counting only the principal ones. These few examples show -you sufficiently what diversity pigeon-house life has stamped on the form, habits, -and plumage of the primitive bird. -</p> -<p>“All pigeons, wild as well as tame, lay never more than two eggs to a hatching, from -which generally spring brother and sister. The cares of brooding <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1555">[<a href="#xd31e1555">145</a>]</span>are shared by the father and mother alike, a practice found in no other tame bird. -In the morning, when hunger makes itself felt, the female calls the male by a peculiar -cooing and invites him to come and take her place on the eggs, which he does with -alacrity. About three or four o’clock in the afternoon the rôles change. If the pigeon -which until then has remained on the nest does not see its mate coming, there follows -an anxious search, with admonitory cooings and, in case of need, admonitory peckings; -and the laggard is brought back to the serious business of brooding. But as a rule -the mother is irreproachably punctual; she returns to the nest at the hour agreed -upon and does not leave it again until the next morning. Incubation takes seventeen -or eighteen days. -</p> -<p>“The little ones are born naked, blind, ungraceful. The father and mother, sometimes -one, sometimes the other, feed them from the beak. This beak-feeding method of the -pigeons is exceptional and deserves special consideration. I need not tell you how -other birds feed their brood; any one that has ever raised a sparrow will know that.” -</p> -<p>“The little sparrow,” Jules hastened to explain, “opens its beak as wide as it can -and the parents put into it the food they have brought, just as I put a grasshopper -into it, or a piece of a cherry, or a soaked bread-crumb.” -</p> -<p>“Jules forgets,” said Emile, “that it is well to tap the little bird on the tail to -excite its appetite and make it open its beak.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1561">[<a href="#xd31e1561">146</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Emile’s improvement is not indispensable,” Uncle Paul replied. “If it is hungry the -bird will open its beak without being asked. Into this beak that gapes so wide the -parents put the point of theirs and drop whatever prize they have found; but if the -little bird is very young the father and mother begin by half-digesting in their own -stomach the food destined for the little one. Then they put their beak into the little -one’s and disgorge the nutritious pap that they have prepared. -</p> -<p>“Well, pigeons do exactly the reverse: it is the father and mother that gape, and -the little ones that plunge their beak deep down into the throat of the parent bird. -The latter is then seized with a convulsion of the stomach accompanied by a rapid -trembling of the wings and body. Little plaintive cries denote that the operation -is perhaps not quite painless. From the crop thus done violence to, the half-digested -nutritive matter comes up in a jet that passes into the half-open beak of the nursling. -Twice a day the little pigeons receive their food in this way; twice a day, but no -more, so painful to the nurses seems this mode of feeding from beak to beak.” -</p> -<p>“I should think,” said Jules, “that the parents would feel rather uncomfortable when -the young pigeon tickles their throat, deep down, with its beak. If we can judge by -what would happen to us, the stomach would rebel and would throw up its contents painfully.” -</p> -<p>“That is apparently the way of it. The disgorged <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1567">[<a href="#xd31e1567">147</a>]</span>food is a pap of seeds all ground up fine in the crop; but for the first three or -four days after hatching a special food is given, fine and strengthening, suited to -the weakness of the little one. It is a white substance, almost liquid, having the -appearance of real milk. It does not come entirely from digested food; for the most -part it consists of a sort of milkfood that is distilled by the stomach on this occasion -only. So for the first days of the brood’s rearing the pigeons have, deep down in -the throat, a sort of milk factory, or what one might call the equivalent of an udder.” -</p> -<p>“That reminds me,” Jules interposed, “of a joke common enough among us fellows. When -we want to gull some poor innocent, we tell him that pigeons suck. This jest comes -nearer the truth than is commonly thought. Pigeons do not suck the breast, it is true, -but it might well enough be said that they are suckled, since what they are fed on -has so much resemblance to milk.” -</p> -<p>“Little pigeons stay in the nest a long time,” resumed Uncle Paul. “Entirely covered -with feathers and almost as large as their parents, they still continue to receive -parental care. To induce them to shift for themselves and give up their place when -the time for a new laying approaches, some cuffs have to be given to these spoiled -children that are so reluctant to leave home. But at last they consent, though not -without returning from time to time to torment the mother with their lamentations -and to beg her for something to eat. The father, less weak <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1573">[<a href="#xd31e1573">148</a>]</span>on the side of his affections, thenceforth receives these importunate lazy-bodies -with a peck of the beak. -</p> -<p>“Let us consider certain other details of the pigeon’s habits. I will not tell you, -these things being pretty well known to you, of the cooings of the pigeon when it -puffs out its throat, of its ceremonious salutations, its bowing to the very ground, -its pirouettes when it shows off before its mate. I shall interest you more by acquainting -you with its gregarious instinct, which impels it to assemble in immense flocks when -it travels, in its wild state, to find food.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1577">[<a href="#xd31e1577">149</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch16" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e333">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XVI</h2> -<h2 class="main">A STORY FROM AUDUBON<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e1583src" href="#xd31e1583">1</a></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Here is what we are told on this subject by the celebrated ornithologist, Audubon, -whom I have already quoted in describing to you the habits of the turkey as it is -found in its free state in the great forests of its native land. -</p> -<p>“ ‘The passenger pigeon, or, as it is usually named in America, the wild pigeon, moves -with extreme rapidity, propelling itself by quickly repeated flaps of the wing, which -it brings more or less near the body, according to the degree of velocity which is -required.… -</p> -<p>“ ‘This great power of flight is seconded by as great a power of vision, which enables -them, as they travel at that swift rate, to inspect the country below, discover their -food with facility, and thus obtain the object for which their journey has been undertaken. -This I have also proved to be the case, by having observed them, when passing over -a sterile part of the country, or one scantily furnished with food suited to them, -keep high in the air, flying with an extended <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1590">[<a href="#xd31e1590">150</a>]</span>front, so as to enable them to survey hundreds of acres at once. On the contrary, -when the land is richly covered with food, or the trees abundantly hung with mast, -they fly low, in order to discover the part most plentifully supplied.… -</p> -<p>“ ‘The multitudes of wild pigeons in our woods are astonishing. Indeed, after having -viewed them so often, and under so many circumstances, I even now feel inclined to -pause, and assure myself that what I am going to relate is fact. Yet I have seen it -all, and that too in the company of persons who, like myself, were struck with amazement. -</p> -<p>“ ‘In the autumn of 1813, I left my house at Henderson, on the banks of the Ohio, -on my way to Louisville. In passing over the Barrens a few miles beyond Hardensburgh, -I observed the pigeons flying from northeast to southwest, in greater number than -I thought I had ever seen them before, and feeling an inclination to count the flocks -that might pass within the reach of my eye in one hour, I dismounted, seated myself -on an eminence, and began to mark with my pencil, making a dot for every flock that -passed. In a short time finding the task which I had undertaken impracticable, as -the birds poured in in countless multitudes, I rose, and counting the dots then put -down, found that one hundred and sixty-three had been made in twenty-one minutes. -I traveled on, and still met more the farther I proceeded. The air was literally filled -with pigeons; the light of noonday was obscured as by an eclipse; the dung fell in -spots, not unlike melting flakes of snow; and the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1595">[<a href="#xd31e1595">151</a>]</span>continued buzz of wings had a tendency to lull my senses to repose. -</p> -<p>“ ‘Whilst waiting for dinner at Young’s inn, at the confluence of Salt River with -the Ohio, I saw, at my leisure, immense legions still going by, with a front reaching -from beyond the Ohio on the west, and the beech-wood forests directly on the east -of me. Not a single bird alighted, for not a nut or acorn was that year to be seen -in the neighborhood. They consequently flew so high, that different trials to reach -them with a capital rifle proved ineffectual; nor did the reports disturb them in -the least. I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty of their aërial evolutions, -when a hawk chanced to press upon the rear of a flock. At once, like a torrent, and -with a noise like thunder, they rushed into a compact mass, pressing upon each other -toward the center. In these almost solid masses, they darted forward in undulating -and angular lines, descended and swept close over the earth with inconceivable velocity, -mounted perpendicularly so as to resemble a vast column, and, when high, were seen -wheeling and twisting within their continued lines, which then resembled the coils -of a gigantic serpent. -</p> -<p>“ ‘Before sunset I reached Louisville, distant from <span class="corr" id="xd31e1600" title="Source: Hardensburg">Hardensburgh</span> fifty-five miles. The pigeons were still passing in undiminished numbers, and continued -to do so for three days in succession. The people were all in arms. The banks of the -Ohio were crowded with men and boys, incessantly shooting at the pilgrims, which there -flew lower as they <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1603">[<a href="#xd31e1603">152</a>]</span>passed the river. Multitudes were thus destroyed. For a week or more, the population -fed on no other flesh than that of pigeons, and talked of nothing but pigeons. The -atmosphere, during this time, was strongly impregnated with the peculiar odor which -emanates from the species.… -</p> -<p>“ ‘It may not, perhaps, be out of place to attempt an estimate of the number of pigeons -contained in one of those mighty flocks, and of the quantity of food daily consumed -by its members.… Let us take a column of one mile in breadth, which is far below the -average size, and suppose it passing over us without interruption for three hours, -at the rate mentioned above of one mile in the minute. This will give us a parallelogram -of 180 miles by 1, covering 180 square miles. Allowing two pigeons to the square yard, -we have 1,115,136,000 pigeons in one flock. As every pigeon daily consumes fully half -a pint of food, the quantity necessary for supplying this vast multitude must be 8,712,000 -bushels per day. -</p> -<p>“ ‘As soon as the pigeons discover a sufficiency of food to entice them to alight, -they fly round in circles, reviewing the country below. During their evolutions, on -such occasions, the dense mass which they form exhibits a beautiful appearance, as -it changes its direction, now displaying a glistening sheet of azure, when the backs -of the birds come simultaneously into view, and anon suddenly presenting a mass of -rich deep purple. They then pass lower, over the woods, and for a moment are lost -among the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1608">[<a href="#xd31e1608">153</a>]</span>foliage, but again emerge, and are seen gliding aloft. They now alight, but the next -moment, as if suddenly alarmed, they take to wing, producing by the flappings of their -wings a noise like the roar of distant thunder, and sweep through the forests to see -if danger is near. Hunger, however, soon brings them to the ground. When alighted, -they are seen industriously throwing up the withered leaves in quest of the fallen -mast. The rear ranks are continually rising, passing over the main body, and alighting -in front, in such rapid succession, that the whole flock seems still on wing. The -quantity of ground thus swept is astonishing, and so completely has it been cleared -that the gleaner who might follow in their rear would find his labor completely lost. -While feeding, their avidity is at times so great that in attempting to swallow a -large acorn or nut, they are seen gasping for a long while, as if in the agonies of -suffocation. -</p> -<p>“ ‘On such occasions, when the woods are filled with these pigeons, they are killed -in immense numbers, although no apparent diminution ensues.… As the sun begins to -sink beneath the horizon, they depart <i>en masse</i> for the roosting-place.… -</p> -<p>“ ‘Let us now inspect their place of nightly rendezvous. One of these curious roosting-places, -on the banks of the Green River in Kentucky, I repeatedly visited. It was, as is always -the case, in a portion of the forest where the trees were of great magnitude, and -where there was little underwood.… My first view of it was about a fortnight subsequent -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1617">[<a href="#xd31e1617">154</a>]</span>to the period when they had made choice of it, and I arrived there nearly two hours -before sunset. Few pigeons were then to be seen, but a great number of persons, with -horses and wagons, guns and ammunition, had already established themselves on the -borders. Two farmers from the vicinity of Russelsville, distant more than a hundred -miles, had driven upwards of three hundred hogs to be fattened on the pigeons which -were to be slaughtered. Here and there the people employed in plucking and salting -what had already been procured, were seen sitting in the midst of large piles of these -birds. The dung lay several inches deep, covering the whole extent of the roosting-place, -like a bed of snow. Many trees two feet in diameter, I observed, were broken off at -no great distance from the ground, and the branches of many of the largest and tallest -had given way, as if the forest had been swept by a tornado. Everything proved to -me that the number of birds resorting to this part of the forest must be immense beyond -conception. As the period of their arrival approached, their foes anxiously prepared -to receive them. Some were furnished with iron pots containing sulphur, others with -torches of pine knots, many with poles, and the rest with guns. The sun was lost to -our view, yet not a pigeon had arrived. Everything was ready, and all eyes were gazing -on the clear sky, which appeared in glimpses amidst the tall trees. Suddenly there -burst forth a general cry of “Here they come!” The noise which they made, though yet -distant, reminded me of a hard gale at sea, passing <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1619">[<a href="#xd31e1619">155</a>]</span>through the rigging of a close-reefed vessel. As the birds arrived and passed over -me, I felt a current of air that surprised me. Thousands were soon knocked down by -the pole-men. The birds continue to pour in. The fires were lighted, and a magnificent, -as well as wonderful and almost terrifying, sight, presented itself. The pigeons, -arriving by thousands, alighted everywhere, one above another, until solid masses -as large as hogsheads were formed on the branches all round. Here and there the perches -gave way under the weight with a crash, and falling to the ground, destroyed hundreds -of the birds beneath, forcing down the dense groups with which every stick was loaded. -It was a scene of uproar and confusion. I found it quite useless to speak, or even -to shout to those persons who were nearest to me. Even the reports of the guns were -seldom heard, and I was made aware of the firing only by seeing the shooters reloading. -</p> -<p>“ ‘No one dared venture within the line of devastation. The hogs had been penned up -in due time, the picking up of the dead and wounded being left for the next morning’s -employment. The pigeons were constantly coming, and it was past midnight before I -perceived a decrease in the number of those that arrived. The uproar continued the -whole night.… Toward the approach of day, the noise in some measure subsided, long -before objects were distinguishable, the pigeons began to move off in a direction -quite different from that in which they had arrived the evening before, and at sunrise -all that were <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1623">[<a href="#xd31e1623">156</a>]</span>able to fly had disappeared. The howlings of the wolves now reached our ears, and -the foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, racoons, opossums, and polecats were seen sneaking -off, whilst eagles and hawks of different species, accompanied by a crowd of vultures, -came to supplant them, and enjoy their share of the spoil. -</p> -<p>“ ‘It was then that the authors of all this devastation began their entry amongst -the dead, the dying, and the mangled. The pigeons were picked up and piled in heaps, -until each had as many as he could possibly dispose of, when the hogs were let loose -to feed on the remainder.’ -</p> -<p>“Here ends Audubon’s story. What do you think of it, my friends?” -</p> -<p>“I think,” Jules replied, “that those flocks of pigeons darkening the sky and taking -several days to pass over are the most astonishing thing I have ever heard of about -birds.” -</p> -<p>“And I,” said Emile, “am still thinking of that shower of dung that falls from the -sky, as thick as flakes of snow in winter, when the pigeons are flying over. Everywhere -they fly the ground is whitened with this singular shower.” -</p> -<p>“And those trees breaking under the pigeons’ weight,” Louis exclaimed; “those three -hundred pigs let loose to surfeit on what the hunters have left—all that would seem -incredible to me if Uncle Paul had not assured us it was so.” -</p> -<p>“It’s a great pity,” sighed Emile, “that we have no such flocks of pigeons here. If -they are knocked <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1632">[<a href="#xd31e1632">157</a>]</span>down with nothing but a pole, as we knock down apples and nuts, I would undertake -to bag a fine lot myself.” -</p> -<p>“Would you also,” his uncle asked him, “undertake to find food for the pigeons, when -for a single day’s supply for one of their flocks it takes from eight to nine million -bushels of seeds? You see well enough that such multitudes would be calamitous: the -entire harvest of a province would scarcely be enough to fill the crops of these ravenous -birds. Such flocks require vast tracts of woodland not exploited by man, such as America -had sixty years ago, in Audubon’s time. But to-day, in that country, as civilization -extends its boundaries the primeval forests disappear and give place to cultivated -fields. Food becoming scarce, pigeons also become scarce; and it is doubtful whether -one could ever again witness such prodigious scenes as formerly.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1636">[<a href="#xd31e1636">158</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e1583"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e1583src">1</a></span> Audubon’s narrative (“Ornithological Biography,” vol. I, pp. 319–324) is here reproduced -with greater accuracy than the French writer chose to observe. The omissions indicated -occur in the French, but are not there indicated.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e1583src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch17" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e343">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XVII</h2> -<h2 class="main">A SUPPOSITION</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Let us suppose ourselves, my friends, in the heart of a desert country, left to shift -for ourselves, without any of the resources that come with civilization. To defend -life and procure food are our constant great care. Around us extend endless dark woods -where roar, howl, bellow a thousand ferocious animals that would tear us to pieces -with their claws or quarter us with their horns if they took us by surprise. To shelter -ourselves from their attack, we have to choose between the refuge of a grotto, the -mouth of which we close with fragments of rock rolled painfully into place, and the -hollow trunk of an old tree, or, better, its large branches, if we can manage to climb -up to them.” -</p> -<p>“It is the story of Robinson Crusoe on his Island,” Emile interrupted. -</p> -<p>“Not quite. I am supposing our state much worse than his. Robinson Crusoe had at his -disposal a quantity of things saved from the shipwreck—tools of all kinds, formidable -weapons, guns, powder, and shot. We have nothing, absolutely nothing but our ten fingers.” -</p> -<p>“Not even a knife to cut a stick with?” asked Emile. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1646">[<a href="#xd31e1646">159</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Not even a knife.” -</p> -<p>“Rather an unpleasant situation,” remarked Louis; “and all the more so as we couldn’t -stay shut up all the time. We should have to leave our grotto to procure food, and -then beware of the wolves and all the dangerous creatures in the wood.” -</p> -<p>“Nothing imparts courage like the terrible need of food. We should start out, then, -armed with some stones and with a stick clumsily broken off with our hands. If the -wild beast runs at us we shall do our best to knock it down.” -</p> -<p>“But what if we don’t succeed?” was Emile’s query. -</p> -<p>“In that case we are done for: we shall become its prey.” -</p> -<p>“To tell the truth, Uncle, in spite of the pleasure the reading of Robinson Crusoe -on his Island gave me, I prefer this trip through the woods to be simply a supposition -on your part rather than a reality.” -</p> -<p>“Emile is not the only one of that opinion,” declared Jules. “When I have nothing -to defend myself with I don’t like those woods where there are wolves and still worse -things.” -</p> -<p>“I continue my supposition. Hunger drives us and we start. I assume that heaven favors -us and that no serious danger comes to disturb us in our hunt for something to keep -us from starving. If we are on the seashore we shall catch shell-fish; if inland, -we shall gather berries from the brambles and sloes from the thicket. If we hunt long -enough we may perhaps find a handful or two of hazel-nuts. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1657">[<a href="#xd31e1657">160</a>]</span>That will be our dinner, which will beguile our hunger for a while without satisfying -it.” -</p> -<p>“I should think so,” exclaimed Emile. “Berries and sloes, and nothing else—a sorry -feast! I’d rather have a crust of bread, no matter how hard.” -</p> -<p>“So had I. But the crust of bread means cultivated fields, the husbandman, the harvester, -the miller, and the baker; it presupposes an advanced civilization, whereas we are -in a wilderness. We must do without the crust of bread. If, however, you find something -better than berries and sloes, I will gladly give up the detestable fruit.” -</p> -<p>“Since the woods where you suppose us to be,” said Jules, “are full of all sorts of -animals, there ought to be game in abundance.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, indeed, game is there in plenty.” -</p> -<p>“Well, then; let us hunt it, and then we will light a fire and I will see to roasting -what we have got. That will be much better than horrid sloes, sour enough to set your -teeth on edge.” -</p> -<p>“That is a good idea, but I see two great difficulties: first, we must catch the game; -secondly, we must make a fire.” -</p> -<p>“Making a fire is the easiest thing in the world,” Emile declared. “All we need is -a match, as long as there is plenty of wood.” -</p> -<p>“You forget, my friend, that there are no matches. We have nothing, absolutely nothing.” -</p> -<p>“That is true. What shall we do, then? If I remember right, Robinson Crusoe too had -no end of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1670">[<a href="#xd31e1670">161</a>]</span>trouble in making a fire. He finally found a tree that had been set on fire by lightning.” -</p> -<p>“Would you wait for a thunderstorm to come and set fire to a corner of the forest? -Long before that we should have time to starve, for it is very seldom that lightning -starts a fire.” -</p> -<p>“Must we, then, give up the roast that I was proposing?” Jules asked. -</p> -<p>“Before giving it up we might try the means employed by certain savage tribes for -obtaining fire. The operator takes his seat on the ground and holds between his feet -a piece of soft and very dry wood in which a small cavity has been hollowed; then -he twirls rapidly between his hands a stick of hard wood with its point in the cavity. -As a result of this energetic friction the soft wood becomes heated at the bottom -of the hollow, and ends by catching fire. Success necessitates, it is true, a rapidity -of friction and a skill that certainly we should not be able to acquire without a -long apprenticeship; but I pass over that difficulty and assume that we have a fire. -</p> -<p>“Now for the game. A hare will be a great plenty for us. This animal abounds, and -we should be very unskilful if we did not soon find one curling its mustaches with -its velvety paw under a tuft of broom. But the hare has quick ears and sharp eyes. -Long before we can get within striking distance it hears and sees us, and decamps. -Run after it now if you think you can catch it.” -</p> -<p>“For my part,” said Jules, “I won’t undertake it.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1678">[<a href="#xd31e1678">162</a>]</span></p> -<p>“With the weapons we possess,” Louis admitted, “with only our sticks and stones, the -chase seems to me out of the question: all game of whatever sort would foil our attempts -by its vigilance and rapid flight.” -</p> -<p>“Are you all thoroughly convinced of it?” asked Uncle Paul. -</p> -<p>“I certainly am,” replied Jules. “Not being able to match the game in fleetness of -foot, we shall always come back from the hunt empty-handed.” -</p> -<p>“That’s plain enough,” Emile assented. -</p> -<p>“Then let us be content with sloes, and if hunger presses too hard we must tighten -our belts. Since, too, at any moment, some furious wild beast might pounce upon us -and devour us, let us lose no time in getting back to reflect on our sad plight. -</p> -<p>“Our wretched state is indeed lamentable. Incessant hunger torments us, despite the -extreme abundance of game, which would be an invaluable resource for us, but which -unfortunately we cannot turn to account. If, to stay our hunger, we go in search of -wild fruit, a thousand dangers await us. We may fall into clutches that no stone will -intimidate and no sticks cause to relax. We are without provisions, defenseless. A -terrible alternative awaits us: to die of hunger or be devoured by those that are -stronger than we.” -</p> -<p>“Such a Robinson Crusoe life I should not care for,” declared Emile. -</p> -<p>“Now let us suppose one thing more: Heaven takes pity on our distress and, to extricate -us from our difficulty, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1689">[<a href="#xd31e1689">163</a>]</span>offers us the aid of one of our domestic animals, whichever one we choose to name. -Which will you ask for, children?” -</p> -<p>“My stomach is so tired of sloes,” Emile replied, “and my teeth are so set on edge -with this sour fruit that I think I should choose a sheep. Some cutlets broiled over -live coals would make up to me for my dinners on wild berries.” -</p> -<p>“But the sheep will soon be eaten up,” objected Jules, “and then back you go once -more to the sloes. I should prefer a goat. Every evening it would come back to the -grotto with its big udders swollen with milk. In this way I should be sure of food -with some variety, because I could make butter and cheese out of the milk.” -</p> -<p>“Your goat will perhaps not last so long as Emile’s sheep. It must go out to get pasturage, -and who can say that it will not be devoured by wolves in the woods the first time -it ventures forth?” -</p> -<p>“I will keep careful watch over it.” -</p> -<p>“But who will watch over you, my friend? Who will protect you?” -</p> -<p>“That’s so. Let us give up the goat and choose a cow. She is strong enough to defend -herself with her horns.” -</p> -<p>“If one wolf is not enough, they will bring to the attack two, three, ten, and the -cow will be overcome.” -</p> -<p>“The horse, mule, or donkey, in our supposed circumstances, cannot be very useful -to us. I leave them out. With a hen I should at least have an egg a day.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1700">[<a href="#xd31e1700">164</a>]</span></p> -<p>“A poor dependence if one hen’s egg has to be divided between four. Besides, what -grain have you for feeding your hen? And how about the fox—will he leave her in peace?” -</p> -<p>“The pig is still left,” was Jules’s final suggestion. “But there we have the same -difficulty as with Emile’s sheep: once the animal is eaten, hunger overtakes us again. -I leave the choice to some one cleverer than I.” -</p> -<p>“My choice,” said Louis, “would be the dog, without a moment’s hesitation.” -</p> -<p>“What a queer choice!” cried Emile. “The dog will lick our hands in sign of friendship, -he will bark in front of the grotto, and he will gnaw the bone we throw to him. But -as there are no bones in our dinners of sloes, the poor beast will die of hunger without -being of any use to us whatever.” -</p> -<p>“I can find use for him,” replied Louis, “and it is a great one. With the dog, game, -even the nimblest hare, will be caught in the chase, with such ambuscade as we can -contrive on our part, and food will be assured for all—flesh for us, bones for the -dog. Accompanied by him, we can go wherever we please, without the continual fear -of being attacked any moment. If a wolf appears, our vigorous companion will cope -with it, seize it by the nape of the neck, and give us a chance to lay on with the -cudgel.” -</p> -<p>“Louis is right,” declared Jules; “I vote for the dog.” -</p> -<p>“The reasons Louis gives,” Emile chimed in, “are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1710">[<a href="#xd31e1710">165</a>]</span>too clear to admit of any but a unanimous vote in the dog’s favor.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend,” his uncle rejoined, “unanimous, even to the vote of your Uncle Paul, -who for some moments has been making you live Robinson Crusoe’s life in imagination -for the express purpose of leading you to decide for yourselves in favor of the dog. -</p> -<p>“In the early days, centuries and centuries ago, man lived mostly by the chase, as -to-day the last surviving savage tribes still live. The raising of herds, the tilling -of the soil, the manufacture of goods, all were unknown. Wild animals, hunted in the -forests with stone weapons and pointed sticks, furnished almost the only resource. -Their flesh gave food, their skins provided clothing. To catch the game, a fleet-footed -auxiliary in the chase was necessary; to keep these dangerous animals in a proper -state of awe, a courageous defender was needed by man. This auxiliary, this defender, -and, best of all, this friend, devoted even to death, was the dog; a gift from Heaven -to help man in his pitiful beginnings. With the aid of the dog, life was rendered -less perilous, food more assured. Leisure followed, and from being a hunter man became -a herdsman. The herd was formed, at first very indocile and at the slightest lack -of watchfulness taking again to the wild life of old. Its keeping was confided to -the dog, which, posted on some rising ground of the pasture, its scent to the wind -and ear on the watch, followed the herd with <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1715">[<a href="#xd31e1715">166</a>]</span>vigilant eye and rushed to bring back the runaways or to drive off some evil-intentioned -beast. Thanks to the dog, the herd gave abundance—milk and its products, flesh for -food, and warm wool for clothing. Then, relieved from the terrible anxiety concerning -daily provision, man took it into his head to dig in the earth and make it produce -grain. Agriculture sprang into being, and with it, little by little, civilization. -By the very force of circumstances, therefore, man in all countries is at first a -hunter, later he becomes a herdsman, and ends by being an agriculturist. The dog is -absolutely necessary to him, first for hunting, then for watching and defending the -herd. Of all our domestic animals, accordingly, the dog is the earliest on record -and the one that has rendered us the greatest service.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1717">[<a href="#xd31e1717">167</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch18" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e353">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">A FRAGMENT OF HISTORY</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“I understand,” began Jules, “the usefulness of the dog to a man left to his own resources -in a desert country in the midst of woods. With the help of this courageous friend -he procures food and defends himself against animals that endanger his life. But in -our countries around here, it seems to me, that wretched sort of existence can never -have been known.” -</p> -<p>“In our countries things took their course just as everywhere else,” his uncle replied. -“Even in places now enjoying the most advanced civilization, man began with an era -of misery of which it will be not unprofitable to give you some idea; then you will -see better from what depths of barbarism the dog’s services have helped to raise us. -</p> -<p>“In the earliest times of which history has preserved some vague record, what was -one day to be the beautiful country of France was a wild country covered with immense -forests, where, living by the chase, there wandered some few tribes of Gaels; for -thus the first inhabitants of our country were called. They were men of low stature, -broad shoulders, white skin, long blond hair, and blue or green eyes. For weapons -they had stone axes and knives, arrows <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1726">[<a href="#xd31e1726">168</a>]</span>tipped with fish-bones or a sharp piece of flint. Fastened to the left arm, they carried -for defense a long and narrow wooden shield; with the right hand they brandished, -as an offensive weapon, sometimes a stake hardened in the fire, sometimes a heavy -bludgeon or club. For the perilous passage of rivers and of ocean inlets they had -fragile little boats made of wicker, plaited as in our baskets, but covered on the -outside with the hide of a wild ox to exclude the water.” -</p> -<p>“But those are the weapons and boats of savages!” interposed Emile. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p160width"><img src="images/p160.png" alt="Aurochs" width="341" height="231"><p class="figureHead">Aurochs</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Without doubt, my friend; and, equally without doubt, the first Gaels, ancestors -of ours though they were, were veritable savages, differing hardly at all from those -of our own day. They lived mainly by the chase, herds and agriculture being for ages -unknown to them. In their gloomy forests, damp and cold, using only their poor weapons -of stone and pointed sticks, they attacked a terrible wild ox, the aurochs or urus, -which is now almost extinct. This ox, nearly as large as the elephant, had enormous -horns, a mane of curly wool on its head and neck, beard under its throat, a deep, -hoarse bellow, and a ferocious look. Its extraordinary strength <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1735">[<a href="#xd31e1735">169</a>]</span>and indomitable fury made it the terror of the forests.” -</p> -<p>“And weren’t they afraid,” asked Louis, “to attack this fearful creature with their -stone hatchets?” -</p> -<p>“They fell upon the furious animal without other weapons than pointed stakes and stone -hatchets; but they had the help of powerful dogs that seized the beast by the ears -and got the mastery of it. The urus held the place of honor among game. The valiant -huntsman who killed it had for a cup, at the banqueting board, one of the animal’s -monstrous horns.” -</p> -<p>“What did they drink from those horns?” Emile inquired. -</p> -<p>“At first clear water from the fountains; then, after the race had made some little -progress, an intoxicating drink called cervisia, made from fermented barley. That -was the forerunner of our beer.” -</p> -<p>“Can it be,” asked Louis, “that our peaceful ox came from that intractable beast, -the urus, as you call it?” -</p> -<p>“Not at all. The domestic ox is a different kind altogether, originating in Asia and -not in the ancient forests of Europe. In our day there is hardly a urus left. Hunted -century after century by growing civilization, the formidable ox with a mane has long -since deserted these regions to take refuge in the solitudes of the North. But these -solitudes in turn have been taken possession of by man, and the aurochs has found -its last retreat in the swampy <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1745">[<a href="#xd31e1745">170</a>]</span>forests of Lithuania in Poland. There a few pairs still live in perfect security, -for it is expressly forbidden to kill them.” -</p> -<p>“And why do they keep those ugly oxen?” was Emile’s next question. -</p> -<p>“They are not numerous enough to do any harm, and it would really be a pity to exterminate -the last one of these animals that afforded our ancestors such joy in the hunt. -</p> -<p>“The Gaels hunted the elk also, a kind of large stag the size of a horse or even larger. -The elk has under its throat a kind of goiter or fleshy pendant; its fur is short, -stiff, and ash-colored; its horns, called antlers, are wide-spreading and flattened, -and they extend in a vast triangular expanse with a deeply indented outline; the weight -of each antler may amount to as much as thirty kilograms. That must, as you see, be -a fine specimen of game: an animal that bears on its forehead, without effort, an -ornament weighing a hundred weight and more.” -</p> -<p>“A stag as large as a horse must really be a noble prize for a hunter,” said Louis. -</p> -<p>“Without his companion, the dog,” Jules put in, “man certainly could not have caught -such an animal in the chase.” -</p> -<p>“The elk,” resumed Uncle Paul, “though common at that period in our forests, is found -to-day only in the wooded marshes of Russia and Sweden. It also inhabits, and in greater -numbers, the northern part of America. -</p> -<p>“You will notice that these two animals, the aurochs <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1755">[<a href="#xd31e1755">171</a>]</span>and the elk, which were formerly spread over our own regions, are now settled in climates -much colder than ours. The few aurochs that have survived the general destruction -of their species graze in the woods of Lithuania; the elk inhabits the extreme north -of Europe and America. Transported to our warmer climate, they would soon perish, -being unable to endure a temperature too high for them. Since they flourished here -in ancient times, the climate of our regions must at that distant epoch have been -colder, more severe, than it is to-day. Immense forests, always damp and full of shade, -were doubtless one of the causes of this more rigorous climate. When these woods, -impenetrable to the rays of the sun, were felled by the ax of nascent civilization, -the soil warmed up freely and the temperature rose. But then the aurochs and elk, -harassed besides by man, who explored all their retreats, fled a country too warm -for them and took refuge in the cold fogs of the North. -</p> -<p>“Despite this change of climate some animals have remained with us the same as in -the old time of the Gaels. In our day the same wolf still howls with hunger in the -woods, the same bears haunt the mountain caves, the same wild boar, beset by a pack -of hounds in some bushy thicket, pokes its bristly snout out of the brake, sharpens -its tusks, and gnashes its teeth as formerly when a band of tattooed hunters flung -their stone hatchets at its head.” -</p> -<p>“Those first inhabitants of France were tattooed like island savages?” asked Jules. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1761">[<a href="#xd31e1761">172</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Yes, my friend. They decorated their bodies with designs in blue, a pigment extracted -from a plant called woad; and to make the decoration ineffaceable they forced the -coloring matter into the skin by pricking themselves till the blood flowed. -</p> -<p>“This practice, called tattooing, is still found in our day in many countries, among -tribes unacquainted with the benefits of civilization. At the other end of the world, -at our antipodes, the natives of New Zealand are most expert in this kind of decoration. -With a sharp awl, impregnated with divers colors, they prick themselves with little -stabs and trace, point by point, fanciful designs which turn their skin into veritable -living embroidery. Red and blue spirals turn in inverse directions from both sides -of the forehead and continue in rose-work on the cheeks. Little palm-leaves spread -over the nostrils; a sun darts its rays all around the chin; two or three little stars -give a blue tinge to the lower lip. The rest of the body is ornamented in the same -lavish manner: fantastic animals cover the middle of the back; a tortoise pokes out -its head and four feet in the hollow of the breast; the hands and feet, pricked in -fine tracery patterns, look as if covered with open-work gloves and stockings. Our -ancestors of the stone-hatchet age decorated themselves very much like this.” -</p> -<p>“Those poor New Zealanders,” remarked Emile, “must hurt themselves dreadfully, disfiguring -themselves like that.” -</p> -<p>“The operation is indeed most painful, and yet <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1767">[<a href="#xd31e1767">173</a>]</span>they bear it without a murmur. A single needle-prick makes us recoil; those rude savages -remain unmoved while the tattoo artist punctures their bodies with his awl.” -</p> -<p>“Why do they submit to such a torture?” -</p> -<p>“Chiefly that they may cut a more dashing figure, present a more formidable aspect, -before the enemy. In certain archipelagoes of Polynesia we should find still stranger -customs. One tribe, for example, gashes the face by removing narrow strips of skin -so that the cicatrized wounds form various patterns in hideous little red weals. Others -pass a small pointed stick through the cartilage of the nostrils; others make a large -hole in the lower lip and set a shell in it. -</p> -<p>“Had the ancient Gaels similar customs? It is quite possible; at least it is certain -that they tattooed themselves with woad. Certain customs are sometimes so tenacious -that after many centuries in the midst of the most flourishing civilization tattooing -has not entirely disappeared even with us. On the strong arms of some of our laborers -are seen, any day, tattooed in blue, trade emblems and other devices. They are, without -doubt, the survivals of primitive customs. -</p> -<p>“The Gaels had long, silky hair, like flaxen tow, and they gave it a tinge of bright -red by frequent washing in lime lye. Sometimes they smeared it with rancid grease -and let it hang down over their shoulders in all its length; sometimes they gathered -it above the forehead in a high tuft or mane, to make <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1774">[<a href="#xd31e1774">174</a>]</span>themselves look taller and to give themselves a more terrifying aspect.” -</p> -<p>“In a book of travels,” said Jules, “I saw pictures of some North American Indians -with a tuft of hair like that on top of the head. The Gaels, then, had the same custom?” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my child. Thousands of years apart, in the forests of the Old World and those -of the New, the Gael and the Indian adopt the same head-dress, a coil of hair over -the forehead. When he dresses for the combat, the Indian fastens to his top-knot of -hair divers ornaments, such as the wing of a hawk, the claw of a leopard, the teeth -of a bear. Thus doubtless the Gael likewise adorned his person when he made himself -fine for the urus-hunt or for battle with some neighboring tribe. -</p> -<p>“The Indian’s top-knot is an audacious defiance, a horrible bravado. When the enemy -is thrown to the ground, beaten down by a blow of the club, the conqueror seizes him -by his top-knot, cuts the skin all round the head with the point of a sharp flint, -then with a jerk pulls off the bleeding scalp all in one piece.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, how horrible!” cried Jules. -</p> -<p>“This scalp is a trophy which he will dry in the smoke of his hut and will wear hanging -from his waist as token of his exploit. His position in the tribe, his weight in the -council, are proportioned to the number of scalps taken from the enemy. Now you understand -the fierce bravado of the Indian with his top-knot of hair all gathered up and ready -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1783">[<a href="#xd31e1783">175</a>]</span>for the horrible operation. Let any one offer to touch it, and he will soon feel the -weight of the wearer’s club.” -</p> -<p>“I hope the Gaels did not have that abominable custom.” -</p> -<p>“They had one that was worse: they carried not only the scalp, but the whole head, -which they dried in the sun, after nailing it by the ears to the entrance of the hut -in the midst of hunting trophies, boars’ heads and wolves’ heads. Those were their -titles of nobility.” -</p> -<p>“And we are descended from those frightful savages?” -</p> -<p>“The tattooed Gaels with red hair, nailing the enemy’s head to their door, are, as -far back as history can show, the first inhabitants of our country; we count them -as among our earliest ancestors. Some of their barbarous customs have come down to -us, greatly modified, it is true. I have just given you an example, in tattooing; -I give you another in the matter of trophies of the chase. After the manner of the -ancient Gaels, it is still the custom in the country to nail to the big barn-doors -wolves’ and foxes’ heads and the dead bodies of hawks and owls.” -</p> -<p>“Those who do that,” said Louis, “little suspect to what horrible custom their practice -is related.” -</p> -<p>“Your tattooed hunters interest me very much,” Emile declared. “Their houses, dress, -furniture—how about all those things?” -</p> -<p>“In those wretched times a shelter under rocks, a natural excavation, a grotto, were -the first dwelling-places. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1793">[<a href="#xd31e1793">176</a>]</span>But there came a day when those wild retreats were found insufficient, and human ingenuity -made its first attempts in the art of building. To provide oneself with a shelter -was not enough; it was necessary above all to maintain an unremitting state of defense. -The forests were overrun with formidable animals, and there was perpetual warfare -between neighboring tribes. As a safeguard against surprise, wherever there were lakes, -the houses were built on piling in the middle of the water. -</p> -<p>“It must have taken a prodigious expenditure of energy for man, as yet so poorly provided -with tools, to build these lake villages, or lacustrine villages, as they are called. -With a stone ax the tree that was to be felled was laboriously girdled at the base, -and then the application of fire completed the process. Whole days and perhaps the -united efforts of a number of workers were necessary to obtain one joist such as a -wood-cutter would now turn out with a few strokes of his steel ax. But with their -tools of flint, hardly hitting the wood and falling to pieces with the slightest maladroit -blow, it was an enormous undertaking for them. They were in about the same plight -that our carpenters would be in if the latter were obliged to cut down and trim an -oak with nothing but an old rusty knife. I leave you to imagine, then, the labor and -patience expended in obtaining the thousands of joists needed in this piling. Apparently -each head of a family furnished one as his share, which gave him the right to erect -his hut on the common building-lot. At a later period, perhaps, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1797">[<a href="#xd31e1797">177</a>]</span>in order to extend the area of the straggling village as the population increased, -the furnishing of a new pile was required of each adult male inhabitant. It was the -extraordinary contribution, the sacred debt, that he was obliged to pay once in his -lifetime. -</p> -<p>“The piles, pointed and hardened in the fire at one end, were dragged to the edge -of the lake, where canoes of plaited wicker towed them to the chosen spot. There they -were stood on end and driven into the soft mud until the tops were on a level with -the water. Finally the spaces between the multitude of piles were filled with stones. -The whole formed an artificial islet of great solidity, or rather a shoal submerged -and covered with several feet of water. On the tops of the piles, just above the general -level, cross-beams were laid, then boughs of trees, and on top of these beaten earth. -Finally, on this artificial soil, beneath which circulated the waters of the lake, -dwellings were erected. -</p> -<p>“They were round or oval huts, made of a framework of interlacing branches and a layer -of rich earth. A single opening, very low, through which one had to crawl, gave access -to an interior, not unlike our baker’s oven. -</p> -<p>“The furnishing corresponded with the rudeness of the dwelling. Big tun-bellied pots -of black clay variegated with grains of white sand held the provisions, which consisted -of aurochs-flesh dried in the sun, beech-nuts, and hazel-nuts. These pots were rudely -made by hand without any potter’s <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1804">[<a href="#xd31e1804">178</a>]</span>wheel to give them a regular outline. Thick, misshapen, unsteady, they had an uneven -surface and bore the finger-marks of those who had molded them. Some attempts at ornamentation -appeared on the best jars, and took the form of a row of imprints made with the end -of the thumb on the still soft clay, or a line of angular marks engraved with a thorn. -The rest of the work was not less simple. To give our pottery, however slight its -value, more consistency and hardness, we bake it in a very hot oven; we also coat -it with a glaze to make it impermeable. The inhabitants of the lake villages were -content to expose their pieces of wet clay to the rays of the sun until dry, without -baking or glazing. Hence it was a sorry kind of pottery, good for the keeping of provisions, -but incapable of holding water or of being used over the fire.” -</p> -<p>“How did they manage, then,” asked Jules, “to get hot water and cook their food?” -</p> -<p>“When one is unprovided with the invaluable saucepan, when one is without even those -homely utensils that we think so little of, despite the inestimable service they render -us, one imitates the Eskimos of Greenland, who cook their viands in a little skin -bag.” -</p> -<p>“But that queer kind of pot would burn on the fire,” asserted Emile. -</p> -<p>“They are very careful not to put it on the fire. Stones are heated red-hot in the -fire, and after they are thus heated they are popped into the little bag containing -water and food to be cooked. After cooling <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1811">[<a href="#xd31e1811">179</a>]</span>off they are taken out to be reheated and dropped once more into the water, which -finally boils. The result of such cooking is a mixture of soot, mud, ashes, and half-raw -flesh; but with their hearty appetites the Eskimos are not over-particular. Besides, -if they entertain a guest of distinction they begin by licking off with the tongue -all the dirt on the pieces destined for him. Whoever should refuse to accept what -was offered him after this extraordinary act of courtesy in cleaning it, would be -regarded as an impolite, ill-bred person.” -</p> -<p>“Bah! the dirty things!” cried Emile. “I will take good care never to be one of their -guests.” -</p> -<p>“And the tattooed hunters cooked in that way?” Jules inquired. -</p> -<p>“For want of proper utensils they apparently employed similar means. But let us finish -our inspection of the inside of the aquatic hut. -</p> -<p>“The highest point in the roof is pierced for the passage of smoke from the fireplace -situated in the center of the hut, between two stones on a bed of beaten earth, which -prevents the floor, made of branches, from catching fire. On the walls are hung the -hardwood tomahawk, flint hatchets, bone arrows, and the net of bark thongs, still -damp from fishing in the lake and ornamented on the edges with round pierced stones. -On the branching antlers of a stag the clothes are hung, consisting of leopards’ and -wolves’ skins with the hair on. In the most sheltered corner rush mats and furs carpet -the floor for the night’s rest. Finally, in front of the door the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1818">[<a href="#xd31e1818">180</a>]</span>little wicker boat bobs up and down. Into this boat its owners can step right from -their <span class="corr" id="xd31e1820" title="Source: threshhold">threshold</span>. -</p> -<p>“The straggling village, in fact, instead of being built on a continuous artificial -soil, is cut up into numerous passages of open water; the village streets are canals. -To pass from one quarter to another, or merely to visit one’s neighbor, one must go -by water. So all day long there is a continual coming and going of boats from one -group of huts to another. There is no less movement between the village and the shores -of the lake, whither the men go a-hunting and whence they return with their boats -laden with venison, when the aurochs or elk has succumbed to the combined exertions -of men and dogs. -</p> -<p>“Thus, in prehistoric times, were settlements established on the various lakes of -France, and, still more, of Switzerland—lakes large enough to hold these villages -by the hundred. To-day the fisherman whose line ripples their limpid waters sees in -the blue depths, amid a great mass of stones, the tops of piles carbonized by the -centuries, and large, bulging pieces of earthenware, which he breaks with his oar -without suspecting their venerable origin. That is what is left us of the ancient -lake villages.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1827">[<a href="#xd31e1827">181</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch19" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e363">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XIX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE JACKAL</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“What you have just told us, Uncle Paul,” Jules remarked, “is not unlike what navigators -tell us of the life of savages.” -</p> -<p>“Nevertheless,” rejoined his uncle, “it is our own history, my friend; it is really -a chapter of French history.” -</p> -<p>“I never read anything like it in my history-book.” -</p> -<p>“Your schoolbooks generally begin with the Frankish chief, Pharamond, at an epoch -when civilization had already made considerable progress, and when agriculture and -grazing had been known for a long time. My story goes back to a much earlier period, -one almost lost in the darkness of the past, and shows us man in his painful beginnings, -unskilled and almost wholly dependent on hunting for his food and clothing. -</p> -<p>“In that state of extreme destitution in which the day’s supply of food depended, -above all, on fleetness of foot and quickness of scent, the dog was the most precious -of acquisitions. With its aid, first the game fell more abundantly under the stone -hatchet and flint-head arrow; then came the possibility of the herd, which, furnishing -a reserve of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1838">[<a href="#xd31e1838">182</a>]</span>food, freed man from the alternation of famine and abundance, and gave him leisure -to devise means for the improvement of his condition. Then the ox was tamed, the horse -mastered, the sheep domesticated, and finally came agriculture, preëminent source -of our well-being. That is how the tattooed hunters of our country lost the barbarism -of their habits and advanced from one stage of progress to another, until they became -the cultivated race from which we are descended. First in Asia, then throughout all -Europe, a similar development took place: everywhere the dog was the first and most -valuable of man’s conquests, and everywhere the dog has represented the first element -of progress. Without the dog, no such thing as human society, says an old book of -the East, whence this most serviceable animal came. And the old book is a thousand -times right, for without the dog the chase in old times would have been too little -productive to satisfy the devouring hunger of a very thinly scattered population; -without the dog, no herds or flocks, no assured food, and consequently no leisure, -for the inexorable necessity of providing food would have occupied the whole time. -Without leisure, no attempt at culture, no observations leading to the birth of science, -no reflections bearing fruit in manufactures and commerce. The primitive mode of life -was a hand-to-mouth existence, with a slice of broiled urus or elk to stay the cravings -of hunger. A surfeit one day was followed by fasting the next; it all depended on -the chances of the hunt. Hatchets continued to be <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1840">[<a href="#xd31e1840">183</a>]</span>fashioned out of stone, the tattooing of the body in blue went on, and at the entrance -to the hut the enemy’s head was still nailed as a horrible trophy of war.” -</p> -<p>“I see,” said Louis, “how immensely useful the dog has been and still is to us; so -I should like to know at what time and by whom this valuable animal was trained for -our service.” -</p> -<p>“No one could give a satisfactory answer to that question. The taming of the dog goes -back to the earliest times and all remembrance of it is lost. There is the same deep -obscurity as to its origin and the wild species from which it is descended. Nowhere -has the dog been seen by travelers in its primitive state, in a state of complete -independence. If some dogs are found leading a wild life, they are runaways; that -is to say, dogs that have fled from domestic life to live as they please in desert -regions. Such are those that burrow and hunt for themselves in the vast plains of -South America. They are certainly descended from domestic dogs carried thither by -Europeans; for at the time of its discovery, nearly four centuries ago, the New World -had no dogs. All that can be affirmed is that the dog came to us from Asia already -trained for man’s use. Apparently Asia made a gift to Europe of the oldest known domestic -animals, such as the ox, the ass, and the hen. -</p> -<p>“On account of the almost infinite variety in respect to its coat, its shape, and -its size, it is suspected that the dog is not derived from a single source but comes -from various species that have been improved <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1846">[<a href="#xd31e1846">184</a>]</span>by man and profoundly modified in their characteristics by cross-breeding. Among these -wild species to which is given the honor of being regarded as ancestors of the domestic -dog, I will mention the jackal, which abounds in Africa as well as Asia. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p176width"><img src="images/p176.png" alt="Jackal" width="279" height="236"><p class="figureHead">Jackal</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The jackal looks a little like the wolf, but is smaller and is harmless to man. Its -coat is red, varied with white under the stomach and black on the back. It has a pointed -muzzle and erect ears. Its timidity causes it to feed on the remnants left over by -animals bolder and stronger than itself. When the gorged lion abandons its half-devoured -prey, the jackals, crouching in the neighborhood and waiting until his lordship has -finished, hasten up in companies to the disdained carcass and clean it to the bone. -For the same reason the jackal frequents in troops the outskirts of villages and encampments -in the hope of finding garbage and carrion. In the daytime it stays quietly in its -den among the rocks, but at nightfall it issues forth in quest of food with a sort -of sharp howling that continues all night. There is nothing so disagreeable as the -nocturnal concert of a band of jackals prowling around dwellings. One of them begins -with a cry something like <i>argee</i> in a very piercing and prolonged tone. Scarcely has it finished when a second takes -up the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1857">[<a href="#xd31e1857">185</a>]</span>refrain and improves upon it; then a third and a fourth, until the whole band has -joined in, producing a veritable charivari composed of a mixed chorus of discordant -howls. After this musical feat, solos are in order again, interspersed with choral -productions; and so it goes on until daybreak. Such is the infernal music that awaits -the sleeper every night.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, what disagreeable neighbors!” exclaimed Jules. “If the dog had kept any of those -detestable habits it would be a very troublesome animal, useful though it is.” -</p> -<p>“The dog shows not seldom, it must be admitted, a mania for making the night hideous; -but it cannot be reproached with anything comparable to the jackal’s concert. The -dog has two cries, without counting those that are secondary. One of the two is natural, -the howl; the other artificial, the bark. Is it necessary to point out to you the -difference between the two?” -</p> -<p>“I know what you mean, Uncle,” Jules was quick to reply. “The dog howls when it gives -a long, wild cry, so mournful and terrifying in the night; it barks when it gives -those short, jerky yelps. It howls from fright, sadness, ennui; it barks with joy -and pleasure.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, that is it. I told you, then, that howling is the dog’s natural voice. In it -can be found, but with a very different action of the throat and a less sharp tone, -something of the jackal’s cry. As for the bark, it is an artificial utterance; that -is to say, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1864">[<a href="#xd31e1864">186</a>]</span>it has been acquired. Dogs that have gone back to the wild state, as for example those -of South America, can no longer bark. Deserters from civilization, they have lost -the language and are reduced to their primitive howling, which they share with the -jackal and the wolf.” -</p> -<p>“And how does a dog learn to bark when it is with us?” -</p> -<p>“It learns by hearing its fellows, the other dogs, bark. If it were brought up far -from its own kind, it would never know how to bark, any more than we could speak our -language if we had never heard it spoken. Well, the jackal also can acquire the habit -of barking by education. Placed in company with the dog, which by its example initiates -it into a new language, it barks at first badly, then a little better, then well, -and in a short time the scholar almost equals the master. -</p> -<p>“The primitive species, if it really is the jackal, must have, as you see, undergone -profound changes affecting even its most inveterate habits, to become the domestic -dog. It must have lost its habit of nocturnal prowling, forgotten its predilection -for concerts of ear-piercing cries, learned to bark, and, what is far more difficult, -exchanged its timidity for boldness. Another improvement was indispensable. The jackal -gives forth from all over its body a strong fishy smell. To become the companion of -man and to live in his home, the animal had to be rid of this infection. That is what -the progress of time has done almost completely: to-day the dog has scarcely <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1870">[<a href="#xd31e1870">187</a>]</span>any odor except when warm from rapid hunting; but it is likely, in view of its presumed -origin, that in the beginning the dog was not precisely a bouquet of roses beside -its master. Doubtless it was denied access to the hut, which it would have infected -with its odor, and was relegated to a distant spot outside in the open air. -</p> -<p>“Those are not all the jackal’s defects. It is true the animal is easily tamed, but -without acquiring the docility and attachment of the dog. When pressed by hunger, -it is gentle and caressing toward the master who gives it something to eat; when satiated, -it shows its teeth and tries to bite if any one reaches out to take hold of it. Children, -whom dogs so love to play with, do not gain its confidence any more than grown people. -Whoever should try to pull its tail in play would certainly get bitten.” -</p> -<p>“Our Medor has a much better disposition,” said Emile; “the more pranks I play with -him, the better he likes it. I’d a good deal rather play with him than with a stinking -jackal.” -</p> -<p>“Medor owes his excellent qualities, particularly his honest, dogged patience, to -the extraordinary pains taken during long centuries to improve his breed; but certainly -the primitive dog must have been a pretty rough playmate for little boys. He did not -allow any one to pull his mustache, did not give the paw, did not play dead with four -legs in the air, did not wait for the command to jump and snap the crust of bread -placed on the tip of his nose. The jackal, docile only when hungry, shows you <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1876">[<a href="#xd31e1876">188</a>]</span>what could be expected from Medor’s surly ancestors.” -</p> -<p>“Then even with much care the tame jackal never acquires the dog’s gentleness?” queried -Louis. -</p> -<p>“Never. Some, more tractable than others, grow a little more gentle, but without ever -becoming entirely submissive. They always retain something of their primitive wildness -and cannot be left wholly free without committing misdeeds or even running away from -home.” -</p> -<p>“If thorough taming is impossible, I don’t see how the dog can come from the jackal.” -</p> -<p>“Complete domestication does not take place so quickly as you think, my dear friend. -A long succession of individuals is necessary, transmitting from one to another the -desired aptitudes, and increasing them by turning to account such gain as may be noted -in the best examples of each new generation. Let us assume that in ancient times man -had taken into his keeping the half-tamed jackal, such as we could to-day possess -ourselves of. However surly it may remain, the animal will be better after several -years’ education than it was at the beginning. With continued care the good qualities -acquired, though weak, will, as we say of the snowball, increase by rolling. In fact -it is a rule, as well with beasts as with us, that the son inherits the father’s qualities, -good or bad. Thus the jackal’s little ones, brought up with man, will from their birth -be half-tamed, as were their parents. As character is far from being the same in a -whole family, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1884">[<a href="#xd31e1884">189</a>]</span>some will be wilder, others more submissive. The first are rejected, the second kept, -as soon as it is possible to recognize this diversity of disposition. Here, then, -the sons, with continued training, become superior to the fathers. The same care, -the same selection, in the third generation, will insure increased progress in the -grandchildren. The acquired improvement will be transmitted by inheritance to the -great-grandchildren, these will still further add to it, and it will be inherited -by their descendants, or, if not by all, at least by some. These latter will be raised -in preference to the others. However slight the progress from one generation to the -next, it will continually be added to by the intervention of man who always selects -for breeding purposes the most promising offspring, until, little by little, in course -of time the beast that was intractable in the beginning at last becomes docile. -</p> -<p>“This onward march, which is kept up by accumulating in the animal, through inheritance, -the qualities desired, by always picking out the individual possessing these qualities -in the highest degree, is called selection, meaning choice or sorting. The method -of selection, which to-day still renders the greatest service to the perfecting of -species, has doubtless played an important part in the domestication of the dog; but -that alone is not what has made the dog such as we now have him. The astonishing variety -of dogs can only be explained by the multiplex origin of the animal and the crossing -of the various breeds. I have just told you of one species, the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1888">[<a href="#xd31e1888">190</a>]</span>common jackal, which is suspected to be one of the dog’s ancestors. To finish what -I have to say on this exceedingly obscure question, I will add a few words concerning -a second species. -</p> -<p>“There is found in the mountains of Abyssinia a jackal with very slender body, an -arched abdomen, long and narrow head, long, upward-curling tail—in short, a veritable -greyhound in every respect except that it has erect instead of drooping ears. Everything -induces belief that this jackal is the progenitor of our greyhound. -</p> -<p>“I will end with this conclusion of one of our most learned masters on the origin -of domestic animals: ‘Existing in great numbers in Asia, where, history tells us, -the dog was first domesticated, jackals commonly live within reach of human habitations, -to which they sometimes make their way of their own accord. They are eminently sociable, -are easily tamed, and become attached to their masters. They associate freely with -the dog. Finally, and this trait dispels my last lingering doubt as to their kinship, -they resemble in the highest degree, both in shape and in color, and even in voice -where they have learned to bark, the least modified of the canine species. In several -countries the resemblance between jackals and dogs is so striking that it has led -all travelers who have had an opportunity to compare these animals on the spot to -the same conclusion: the jackal and the dog represent respectively the parent stock -and the scion, and are to be found reunited again in various parts of Asia and Africa.’ ” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1893">[<a href="#xd31e1893">191</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch20" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e373">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE CHIEF BREEDS OF DOGS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Let us not dwell further on the dog’s origin—a very obscure question, concerning -which all that one can say is nothing but supposition, although more or less plausible. -Let us turn to the study of the animal as found in a state of domestication. -</p> -<p>“It would be hard to discover two dogs exactly alike. Were they of the same breed, -the same shape and size, they would differ in coat, at least in some details. Three -colors, red, white, and black, belong to the dog’s coat; sometimes one alone for the -whole body, sometimes all mixed, sometimes the three distributed in spots or in great -splashes. If the coloring is varied, the spots are hardly ever arranged in order, -but scattered by chance. There is want of symmetry in their distribution; or, in other -words, on the two halves of the body, the right and left, the spots do not correspond. -You might say the same of most domestic animals: you would nearly always note differences -between two oxen, two horses, two goats, two cats; and would find that in the same -animal both sides of the body are not exactly alike in the arrangement of the colors. -</p> -<p>“It is just the reverse with wild animals: there is <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1902">[<a href="#xd31e1902">194</a>]</span>close resemblance between individuals of the same species, and symmetry of coloring -on the two halves of the body. As one is, so are all, with very slight exceptions; -as is the right side, so is the left. Whoever has seen one wolf has seen all wolves; -whoever has seen from one side an animal with variegated coat has seen both sides. -One of the most constant effects, therefore, of domestication is the replacing of -this primitive regularity in color by irregularity, this similarity in individuals -by dissimilarity. -</p> -<p>“The dog’s coat goes contrary to every rule except in one most curious respect: if -the animal is spotted with white, one of these white spots is always on the end of -the tail. Examine a black dog, for example: if you see so much as one white speck -on it, no matter where, on the flank, or on the shoulder, you will be sure to see -one where I told you. Look at the end of the tail and you will find at least a touch -of white there.” -</p> -<p>“So it is enough to see some white on any part of a dog to be sure that it will have -some also on the tip of its tail?” This from Jules. -</p> -<p>“Certainly,” replied his uncle, “unless, of course, the animal has had its tail cut, -in which case I will not answer for it.” -</p> -<p>“That is plain enough: with the tip of the tail missing the white touch is missing -too.” -</p> -<p>“I will add that if the dog has only one white spot, that spot will always be on the -tip of the tail.” -</p> -<p>“That singularity must have a reason?” queried Louis. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1911">[<a href="#xd31e1911">195</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Doubtless it has a reason, for nothing is left to chance in this world, not even -the tuft of hair at the tip of an animal’s tail. I will tell you, then, that the various -wild species akin to the dog, jackals in particular, have, most of them, a white spot -on the tip of the tail. It is a sort of family trait which the dog, their ally, perhaps -their descendant, is sure to imitate every time it admits any white into its coat. -Strange development! If the dog comes, as is supposed, from the jackal, it has lost -its primitive savagery, its bad odor, its nocturnal cries, and has faithfully retained -from its ancestry only the plume at the end of its tail. I will not undertake to explain -why, in a fundamental change of habits, one insignificant detail, a mere nothing, -shows greater tenacity and remains. -</p> -<p>“To the differences in color are added differences in the quantity and quality of -the hair. Most dogs have short, smooth hair; some have fine, curly hair, and look -as if clothed in wool. Such is the barbet, also called sheep-dog, because its fur -reminds one of the curly fleece of a sheep. Others, like the spaniel, have long and -wavy hair, especially on the ears and tail. Finally, there are some wretched, unsightly -dogs with the body entirely naked. One would think that some skin disease had bereft -them of their last hair. They are called Turkish dogs. -</p> -<p>“The size is not less variable. The Newfoundland dog is a majestic animal, as large -as a calf; and then you will see a curly lap-dog, good for sleeping on drawing-room -cushions, so tiny a creature that it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1917">[<a href="#xd31e1917">196</a>]</span>could go into its master’s pocket. Between these two extremes there are all degrees. -</p> -<p>“If we enter on the details of shape, what diversity, again, do we find! Here the -ear is small and stands up in a point; there it is large and covers the whole of the -temple, and hangs down low enough to dip into the porringer out of which the animal -eats. One, active in the chase, carries its slender body on long legs; another, apt -at insinuating itself into the fox’s narrow hole or the rabbit’s burrow, trots on -stubby members and almost touches the ground with its stomach. In this one the muzzle -is gracefully tapered, made for caresses; in that, it is shortened into a brutal snout, -adapted to warfare. Then there are some whose knotty and twisted legs seem crippled -from birth; and there are others whose nose, black as coal, has the two nostrils separated -by a deep trench.” -</p> -<p>“Those dogs look as if they had a double nose,” Louis remarked. “They are said to -have a keener scent than the others.” -</p> -<p>“I don’t know how far the split nose may indicate keenness of scent. Let us go on -and take a rapid glance at the principal breeds of dogs. -</p> -<p>“Let us first mention the mastiff, vigilant guardian of the farm-house and courageous -protector of the flock. It is a robust, bold animal, tolerably large, with short hair -on the back, longer under the belly and on the tail. It has a long head, flat forehead, -ears erect at the base and drooping at the tip, strong legs, and vigorous jaws. White, -black, gray, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1924">[<a href="#xd31e1924">197</a>]</span>brown are the colors of its coat. The mastiff has rustic manners, scent far from keen, -intelligence little developed. It is found fault with for not being very docile and -not lavishing its caresses. Is the charge well founded? When one leads a rude life -in mountain pastures, often at close quarters with wolves, can one possess the pretty, -endearing ways of the dog reared in idleness? Is not a severe manner the necessary -condition of the grave duties to be performed? The mastiff has the qualities of its -lot in life, and it has them to such a degree that it is not always of the same opinion -as its master, knowing better than he what must be done to protect the flock. Let -a wolf appear, and without considering whether it is the stronger or weaker, the brave -dog will throw itself on the beast and seize it by the nape of the neck, even at the -risk of perishing in the battle. The mastiff does not weigh the danger; it leaps to -the call of duty—a noble quality, and one that has given rise to the likening of an -energetic and resolute person to a good mastiff.” -</p> -<p>“This wolf-strangler,” said Emile, “has my highest esteem, although he is not clever -at offering the paw and playing dead.” -</p> -<p>“You will have no less esteem for the shepherd dog. It is of medium size, generally -black, with long hair all over the body except on the muzzle. It has short, erect -ears, tail horizontal or drooping. You know with what a swagger most dogs carry their -tail over their back, curved like a trumpet. With them that is a sign of high satisfaction. -If they are anxious, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1929">[<a href="#xd31e1929">192</a>]</span>fear some misadventure, they lower it and carry it between their legs. The shepherd -dog disdains this manner of erecting and curving the tail; he carries his modestly -on a line with the body and keeps it more or less inclined according to the ideas -with which he is preoccupied. That is the behavior of those wild animals most akin -to the dog, such as the wolf and nearly all kinds of jackal: none of them curves the -tail like a plume, but all carry it drooping. How does it happen that the smallest -pug twists its tail into a corkscrew and bears it aloft with a pride bordering on -insolence, while the shepherd dog holds his in the humble position adopted by the -jackal and the wolf? This too, apparently, is a survival of old customs. Less changed -in primitive characteristics than other species, the shepherd dog has retained from -its wild ancestors the drooping carriage of the tail and the erect bearing of the -ears. -</p> -<p>“The mastiff is the protector of the flock, the shepherd dog its conductor. The former -is endowed with brute strength, vigorous body, and powerful jaws, but is not distinguished -for intellectual gifts. Notice in passing, my friends, that strength of body and strength -of mind seldom go together. A herculean athlete, exhibiting his talents in public -on fairday, will break a stone with his fist, lift an anvil and hold it out at arm’s -length, but would be incapable of putting two ideas together in his small brain. It -is about the same with the mastiff: he boldly chases the wolves, but has none of the -qualities of mind necessary for guiding the flock. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1933">[<a href="#xd31e1933">193</a>]</span></p> -<p>“This delicate function, calling for a high degree of intelligence, falls to the shepherd -dog. While the master rests in the shade or amuses himself playing on his box-tree -flute, the dog, posted on a neighboring rise, keeps the flock under his eye and watches -that none wander beyond the limits of the pasture. He knows that on this side grows -a field of clover where browsing is expressly forbidden. If some sheep goes near, -he runs up and with harmless snappings turns the animal back to the allotted place. -He knows that the rural guard would prosecute with all the rigors of the law if the -flock should stray to the other side, newly planted with young oats. They must not -attempt it; if they do, he comes threatening and insists upon a hasty retreat. Are -the scattered sheep to be gathered together? On a sign from his master he is off. -He makes the circuit of the flock, barking here, worrying there, and drives before -him, from the circumference to the center, the straying throng, which in a few moments -becomes a compact group. His mission ended, he returns to the shepherd for fresh orders—a -word, a gesture, a simple look. -</p> -<p>“I should like above all things to have you see him on duty when the flock is on the -road, going to market or changing pastures. He walks behind, absorbed in his grave -duties. Dogs from the neighboring farms come to meet him, and they pay him the polite -attentions customary at the meeting of comrades. ‘Go away,’ he seems to say to them; -‘you see that I have no time to exchange civilities with <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1938">[<a href="#xd31e1938">198</a>]</span>you.’ And without glancing at them he continues his watchful following of the flock. -It is wise of him, for already some sheep have stopped to crop the grass at the side -of the road. To make them rejoin the flock takes but a minute. At this spot the hedge -is open, and through the gap a part of the flock reaches a field of green wheat. To -follow these undisciplined ones by the same breach would betray a lack of skill; the -sheep, driven from behind, would only stray still farther into the forbidden field. -But the wily keeper will not commit this fault; he makes a rapid detour, jumps over -the hedge as best he can, and presents himself suddenly in front of the flock, which -hastily retreats by the way it came, not without leaving some tufts of wool on the -bushes. -</p> -<p>“Now the flock meets another. A mixing up, a confusion of mine and thine, must be -prevented. The dog thoroughly understands the gravity of the situation. Along the -flanks of the two bleating flocks he maneuvers busily, running from one end to the -other, back and forth, to check at the outset any attempt at desertion from one to -the other flock.” -</p> -<p>“Then,” said Emile, “he knows his sheep, every single one of them, to be able thus -to distinguish which belong to him and which do not.” -</p> -<p>“One would almost say so, such discernment does he show. -</p> -<p>“Scarcely is this difficulty overcome when another presents itself. Here, right and -left, the road has no fences; access to the fields is free on both sides. The temptation -to the flock is great, for here and there <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1945">[<a href="#xd31e1945">199</a>]</span>most inviting greensward appears. The dog redoubles its activity. Let us go to the -left. Well and good; everything is in proper train. Now to the right. Ha, you down -there! Will you please go on without stopping to crop the young grass? That is well. -Now to the rear. What is that loiterer doing there? Back to the flock, quick, dawdler! -Perhaps something new has happened on the left; let us go and see. And without a moment’s -relaxation the indefatigable dog goes first to one side, then to the other, then to -the rear of the flock to hurry up the laggards and keep the intractable ones in the -right path. If some, more headstrong, turn a deaf ear to his advice and scatter, he -is after them in a moment, bringing them back by buffeting their shins with his muzzle.” -</p> -<p>“And by giving them a taste of his teeth too?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“No, my friend; a well-trained shepherd dog does not use his teeth, which would wound -the animal; a threat must suffice to bring his sheep to order. To teach him this moderation, -it is necessary to take him quite young and exercise a great deal of perseverance, -with caresses, dainties, and, if need be, punishment; above all, he must be brought -up in the company of a comrade already very expert in the business, since example -is the best of teachers. The first time he is sent after the sheep he is closely watched, -and if he shows a disposition to bite he is severely corrected. The best shepherd -dogs come to us from Brie, a part of old Champagne. From this country <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1950">[<a href="#xd31e1950">200</a>]</span>is taken the name generally used for the guardian of the flock. Other dogs are called -Medor, Sultan, Azor; he is called Labrie.” -</p> -<p>“I understand,” Emile nodded. “Labrie; that is to say, the dog of la Brie.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1954">[<a href="#xd31e1954">201</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch21" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e383">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE CHIEF BREEDS OF DOGS</h2> -<h2 class="sub">(<i>Continued</i>)</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Let us continue our survey of the principal canine breeds. In size and strength the -Dane approaches the mastiff, but is easily distinguished from it by its coat, which -is generally white, with numerous round black spots. It is a magnificent dog, not -very common, the guardian of fine houses, the friend of horses, and especially fond -of running and barking before its master’s carriage.” -</p> -<p>“Is that all it knows how to do?” Emile inquired. -</p> -<p>“Pretty nearly.” -</p> -<p>“Then I’d rather have Labrie.” -</p> -<p>“I too. With its modest appearance and ill-kempt coat the shepherd dog has an intelligence -and usefulness incomparably superior to the Dane’s, lordly creature though the latter -is with its royally bespangled coat like that of the tiger and panther. Never judge -either people or dogs by their appearance. -</p> -<p>“The harrier is endowed with a more tapering head, a longer muzzle, than any other -breed. Its ears are half-drooping and point backward, its chest narrow, abdomen arched -as if emaciated, legs long and slender, tail also long and slender, and its entire -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1970">[<a href="#xd31e1970">202</a>]</span>form distinguished by the same slenderness. It is the fleetest of all dogs. It routs -out the hare in hunting; hence its name.” -</p> -<p>“Hare and harrier are indeed rather similar in spelling,” observed Jules. -</p> -<p>“Its color, less mixed than in the other breeds, is generally uniform, sometimes tawny, -sometimes black, sometimes gray or even white. Some harriers have short hair, others -long; in fact, there are some that are quite hairless like the Turkish dog. This dog -is not very intelligent and shows no peculiar attachment to its master, but will fawn -upon anybody. Its scent is imperfect, though its eyesight is excellent, and that is -what guides it in the chase, while other dogs are guided by the scent. -</p> -<p>“The spaniel owes the name it bears to its Spanish origin. This beautiful dog is characterized -by its slender, moderately long head; by its long, wavy hair, which is particularly -abundant on the ears, which are drooping and silky, and on the tail, which forms a -tuft or plume. No dog has a more amiable and gentle aspect. Intelligence and attachment -to its master can be read in its eyes. Of all dogs it is the one your Uncle Paul would -choose by preference as a friend. To this worth in respect to moral qualities add -this other virtue, that the spaniel is an expert hunter. In this breed are found dogs -with the split or double nose; but this peculiarity does not seem to add to their -keenness of scent. -</p> -<p>“The barbet, otherwise water spaniel or sheep dog, is another of your Uncle Paul’s -favorites on <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1978">[<a href="#xd31e1978">203</a>]</span>account of its exceptional intelligence, its gentle disposition, and its unequaled -faithfulness. Who among you does not know the barbet with its big round head, full -of good will, its large drooping ears, short legs, squat body, long, fine and curly -hair, almost like wool, which has given it the name of sheep dog? When half-shorn, -as it is in the summer, it is still more comely. The hind quarters are naked and show -the rosy skin; the fore part of the body is covered with a thick mane as white as -cotton wool. A coquettish tuft finishes off the tail, elegant ruffles adorn the legs, -the muzzle bears a mustache and small beard, which latter perhaps accounts for its -name of barbet. -</p> -<p>“Sheep—let us call it thus, as it is generally called—Sheep is a past master in accomplishments. -He plays dead, offers the paw, jumps over an extended cane, stands up with a piece -of sugar on his nose, and goes through his drill with a gun and with a paper cap set -swaggeringly over one ear. But those are the least of his talents. Sheep is the clever -one of the family. With careful education it is possible to cram this dog’s excellent -noddle with the most astonishing things. I have known some, my children, that could -tell the time by their master’s watch without a mistake.” -</p> -<p>“They could tell the time!” cried Jules incredulously. “You are jesting, Uncle.” -</p> -<p>“No, my friend, I am not jesting. The watch was shown to the dog, who looked at it -attentively, seemed to make a calculation in his mind, then <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1984">[<a href="#xd31e1984">204</a>]</span>barked just as many times as the hand marked hours.” -</p> -<p>“That is capital, I declare!” -</p> -<p>“But there is still better coming. I know of a barbet that plays dominos with its -master, and the master does not always win, either. As such talents are exercised -by bread-winning barbets for those who show them off, I am inclined to believe that -the dog’s intelligence is aided in the game by some signs from the master that pass -unperceived by the spectators. No matter: there is enough to confound our poor reasoning -powers in the calculating faculty of the animal as it counts its points, makes out -those of its adversary, and as a result pushes the proper domino with the end of its -nose. -</p> -<p>“To his intellectual faculties Sheep adds, in a high degree, the faculties of the -heart, which are still more to be desired. Sheep is the blind man’s dog and guides -him patiently, avoiding every obstacle, through the crowd by means of a string attached -to the animal’s collar. When the master stands on the street-corner, begging pity -with his shrill clarinet, Sheep, seated in a suppliant posture, holds the wooden bowl -in his teeth and offers it to the passers-by. If the master dies, the dear master -who shared the crust of bread with him like a brother, Sheep follows the coffin, lonely, -sad, pitiful to see. He crouches on the mound that covers his master, pines there -for a few days, and finally falls asleep there in the sleep of death. By what name -should such a devoted creature be called? The blind <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1990">[<a href="#xd31e1990">205</a>]</span>call him Fido (the faithful one), and this name is in itself the finest of elegies.” -</p> -<p>“The barbet is a noble dog,” declared Jules. -</p> -<p>“In addition to all this it is a good hunting dog. As it willingly jumps into the -water, is a skilful swimmer, and retrieves with indomitable zeal, it is much in demand -for hunting water-fowl. When the master’s shot has brought down a wild duck, Sheep -goes and fetches it from the middle of the pond. Sometimes a bitter wind is blowing -and the water is frozen. Sheep does not care for that: he swims bravely through the -broken ice, brings back the game, shakes his wet coat, and waits, shivering with cold, -for the report of another shot before starting off again.” -</p> -<p>“He will certainly have earned the duck’s bones when the game comes on to the table,” -said Emile. “To jump into the icy water like that! Poor fellow! Brrr! it makes the -shivers run down one’s back only to think of it.” -</p> -<p>“Because of his exploits in duck-hunting this dog is known also as the water spaniel. -But now let us pass on to another breed. -</p> -<p>“The hound is preëminently the dog of the chase. It has an extremely keen scent, which -enables it to trace the route followed by the game simply from the odor of the emanations -left by the passage of the animal. Guided by a faint odor that would be imperceptible -to any other nose, it goes as straight to the hare as if it had had it constantly -in sight. There is a wonderful sensitiveness in its nostrils <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e1999">[<a href="#xd31e1999">206</a>]</span>which our sense of smell only distantly approaches. It is a sense superior in delicacy -to sight, which distance and want of light place at a disadvantage, whereas distance -and obscurity do not in the least impair the infallibility of the dog’s nose. Let -the hare, warmed by the chase, merely graze with its back a tuft of bushes; that is -enough and more than enough to put the hound on the track. To witness the unerring -assurance of the pursuit, one might imagine that the hunted animal had traced in the -air a trail visible to the dog.” -</p> -<p>“That sort of thing,” Emile interrupted, “may be seen any day without going into the -woods with the hunter. The master, unknown to the dog, hides his handkerchief in a -place hard to find; then he says to the animal, ‘Seek!’ The dog sniffs the air a moment -to get a clue, and then runs to the handkerchief and brings it back in high glee. -If I had such a nose nobody would play hide-and-seek with me: I should find my playmates -too easily.” -</p> -<p>“Most dogs, some more, some less, have an astonishingly keen scent; but the hound -is the best endowed in this respect, especially in all that concerns the chase, and -so it is the hunter’s favorite. It has rather a large muzzle, strong head, vigorous -and long body, tail uplifted, very short hair, generally white varied with large black -or brown spots, and ears drooping and remarkably large.” -</p> -<p>“One could use them like a handkerchief to wipe the animal’s nose and eyes,” Emile -interposed. -</p> -<p>“The beagle stands very low on its legs. Moreover, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2006">[<a href="#xd31e2006">207</a>]</span>its legs, especially the fore legs, are contorted, crippled in appearance. One would -say that the dog had undergone some violent strain from which it had not entirely -recovered. Its head, its large and drooping ears, its short hair, are almost the same -as the hound’s. The beagle is also an ardent hunter, the willing companion of him -who, gun on shoulder, tramps over the rocky hills beloved by rabbits. With its short -and twisted legs it trots rather than runs; but its slowness is more deadly to its -victim than speed, for it allows the game to play and loiter in seeming security before -it. Without suspecting the approach of the insidious enemy Jack Rabbit gambols and -curls his mustache, and already the beagle is face to face with him, transfixing him -with sudden terror. The shot is fired: all is over with Jack, who leaps into the air -and falls back inert on the wild thyme.” -</p> -<p>“Poor Jack, so treacherously surprised! Now the hound does at least announce itself -and let the rabbit scamper away as quick as it can. It is a contest of speed between -the two. But the dumpy beagle creeps through the bushes and pops out all of a sudden.” -</p> -<p>“The beagle has not its equal for routing out the fox from its hole. Its gait, which -is almost a crawl, enables it to penetrate the farthest corners of the fox’s abode. -If it finds the malodorous animal there, it gives voice and holds the place with tooth -and nail while allowing the hunters time to break into the fox-hole and capture the -chicken-stealer. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2011">[<a href="#xd31e2011">208</a>]</span></p> -<p>“The wolf-dog is the teamster’s favorite. A thousand times you have seen it, petulant -and wrathful, running back and forth on the top of a loaded wagon and barking from -the top of this fortress at the children teasing it below. It is superb in its anger, -with its little leonine mane, its plumy tail tightly rolled in a corkscrew, and its -pretty red collar with bells and fox-hair fringe. It has erect, pointed ears like -the shepherd dog’s, slender muzzle, hair short on the head and paws, long and silky -on the rest of the body. No dog knows better how to curl its tail and hold it proudly.” -</p> -<p>“Is that all it knows how to do?” asked Louis. -</p> -<p>“The wolf-dog is too intelligent not to have other merit than its pretty ways. Loubet -(that is commonly its name) knows, if need be, how to turn the spit by means of a -revolving drum in which it jumps continually, as does the squirrel in its rotary cage. -If it has the companionship of a good shepherd dog, it easily learns the latter’s -calling and becomes a pretty good flock-tender.” -</p> -<p>“That is better than raging on the top of a wagon and barking at the passers-by,” -was Louis’s comment. -</p> -<p>“I do not know,” resumed Uncle Paul, “a more repulsive, brutal physiognomy than that -of the bulldog. Look at its head, massive and short, with thick muzzle and flat nose, -sometimes split; its heavy upper lip hanging down on each side and dripping with saliva, -while the front teeth are exposed to view; its small eyes, with their hard expression; -its ears <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2019">[<a href="#xd31e2019">209</a>]</span>torn by bites or made uglier by cropping;—think of all these marks of a brutal nature -and tell me for what sort of occupation the bulldog is properly fitted.” -</p> -<p>“Its occupation,” answered Jules, “is read in its gross physiognomy: the bulldog is -made for fighting.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend; for fighting and nothing else. Let no one ask it to watch over a -flock, accompany the hunter, retrieve the fallen game, or even turn the spit; its -dull intelligence does not go so far as that. Its one gift is the gift of the jaw -that snaps and does not let go; its one passion, the frenzy of combat. When its teeth -have once fastened themselves in an adversary’s flesh, do not expect them to loosen -their hold: a vice is not more tenacious in its grip. Calls, threats, blows, nothing -avails to separate two bulldogs fighting each other; it is necessary to seize them -and bite them hard on the end of the tail. The sharp pain of the bite can alone recall -them from the fury of combat.” -</p> -<p>“I wouldn’t undertake the operation; the animal might turn against the one trying -to make it let go.” -</p> -<p>“For the master there is no danger, as the bulldog is strongly attached to him. Boldness, -strength, and indomitable tenacity in battle make this dog an efficient protector -such as it is well to have at one’s side in a rough encounter. To leave the enemy -as little hold as possible, it is the custom to crop the dog’s tail and ears; furthermore, -the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2026">[<a href="#xd31e2026">210</a>]</span>neck is protected with a collar studded with iron points. -</p> -<p>“This pugnacious breed is especially in favor in England, and it is from the English -word <i>dog</i> that we French take our word <i>dogue</i>, in the sense of <i>bulldog</i>.” -</p> -<p>“Then <i>dogue</i> means <i>dog</i>?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“Nothing else. From the same word comes the diminutive <i>doguin</i> (pug-dog), by which we designate that little growling, scatter-brained poltroon, -glutton and good-for-nothing, better known to you under the name of <i>carlin</i> (pug). Like the bulldog, it has a round head, short and flat-nosed muzzle, and hanging -lip; and up to a certain point it has also the bulldog character, which it shows by -a noisy rage, not having the size or strength necessary for anything further.” -</p> -<p>“That’s the funny little dog that barks at me in the doorway and immediately runs -in if I pretend to go after it.” -</p> -<p>“The Turkish dog is another useless animal. Its size is that of the pug. It is remarkable -for its almost naked skin, oily-looking, black, or dark flesh-color, and spotted with -brown in large splashes. It has little intelligence and no attachment to its master. -Its singular nakedness, which in our climate makes it shiver with cold a good part -of the year, is its only merit, if it be a merit. I should rather call it a very disagreeable -infirmity. Those who take pleasure in raising these poor animals clothe them in winter -with a cloth coat.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2051">[<a href="#xd31e2051">211</a>]</span></p> -<p>“A dog that needed a tailor to furnish it with a winter costume would never do for -me,” declared Emile. “I’d much rather have Medor, the spaniel, and Sheep, the barbet. -They don’t shiver when it snows, and they are good friends, too.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2055">[<a href="#xd31e2055">212</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch22" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e398">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE VARIOUS USES OF DOGS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“To guard the flock, drive away the wolf, discover game—those are the dog’s great -functions; but an intelligent dog can learn to do a thousand other things. I have -just shown you Sheep leading the blind and Loubet turning the spit. Traits abound -in which the most varied aptitudes are revealed. For example, who has not seen or -at least heard of the errand dog faithfully performing its appointed tasks? It receives -a basket containing a purse and a slip of paper on which are written the articles -desired. It may be it is to fetch tobacco for the master or get the day’s provisions -from the butcher. The order understood, the animal sets out, basket between its teeth. -It reaches the butcher’s door quickly, scratches for it to be opened, puts down the -basket, takes out the purse, presents it, and waits until served. Sometimes the return -is attended with difficulties. Comrades are met with; attracted by the smell, they -desire to investigate the basket’s contents. ‘If you would only consent to it,’ they -say, ‘what a splendid opportunity! We would divide together.’ But, without slowing -up, the errand dog raises its lips a little, shows its teeth, and growls: ‘Don’t bother -me, you good-for-nothings! <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2062">[<a href="#xd31e2062">213</a>]</span>You see plainly enough this is for my master.’ And it gravely continues on its way, -fully prepared to make things lively for the miscreant that should presume to poke -its nose into the basket. Thanks to its haughty bearing, the provisions reach home -without further adventure.” -</p> -<p>“The dog must be very well drilled in its duty,” commented Louis, “not only to resist -temptation like that, but also to refuse to listen to the evil counsels of its comrades.” -</p> -<p>“And it never occurs to it to stop and have a feast with its friends when it is carrying -a pound of tender cutlets?” queried Jules. -</p> -<p>“Never, for these delicate commissions are confided only to dogs whose temperance -has been proved.” -</p> -<p>“The fable,” Jules remarked, “says somewhere: -</p> -<div class="lgouter"> -<p class="line">“Strange thing, indeed: to dogs is temperance taught, -</p> -<p class="line">Which man, the teacher, ever fails to learn.”</p> -</div> -<p class="first">“Ah, yes, my friend; this beautiful virtue of temperance is hard enough for men to -acquire. I know a little boy, now, that was sent one day to a friend’s house with -a basket of figs or pears, and he couldn’t help tasting the fruit on the way, under -the pretense of seeing whether it was perfectly ripe.” -</p> -<p>Here Emile lowered his head with a confused air and scratched his nose, apparently -recalling some past misdeed of this sort on his part. But his uncle appeared not to -notice him and continued thus: -</p> -<p>“Now let us talk about the truffle-hunting dog. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2075">[<a href="#xd31e2075">214</a>]</span>To any of you that may not know it already, I will first say that the truffle is a -sort of mushroom always growing beneath the soil, more or less deep, never in the -open air. In shape it is quite different from ordinary mushrooms. It is round and -plump, varying in size from that of a walnut to that of a man’s fist, has a wrinkled -surface, and its flesh is black, marbled with white. The truffle is the best liked -of mushrooms, especially on account of its perfume. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p206width"><img src="images/p206.png" alt="Truffle" width="229" height="254"><p class="figureHead">Truffle</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“To discover it under the ground, sometimes several feet deep, sight is no guide, -for nothing above reveals the presence of the precious tubercle. Scent alone will -do the work. But however pronounced the aroma of the truffle may be, it is not strong -enough for us to perceive it through a thick layer of earth; we must have recourse -to the scent of an animal much better endowed in this respect than we. The aid invoked -in these circumstances is frequently the pig, itself very fond of truffles and quick -to discover them, guided merely by their odor. At the beginning of winter, accordingly, -the season of this mushroom’s maturity, the pig is taken into the woods. Attracted -by the odor that exhales from the ground, the animal digs with its snout wherever -the truffles are concealed. But if allowed to finish its work, it would reach the -tubercle, which would immediately <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2084">[<a href="#xd31e2084">215</a>]</span>disappear in its gluttonous maw. So the animal is drawn off at the right moment, while -as a recompense and to encourage it in this good work it has a chestnut or an acorn -thrown to it in place of the mushroom, and then the digging is finished with a small -spade. This truffle-hunting requires, as you see, constant watchfulness, since the -pig might, in an unguarded moment, unearth the truffle and straightway gobble it up. -A grunt of satisfaction might announce the finding of the edible morsel, but it would -be too late: the gluttonous beast would already have devoured the tidbit. -</p> -<p>“Hence the dog is preferred to the pig, being more active than the latter, more docile, -of keener scent, and seeking the truffles only for its master, with no selfish motive -of its own. It is marvelous to see it at work. Nose to the earth, the better to catch -the faint emanation from underground, it systematically explores the places that seem -to it the most promising, such as copses of young oaks and thickets of brushwood. -It scents something. Good! It is a truffle. With much tail-wagging in evidence of -its joy the dog burrows a little with its paw to indicate the place. Man continues -the digging with an iron tool. But the truffle is not always unearthed at the first -attempt; the search involves uncertainties and the following of false leads. ‘Let -me look into this a little closer,’ says the dog to itself. And it pokes its muzzle -into the very bottom of the hole, with sniffings that powder its nose with earth. -‘It is this way, master, to the left; dig <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2088">[<a href="#xd31e2088">216</a>]</span>again.’ The man follows this advice and resumes operations; but no sign of a truffle. -Fresh sniffings at the bottom of the hole. ‘On the honor of a dog, the truffle is -there, and a fine one. This way, master, a little more to the left.’ At last the truffle -is found, one of the largest of the gathering, and as a reward the dog gets a crust -of bread. -</p> -<p>“The pig hunts for truffles with no previous education, since it is its nature to -burrow in the soil for the tubercles and roots on which it feeds; but the dog has -to be taught the business so foreign to its own habits. The first step is to familiarize -it with the savor of the truffle, which is done by making it eat a truffle omelet.” -</p> -<p>“A truffle omelet!” exclaimed Emile. “That’s a dish much to be preferred to a bone.” -</p> -<p>“But not in the dog’s opinion,” rejoined his uncle. “Without showing any enthusiasm -for this food that is so new to it, the dog accepts it at first partly as an act of -obedience, then begins to like it, and finally would ask nothing better than to continue -the diet for a long time. But the course of education in this dainty is of short duration, -ending as soon as the odor to be remembered becomes familiar to the dog. Then a truffle -is hidden in the ground, at first not very deep, to-morrow a little deeper, and the -dog is trained in finding it. A caress, a piece of bread, are its recompense each -time it does well. Such lessons, appropriately varied and repeated, at last produce -the trained truffle-hunter, and the animal is then taken, from day to day, into the -woods to perfect <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2094">[<a href="#xd31e2094">217</a>]</span>itself in its calling by actual practice. Of course this difficult work is the monopoly -of dogs having the highest degree of intelligence, notably the water-spaniel.” -</p> -<p>“That’s the one sure to be called upon wherever unusual ability is needed,” Jules -observed. -</p> -<p>“We have just seen the dog rival the pig, even surpass it, in the art of unearthing -the truffle. Now I will show him to you taking the donkey’s place as a draft animal. -An enormous dog harnessed to a light cart is not a rare sight in towns, where butchers -especially make use of this singular equipage for the transport of their meat. But -as I have something much more interesting to tell you I will not linger over this -example. There is a country where the dog is the only draft animal, a country where -it takes the horse’s place for carrying the master on long journeys. That country -is Greenland.” -</p> -<p>“Greenland is where they heat water in a leather bag by throwing in red-hot stones?” -Jules interposed. -</p> -<p>“And where they lick the piece of meat chosen for the distinguished guest?” added -Emile. -</p> -<p>“Yes, Greenland is the country.” -</p> -<p>“It must be a sorry sort of country.” -</p> -<p>“More so than you could imagine. In Greenland, as everywhere else near the Pole, winter -with its snows and ice lasts two thirds of the year, and the cold is intense. Navigators -who have passed the winter in that bitter climate tell us that wine, beer, and other -fermented liquors turn to solid ice in their <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2105">[<a href="#xd31e2105">218</a>]</span>casks; that a glass of water thrown into the air falls in flakes of snow; that the -breath from the lungs crystallizes at the opening of the nostrils into needles of -rime; and that the beard, stuck to the clothing by a coating of ice, cannot be detached -except with scissors. For whole months at a time the sun is not once seen above the -horizon and there is no difference between day and night; or rather, a permanent night -reigns, the same at midday as at midnight. However, when the weather is clear, the -darkness is not complete: the light of the moon and stars, augmented by the whiteness -of the snow, produces a sort of wan twilight, sufficient for seeing. -</p> -<p>“Squat and under-sized, the inhabitant of these rigorous climes, the Eskimo, divides -his time between hunting and fishing. The first furnishes him with skins for garments, -the second with food. Dried fish, stored up in a half-rotten condition, and rancid -whale-oil, viands repugnant to us, are the dainties familiar to his famished stomach. -He depends also on his fishing for fuel to feed his lamp, this fuel being the fat -of the seal, and for materials with which to make his sled, which is fashioned out -of large fishbones. Wood, in short, is unknown there, no tree, however hardy, being -able to withstand the rigors of winter. Willows and birches, dwarfed to the size of -mere shrubs trailing on the ground, alone venture to the northern extremities of Lapland, -where the growing of barley, the hardiest of cultivated plants, ceases. Nearer the -Pole all woody vegetation ceases, and in summer only a few <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2109">[<a href="#xd31e2109">219</a>]</span>rare tufts of grass and moss are to be seen ripening their seeds hastily in the sheltered -hollows of rocks. Still farther north the snow and ice cannot even melt entirely in -summer, the ground is never visible, and no vegetation at all is possible.” -</p> -<p>“And there are people who give the dear name of home to those terrible countries?” -asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“There are people, the Eskimos, who inhabit them the year round, in winter living -in snow-huts, in summer under tents of sealskin.” -</p> -<p>“They build houses of snow!” This from Emile. -</p> -<p>“Not exactly houses like ours, but huts indeed that afford very good shelter. Regular -slabs of snow are cut and piled one on another in a circular wall capped by a dome -of the same material. A very low entrance, closed with skins, is left facing the south. -To get daylight, they cut a round opening in the top of the dome, and fill it with -a sheet of ice instead of a pane of glass. Finally, inside, all around the wall, a -bench of snow is built, and it is covered with gravel, heather, and reindeer-skins. -This bench is the sleeping-place for the family, the skins are the mattress, and the -snow is the straw. In these dwellings there is never any fire: wood is wanting and, -besides, with fire the dwelling would melt and come dripping down like rain on the -inmates.” -</p> -<p>“That’s so,” said Emile. “Then where do they make the fire to heat the stones when -they want hot water?” -</p> -<p>“They do this outside, in the open air.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2118">[<a href="#xd31e2118">220</a>]</span></p> -<p>“And with what, if there isn’t any wood in the country?” -</p> -<p>“With slices of whale’s fat and fishbones.” -</p> -<p>“They must freeze in those snow huts with no place for lighting a fire?” -</p> -<p>“No, for a moss wick fed with seal oil burns continually in a little earthen pot to -melt snow and give drinking-water. The small amount of heat thrown out suffices to -maintain an endurable temperature in the dwelling, thanks to the thickness of the -snow walls.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2125">[<a href="#xd31e2125">221</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch23" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e408">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE ESKIMO DOG</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“What I have just told you will make it plain enough that no domestic animal dependent -on vegetable food can be kept in that country. Where could one find a supply of forage -for the ox, horse, or even donkey, when the ground is covered with a thick layer of -snow the greater part of the year, and when during the three or four months of summer -all the verdure consists of meager greensward where a sheep would hardly find enough -herbage to browse? Besides, these animals would succumb to the severity of the winter. -There is but one species of this sort that can live in these desolate regions, and -that is the reindeer, which is about as large as the stag, but more robust and more -thick-set. Its horns, or antlers, are divided each into two branches, the shorter -one pointing forward, the other, the longer, pointing backward, and both ending in -enlargements that spread out somewhat like the palm and fingers of an open hand.” -</p> -<p>“According to your description,” observed Louis, “the reindeer must be a superb animal -and must need plenty of food. Where does it find pasturage when everything is covered -with snow?” -</p> -<p>“If it needed the forage to which our cattle are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2135">[<a href="#xd31e2135">222</a>]</span>accustomed, no doubt it would starve to death the first winter; but it is content -with a kind of food that none of our animals would touch. It is a lichen, white in -color and divided into a multitude of branches, close together and presenting the -appearance of a little bush a few inches high. It grows on the ground, which it entirely -covers for immense stretches. During the winter the reindeer scratch the snow with -their fore hoofs and uncover the coarse plant, softened by moisture; and this plant -they browse. Thus it is that interminable fields of snow, the desolate abodes of famine, -supply nevertheless sufficient pasturage for these animals. This lichen, last vegetable -resource of the extreme north, is called reindeer moss, and is found everywhere, in -the most arid lands, between the poles and the equator. Among the underbrush of our -most barren hills you will find it in abundance, fresh and supple in winter, dried -up and crackling under the feet in summer.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p214width"><img src="images/p214.png" alt="Reindeer" width="293" height="287"><p class="figureHead">Reindeer</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The reindeer ought to live in our country,” Jules remarked, “since there is lichen -for it to feed on.” -</p> -<p>“The climate is much too warm for it. Hardly would it be able to endure the mildness -of our winters; and how about the heat of our summers? It <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2144">[<a href="#xd31e2144">223</a>]</span>needs the snows and the harsh climate of the polar regions, away from which it rapidly -dies out. -</p> -<p>“In Lapland the reindeer is a domestic animal. There it fills the place of our cattle -and serves at one and the same time as cow, sheep, and horse. The Laplander lives -on reindeer milk and its products, and on the animal’s flesh. He clothes himself with -its warm fur, and makes a very soft leather out of its skin. When the ground is covered -with snow, he harnesses the reindeer to his sled and travels as many as thirty leagues -a day, his swift equipage with its broad runners gliding over the snow and hardly -leaving a trace behind. -</p> -<p>“The reindeer is not rare in Greenland, but there it lives in the wild state, for -the Eskimo, much less civilized than the Laplander, has not yet learned how to win -it to his uses and accustom it to domestic life. It runs at large and merely furnishes -the game on which the Greenlanders count to vary somewhat their diet of fish. For -domestic animals, then, what is there left to the Eskimo, since the only species able -to live in that land of snow huts, the reindeer, is, in that desolate region, a wild -animal approached by the hunter only with ruse and caution? There remains the dog, -the faithful companion which, thanks to its kind of food, can accompany man everywhere, -even on his most daring expeditions toward one or other of the poles. Where the reindeer -would have to pause, lichen failing or being covered with too thick a layer of snow, -the dog continues to go forward, since for food it needs only a fishbone, and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2149">[<a href="#xd31e2149">224</a>]</span>the neighboring sea furnishes fish in plenty. The dog is the Eskimo’s all, in the -way of domestic animals.” -</p> -<p>“That all is very little,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“Very little, certainly; but still without the dog the Eskimo could not live in his -gloomy country. With the help of the dog he chases the wild reindeer, the flesh of -which gives him food, and the skin furnishing for his hut; on the ice he attacks the -white bear, whose fur will become a warm winter cloak; he makes himself master of -the seal which will give him its intestines for ropes and its oily fat for fuel to -feed his ever-burning lamp. In fact, the dog is to him not only a hunting companion, -but also a draft animal able to transport him at a good rate of speed whithersoever -he wishes to go. -</p> -<p>“The Eskimo dog is about the size of our shepherd dog, but more robust in build. It -has upstanding ears, tail coiled in a circle, hair thick and woolly, as it should -be to resist the atrocious cold of the country it inhabits. No domestic species leads -a harder life. At long intervals a meat-bone or a large fishbone for food, and nothing -more; no shelter except the hole it may dig for itself in the snow; cuffs much oftener -than caresses; after the fatigues of the chase the still more exhausting labor of -drawing the sled—such is its life of hardship. Harsh treatment and constant hunger -are not conducive to gentleness of disposition. So the Eskimo dogs are quarrelsome -among themselves, surly toward man, always ready to show their teeth, and especially -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2156">[<a href="#xd31e2156">225</a>]</span>disposed to attack their victuals with voracity. Nowhere in the world are there more -audacious pillagers: so extreme are the pangs of hunger that no punishment avails -to prevent their snapping up any morsel unguardedly left within their reach.” -</p> -<p>“Not the most docile sort of companion, I should say,” Jules remarked. -</p> -<p>“The women, who treat them more gently, feed them, and take care of them when they -are little, can easily make them obey. Nearly always, even when these poor animals -suffer most cruelly from hunger, the women succeed in getting them together to be -harnessed to the sled.” -</p> -<p>“I should like, Uncle,” put in Emile, “before hearing the rest, to know just what -an Eskimo sled is. I can’t imagine exactly what it is like.” -</p> -<p>“The sled, as its name indicates, is a kind of light vehicle without wheels, designed -for dragging over the ice or snow where sliding is easy. The Eskimo sled is rudely -built. Imagine two strips of wood curving upward at each end and placed side by side -at a certain distance from each other. They are the chief pieces, which are to support -all the rest and themselves glide on the snow. Between the two is constructed a framework -of light transverse bars, and on this framework rises a sort of niche lined with furs, -where the traveler squats. That is the Eskimo sled. -</p> -<p>“The two chief pieces, resembling long skates gliding over the hard snow, I said were -of wood; but I hasten to add that generally they are made of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2164">[<a href="#xd31e2164">226</a>]</span>other material, as wood is one of the rarest things in this country where there is -not enough vegetation to furnish even a broomstick. All the wood in use is washed -ashore by the sea, from far countries, at the time of heavy storms. So the Eskimo -has not always at his disposal the two narrow strips necessary. He uses instead two -long whalebones, chosen for their shape and curvature. If bones are lacking there -remains one last resort. With the intestines of the seal or thongs of skin he ties -large fish in two bundles, makes them of the desired shape, and exposes them to the -frost, which hardens them like stone until summer comes again. Those are the two runners, -the two chief pieces of the sled.” -</p> -<p>“What a queer country, where the people use bundles of frozen fish for runners!” Emile -could not but exclaim. -</p> -<p>“But the runner has not yet played out its part. After it has slidden all winter over -the snowy plain, it thaws out with the return of warm weather and the fish composing -it are popped into the bag of boiling water to cook.” -</p> -<p>“The people eat them?” -</p> -<p>“Why, certainly, my friend; they eat the framework of the demolished sled.” -</p> -<p>“Once more, I say, if ever those people invite me to dinner I shall decline. I shouldn’t -relish their licking the food to clean it, nor should I care for fish that had been -dragged about for months, nobody knows where.” -</p> -<p>“Now that you know about the sled, let us speak <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2174">[<a href="#xd31e2174">227</a>]</span>of the team. The dog’s harness is composed of two thongs of reindeer skin, one going -round the neck, the other round the breast, and both connected by a third thong passing -between the fore legs. To this harness, near the shoulders, are attached two long -leather straps which are fastened to the sled at the other end. The dog team numbers -from twelve to fifteen. One dog, the most intelligent and with the keenest scent, -goes along at the head of the pack; the others follow, several abreast, the novices -nearest to the sled. Seated in the niche of his vehicle, one leg out this way, one -the other, feet almost skimming the snow, the Eskimo drives his equipage with an enormously -long whip, for this whip must be able to reach the farthest dog, seven or eight meters -from the sled. But he refrains as much as possible from using it, since a lash from -the whip is more likely to promote disorder than to increase the speed. The dog struck, -not knowing whence the blow came, lays the blame on its neighbor and bites it; the -latter passes the compliment along to another, which in turn hastens to worry the -next; and in a moment, spreading through the pack, the rough-and-tumble fight becomes -general. Then it is a task indeed to restore peace and get the broken or tangled harness -straightened out. -</p> -<p>“Hence the whip is but rarely called into service to correct a too unruly dog, and -it is chiefly with the voice that the driver guides his team. The leading dog is particularly -attentive to the master’s word: he turns to the right, left, or goes straight ahead, -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2178">[<a href="#xd31e2178">228</a>]</span>increases or slackens speed, and the others govern themselves accordingly. Every time -an order is given, the leader turns its head without stopping and looks at the master, -as if to say, ‘I understand.’ If the route has been already traveled the driver has -nothing to do: the leader follows the trail even when it is invisible to man. In black -darkness, in the midst of violent snow-squalls, aided by its sense of smell and its -astonishing sagacity, it continues to guide the rest of the team, and very seldom -goes astray. -</p> -<p>“In a single day 150 kilometers are thus made. If fatigue calls a halt, the Eskimo -builds himself a shelter with snow piled up for walls and a large slab of ice for -roof. Here he disposes himself as best he can for sleeping, after a frugal lunch of -salt fish or flesh, thawed by the heat of a lamp. On awakening, a signal is given -and immediately all about the hut little mounds of snow move and shake themselves. -They are the dog-team, which has slept outside, covered by the falling snow. The Eskimo -doles out to them a meager pittance, which is instantly swallowed, and without delay -he harnesses the sled to resume his journey in quest of the white bear or the reindeer -on which he has set his heart.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2182">[<a href="#xd31e2182">229</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch24" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e418">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXIV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE DOG OF MONTARGIS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"><span class="corr" id="xd31e2188" title="Not in source">“</span>The dog is much attached to its master; if it loses him it remembers him for a long -time. I am going to give you an example so striking that it has been recorded in history. -</p> -<p>“In the year 1371 there lived at the court of King Charles V a nobleman, the Chevalier -Macaire, who, envious of the favor one of his companions, Aubry de Montdidier, enjoyed -with the king, one day came upon his rival by surprise, when the latter was accompanied -only by his dog, in a deserted corner of the forest of Montargis. Finding the occasion -opportune for gratifying his odious rancor, he suddenly threw himself upon Aubry, -killed him, and buried his body in the forest. The ill deed accomplished, he returned -to court, where he bore himself as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, the hateful wretch!” cried Jules. -</p> -<p>“In the meantime the dog couched on its master’s grave, where night and day it howled -with grief. When the pangs of hunger pressed too hard it returned to Paris, scratched -at the door of its master’s friends, hastily ate what was given it, and immediately -went back to the wood to lie down again on the grave. Seeing it thus come and go alone, -always <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2194">[<a href="#xd31e2194">230</a>]</span>oppressed with care and manifesting by doleful barks some deep grief, people followed -it into the forest, watched its actions, and saw that it stopped on a mound of freshly -turned earth, where its lamentations became still more plaintive.” -</p> -<p>“No doubt they dug and the crime was discovered?” -</p> -<p>“Struck with the fresh mound of earth and the dog’s howls at this spot, they dug and -found the dead man, to whom a more honorable burial was then given; but there was -nothing to make them suspect the author of the murder.” -</p> -<p>“And what became of the dog?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“After having thus apprized Aubry’s friends and relatives that its master had been -miserably assassinated, there remained a more difficult task for it to accomplish; -namely, to expose the murderer. A relative of the dead man had adopted the dog and -was in the habit of taking the animal out with him when he went to walk. One day the -dog chanced to spy the assassin, Macaire, in company with other gentlemen. To leap -at his throat for the purpose of biting and strangling him, was the affair of an instant.” -</p> -<p>“Bravo! Good dog! Strangle the rascal!” cried Emile in great excitement. -</p> -<p>“You are going too fast, my friend,” his uncle remonstrated. “No one as yet suspected -that Macaire was the author of the horrible crime. They draw off the dog, beat it, -and drive it away. The animal keeps returning in a rage, and as it is not allowed -to come near it struggles, barks from a <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2204">[<a href="#xd31e2204">231</a>]</span>distance, and directs its threats toward the quarter where Macaire has disappeared. -</p> -<p>“This performance is repeated again and again, and on each occasion the dog, perfectly -gentle toward every other person, is seized with violent rage at the sight of the -murderer and recommences its assaults. It is against Macaire alone that it nurses -a grudge which neither threats nor blows can appease. Such is the creature’s fury -that finally the query arises whether the dog may not be actuated by a desire to avenge -the death of its first master.” -</p> -<p>“Ha! now we are coming to it. Suspicion is aroused.” -</p> -<p>“They speak to the king about the affair; they tell him that a nobleman of his court -was found buried, victim of an unknown assassin; they further inform him that the -dead man’s dog, with indomitable persistence, springs at the Chevalier Macaire every -time it sees him. The king has the suspected person brought before him and orders -him to remain hidden in the midst of a throng of other bystanders. Then the dog is -brought in. Its sense of smell immediately warns it of the presence of the murderer. -With its accustomed fury it spots its victim in the crowd and springs at him. As if -reassured by the king’s presence, it attacks with more boldness than ever, and by -its plaintive barks seems to ask that justice be done it. There is hasty intervention, -without which Macaire would be devoured by the animal.” -</p> -<p>“And it would have served him right.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2211">[<a href="#xd31e2211">232</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Wait: punishment will come. The dog’s strange conduct, together with other suspicious -circumstances, had made an impression on the king. Some days later Charles V had Macaire -appear before him and pressed him by his questions to confess the truth. What foundation -was there for the suspicions current in regard to him? How explain, if he were not -guilty, the dog’s repeated attacks and furious barking at sight of him? Seized with -the fear of a shameful punishment, Macaire obstinately denied the crime. -</p> -<p>“At this epoch, characterized by manners and customs little above barbarism, when -the accuser affirmed and the accused denied, with no sufficient proof on either side, -it was customary to decide the question by a mortal combat between the two. The one -that succumbed was held to be in the wrong.” -</p> -<p>“But to be the weaker proves nothing against right,” objected Jules. “One might be -a thousand times right and yet be beaten by one’s adversary.” -</p> -<p>“That is undeniably true, and I hope you will from day to day become more firmly convinced -of this noble truth. In our lamentable age—you will learn this later, my friend—in -our lamentable age it is a current maxim, a maxim of savagery, that might makes right! -In the days of Charles V, rude as that period was, no one would have dared to say -such a horrible thing; but nevertheless, under the influence of superstition, men -really believed that the vanquished was in the wrong, because, they maintained, right -can never succumb, upheld as it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2217">[<a href="#xd31e2217">233</a>]</span>is by God. Therefore a judicial combat was called a judgment of God. Alas, alas, my -friend, how far they were from sanity of mind! How far from it we ourselves are, with -our duel, relic of ancient barbarism! What does a well-directed shot prove in favor -of him who pulled the trigger? Nothing, unless it be that he is more adept in the -use of firearms than his adversary, or that chance has been on his side. Thus it is, -however, that men decide disputes involving our most precious possession, honor. -</p> -<p>“The king, then, ordered the affair to be brought to an end and the truth determined -by a combat between the man and the dog. A large field was laid out with seats for -the king, all his court, and a numerous company besides. In the middle of the field -were the two champions—the man with a large and heavy stick, the dog with the weapons -that nature had given it, and with nothing but a leaky cask for a refuge and a sally-port.” -</p> -<p>“This cask was to serve it as shelter against the blows of the stick?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“It was the citadel where, if the attack became too pressing, it could take refuge -in order to escape the cudgel’s blows. But the brave animal did not once make use -of it. As soon as it was let loose it rushed at Macaire. But the nobleman’s stick -was big enough to fell his adversary with a single blow; so the dog began to run this -way and that around the man to avoid the crushing descent of the club. Then, seizing -its opportunity, with one bound it jumped at its enemy’s throat and gripped it so -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2224">[<a href="#xd31e2224">234</a>]</span>firmly as to throw Macaire over backward. Half strangled, he cried for pity and begged -to be freed from the animal, promising to confess everything. The guards drew off -the dog and, the judges approaching by royal command, Macaire confessed his crime -to them.” -</p> -<p>“And the assassin got off with nothing but a bite from the dog?” -</p> -<p>“Macaire was hanged like the scoundrel that he was.” -</p> -<p>“That time, at least, might decided right,” Jules declared with much satisfaction. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2230">[<a href="#xd31e2230">235</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch25" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e428">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXV</h2> -<h2 class="main">HYDROPHOBIA<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e2236src" href="#xd31e2236">1</a></h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Of all the ferocious animals that you know, at least by hearsay, which one would -you most dread to meet?” asked Uncle Paul. Emile was the first to reply. -</p> -<p>“For my part,” said he, “if I went nutting in the woods I shouldn’t at all like to -meet a wolf, even if I had a stout stick with me.” -</p> -<p>“If I should meet a wolf,” Jules declared, “I would just climb a tree and make fun -of Mr. Wolf, for he doesn’t know how to climb. But I should be more afraid of a bear, -for that can climb trees better than we, and it hugs a man till it stifles him.” -</p> -<p>“As for me,” said Louis, “the animal I should fear most would be the tiger; they say -it is so ferocious. With a bound it springs on a man as the cat pounces on a mouse.” -</p> -<p>“The wolf is a coward,” Uncle Paul assured his hearers. “Just threaten it in a loud -voice, throw a stone or two at it, or shake a stick, and you put it to flight. Nevertheless, -if it were pressed with hunger, it would take courage and one might pass a very bad -quarter of an hour in its company. The bear <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2245">[<a href="#xd31e2245">236</a>]</span>is more dangerous. With it, retreat up a tree is of no avail, and precipitous flight -has not much chance of success, for the bear is very nimble. What a terrible fate -to find oneself held tight in a horrible embrace, and to feel the beast’s warm breath -on one’s face! With the tiger it would be worse. Let its claws once get hold of a -man, let its jaws once close on him, and he is torn to pieces. There is nothing so -terrible as its sudden attack and its bloodthirsty ferocity.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p228width"><img src="images/p228.png" alt="Tiger" width="332" height="461"><p class="figureHead">Tiger</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“That’s the animal most to be feared, as I said,” Louis declared, “if it were found -in our country. But luckily there are no tigers here.” -</p> -<p>“We have no tigers in our woods,” assented Uncle Paul, “but we have in our very midst -an animal that is still more formidable in certain circumstances. This terrible enemy -that we are liable to encounter at any moment does not possess by a good deal the -strength of the tiger or bear; most often it is not even so strong as the wolf; sometimes -it is so <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2254">[<a href="#xd31e2254">237</a>]</span>feeble that a well-directed blow of the fist is enough to knock it down. Its nature -is not sanguinary; its teeth and claws are not strong enough to frighten us.” -</p> -<p>“Well, then,” Emile demanded, “why is this enemy so much to be feared?” -</p> -<p>“Do not let this lack of strength reassure you. As for me, I shudder at the mere thought -of the danger to which we are exposed. Against those other animals, however dangerous -or strong they may be, defense is possible. With presence of mind and with weapons -one may come out of the fight victorious; if one is injured by teeth or claws the -wound may heal. But against this other creature presence of mind, skill, courage, -weapons, help—all are useless; let it bite you only once, let the point of its tooth -merely tear the skin so as to draw blood, making no more than a scratch, and it will -suffice to endanger your very life. Better would it be to find yourself in the wolf’s -jaws or the bear’s embrace. Vainly you get the upper hand and ward off the animal’s -assaults, vainly you kill it: a tiny scratch, insignificant enough from any other -animal, will in the near future cause your death, a horrible death, more atrocious -than any other in the world. As a result of that tiny wound a day will come, and it -will come soon, when, seized all at once with a furious madness, shaken by horrible -convulsions, frothing with drivel, and not recognizing either relatives or friends, -you will spring upon them like a ferocious beast, to bite them savagely and give them -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2260">[<a href="#xd31e2260">238</a>]</span>your disease. No hope of restoring you to health, no way to alleviate your sufferings; -you must be left to die, an object of horror and pity.” -</p> -<p>“What is that formidable animal?” Jules inquired. “Are we really ever likely to have -a tussle with it?” -</p> -<p>“We are daily exposed to this danger. No one is certain of not being attacked this -very day, this very instant; for the terrible animal frequents our public places, -wanders in our streets, makes our houses its home, and lives in close intimacy with -us. In fact, it is no other than the dog.” -</p> -<p>“The dog, the most useful and most devoted of our servants!” exclaimed Jules incredulously. -</p> -<p>“Yes, the dog. In proportion as it merits our attachment under usual conditions, so -does it become the object of our just fear when seized with a malady called hydrophobia.” -</p> -<p>“They say, and I’ve often heard it, that mad dogs are very dangerous,” remarked Louis. -“How do they get this disease?” -</p> -<p>“Its origin is unknown. Without any discoverable cause, from no motive that we can -discern, the dog goes mad; the malady is spontaneous; that is to say, it makes its -appearance unheralded by symptoms. Any dog may be attacked, the contented pet in a -fine house as well as the poor homeless waif that hunts for a scrap in the sweepings -at the street corner. I must add, however, that the sufferings of hunger and thirst, -with bad treatment, tend to promote the disease, stray dogs being more subject than -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2269">[<a href="#xd31e2269">239</a>]</span>others to spontaneous madness. Here we have a new and very weighty reason why we should -take good care of our dogs. To let them suffer cruelly is to expose them to the inroads -of a horrible ailment that may perhaps be our own destruction. -</p> -<p>“Spontaneous madness once developed in a dog, the malady, unless precautions are taken, -is propagated in others with frightful rapidity. Ten dogs, a hundred dogs, can in -a short time themselves become mad. An animal attacked with rabies is, in short, tormented -with an irresistible desire to bite others. Wild-eyed, tail between its legs, hair -erect, lip frothing, it springs with lowered head on the first dog it meets, bites -it, and immediately springs at another, then another, as many as it comes across. -Now, every dog bitten becomes itself mad in a few days, some sooner, some later, and -propagates the evil in the same way unless energetic measures cut this scourge short. -</p> -<p>“The disease is communicated to man also by the bite. A mad dog bites animals and -human beings without distinction; it springs furiously at passers-by, and even springs -at its master, whom it no longer recognizes. If the tooth, moistened with saliva, -pierces the skin so as to draw blood, it is all over with the victim: hydrophobia -has been communicated.” -</p> -<p>“It is the same here, then, as with the viper’s venom?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“Exactly the same. From the mad dog’s mouth runs a deadly saliva, a real venom which, -mingling <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2276">[<a href="#xd31e2276">240</a>]</span>with the blood through an open wound, causes madness at the end of a certain time. -On unbroken skin this saliva has no effect; but on the slightest bleeding scratch -it operates in its peculiarly terrible fashion. In short, like other venoms, the saliva -of rabies, as it is called, must infiltrate into the blood in order to act. -</p> -<p>“This shows you that the bite is less dangerous if made through clothing, especially -thick clothing. The fabric can wipe the dog’s teeth on the way and retain the venomous -saliva; it can even arrest somewhat the action of the jaws and prevent the animal’s -teeth from going in so far. If there is but a slight wound that fails to draw blood, -the saliva has not penetrated and there is no danger. -</p> -<p>“The conditions necessary for the development of rabies, namely the mingling of the -dog’s saliva with our blood and its introduction into our veins, should always be -in our minds if we wish to avoid a danger that threatens us even in the midst of seeming -security. It is to be noted that in the first stage of the disease the dog is more -demonstrative in its affection than usual: the poor beast seems to wish once more -to lavish its tokens of attachment on those it loves, before abandoning itself to -the transports of fury that will soon be beyond its control. Let us suppose that at -this moment you have a slight wound on your hand, and the dog comes, docile and fawning, -and lovingly licks the little wound. Its tongue mixes the saliva with your blood; -the terrible venom infiltrates into your veins. Fatal caress! <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2282">[<a href="#xd31e2282">241</a>]</span>Rabies and all its horrors perhaps will be the consequence. Take this as a warning: -never allow a dog, however reassuring its demeanor may be, to lick you on a place -where the skin is broken. No one can affirm with certainty that the atrocious malady -is not already developing in the animal, and you might fall a victim to your excess -of confidence. -</p> -<p>“Hydrophobia shows itself in man usually in from thirty to forty days after the bite. -It begins with headache, deep depression, continued uneasiness, troubled sleep, and -bad dreams; then come convulsions and delirium. The face expresses great terror; the -lips turn blue and are covered with foam; the throat contracts so as to render swallowing -impossible. The sight of liquids inspires the patient with insurmountable aversion, -and a drop of water placed in the mouth would produce frightful strangulation. Then -come fits of madness during which the patient struggles furiously to bite and rend -the one who is taking care of him. The disease has changed him to a wild beast. At -last death comes and puts an end to this horrible agony.” -</p> -<p>“Then there is no remedy for hydrophobia?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“Medicine as yet knows absolutely none. All it can do is to let the sufferer die—banishing -forever the execrable notions that formerly prevailed, and perhaps still do at present. -To get rid of the incurable and dangerous patient it was necessary, they said, to -smother him between two mattresses. Whoever should to-day commit such a barbarous -act <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2288">[<a href="#xd31e2288">242</a>]</span>would be pursued by justice and punished as a murderer.” -</p> -<p>“Formerly they smothered the patient between two mattresses, now they let him die—no -great advance,” observed Louis. -</p> -<p>“Pardon, my friend; it is no small advance to have banished forever from the sick-bed -the senseless brutalities of ignorance, pending the day, which will come, I hope, -when science shall gain the upper hand of the terrible disease. -</p> -<p>“Hydrophobia, when it has once set in, cannot, I say, so far as we know, be cured; -but at least, by means of certain precautions, we can anticipate it and prevent the -mad dog’s bite from leading to fatal results. The saliva of rabies acts in poisoning -the blood precisely as does the venom of dangerous serpents. The precautions to be -taken are then, in both cases, about the same: the saliva must be prevented from entering -the veins; it must be destroyed in the wound. To this end it is customary to bind -the bitten part above the wound, so as to arrest the circulation; then the torn flesh -is made to bleed and is afterward washed in order to remove as much as possible of -the venomous humor; finally, and as soon as may be, the wound is cauterized with iron -heated white-hot.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, what a frightful remedy!” cried Emile. “Is there no other?” -</p> -<p>“It is the only one, and it must be applied with the least delay possible, and boldly. -Life is at stake. These precautions taken, especially the cauterization, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2296">[<a href="#xd31e2296">243</a>]</span>one can feel some reassurance that the malady will not make its appearance. Of course -the operation would succeed better in a doctor’s hands, which are more experienced -than ours; but if his help cannot be got at once, let us proceed without him, for -here promptitude offers the best chance of success.” -</p> -<p>“I shudder at the thought of that white-hot iron making the wound sizzle,” said Jules. -“All the same I would submit to being burned in order to escape the most terrible -of fates.” -</p> -<p>“If there’s no other way, I would submit, too,” Emile declared. “But still I say, -plague take dogs for making us have to endure the hot iron if we wish to escape something -worse. Can’t they keep these animals from going mad?” -</p> -<p>“To prevent all outbreaks of rabies is not in our power, but it rests with us to make -mad dogs scarce enough not to cause us too much anxiety. When this malady threatens, -notably in the heat of midsummer, police regulations require the muzzling of all dogs -permitted to go from home. Furthermore, little poisoned balls are scattered in the -street to get rid of stray dogs. To these measures of the police we ought to add our -own watchfulness; we ought always to have an eye on our dogs, if we have any, for, -living with us as they do, they will be the first to expose us to danger. It is most -important, then, for us to know by what signs incipient rabies can be detected. That -is what I am going to teach you according to the masters who have made a thorough -study of this grave subject. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2303">[<a href="#xd31e2303">244</a>]</span></p> -<p>“First of all, I will refute two erroneous assumptions that are widely held and that -might become fatal by imparting a false security. It is generally believed that a -mad dog is always in a state of fury. That this frenzied condition shows itself when -the disease is at its height, is very true; but also nothing is more utterly false -as to the first stages of the malady. Far from being seized with attacks of fury, -the dog just beginning to be infected shows, on the contrary, an excess of affectionate -feelings: by multiplied caresses it seems to beg of man some sort of help against -the vague terrors with which it is tormented. Secondly, it is popularly maintained -that a mad dog does not drink and manifests a great horror of water, and that no dog -seen in the act of drinking can be mad. This notion is so deeply rooted in most minds -that, to designate rabies there has been formed, from two Greek words, the special -term, hydrophobia, signifying horror of water. Well, my friends, never forget this: -no matter what the Greek term says, a mad dog drinks very well; it drinks greedily -every time it has the chance, without manifesting any aversion whatever toward the -water. Later, when the animal is near its end, the throat contracts and swallowing -becomes impossible. Then, and not till then, the dog shuns drink with horror. Therefore, -far from reassuring us, it is on the contrary an added cause for alarm when we see -a dog becoming more affectionate than usual and drinking with unaccustomed avidity. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2306">[<a href="#xd31e2306">245</a>]</span></p> -<p>“It is in restlessness and agitation without apparent cause that the first signs of -the inroads of rabies manifest themselves. The dog cannot stay in one place, it goes -without any object from one spot to another, and retires to a corner where it turns -round without being able to find a position that suits it. Its look expresses gloom -and sadness. It seems obsessed by a fixed idea from which the call of a loved voice -may draw it for a moment; then it relapses into sadness. -</p> -<p>“Food is not yet refused. On the contrary, the dog pounces gluttonously on the food -set before it; sometimes its depraved appetite is such that it even devours substances -having no nutriment, such as wood, straw, and anything found in its way, even its -own excrement. Water is drunk with the same avidity. As soon as this unreasonable -agitation, this deep sadness, this excess of affection, and this depraved appetite -show themselves, the dog should be suspected of rabies; prudence demands that it be -chained and closely watched. -</p> -<p>“Suspicion becomes complete certainty if the animal from time to time utters a peculiar -and quite characteristic cry, which is called the mad-dog howl. In the midst of one -of these attacks of lugubrious sadness, all at once the dog springs with a bound at -an imaginary enemy. Then, muzzle uplifted, it gives an ordinary bark that ends bruskly -and peculiarly in a piercing howl. At this discordant sound one might be reminded -of the manner in which roosters sometimes crow, at least so far as <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2311">[<a href="#xd31e2311">246</a>]</span>the extremely hoarse and cracked tone is concerned.” -</p> -<p>“A dog often howls for want of something else to do, when it is shut up,” remarked -Louis. “That would not be a sign of madness?” -</p> -<p>“No, my friend. Ordinary howling denotes a passing feeling of gloom, ennui, fright; -and this cry cannot be confounded with the veritable howl of rabies, the characteristics -of which are very different. This latter begins with a perfect bark and suddenly passes -into a sharp and prolonged howl comparable to the cock’s crow. -</p> -<p>“As long as the furious madness that will end the progress of the malady is not declared, -the animal is harmless; but it is unnecessary, it would even be dangerous, to wait -so long. If the peculiar howl of rabies is heard, doubt is no longer possible: the -dog is unquestionably mad. For our safety and also to spare the poor animal the tortures -awaiting it, the dog should be killed at once. In the animal’s interest as well as -our own, it is a kind action.” -</p> -<p>“Poor dog!” murmured Jules. “The master gives it a last look of regret, and, with -tears in his eyes, lodges a ball in its head.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2318">[<a href="#xd31e2318">247</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e2236"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e2236src">1</a></span> This was written before the days of inoculation as a preventive of hydrophobia.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e2236src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch26" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e439">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE CAT</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“The cat entered our household long after the dog; nevertheless its domestication -took place very early. The East, whence we received it, has possessed it from time -immemorial. Ancient Egypt, the old land of the Pharaohs, has transmitted to us the -most curious documents on this subject. -</p> -<p>“In that country, celebrated for its profound veneration for domestic animals, honors -almost divine were <span class="corr" id="xd31e2326" title="Source: said">paid</span> to the ox, dog, cat, and many other creatures. Nearer the primitive ages than we, -and still remembering the miseries from which the domestic animals had freed man, -the Egyptians no doubt showed their gratitude by these honors, which seem to us to-day -the height of superstition. The ox, turning up the farmer’s soil with the plow, was -accorded the highest position. A magnificent white bull, called the bull Apis, was -kept at the expense of the State in a sumptuous temple of granite and marble, and -cared for by a retinue of attendants who approached it with reverence, wearing rich -costumes of ceremony, swinging the censer, and, in short, observing all the forms -of deep veneration.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2329">[<a href="#xd31e2329">248</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Just to change the straw and fill the rack with hay, they went censer in hand and -with bent knees?” Emile asked with incredulity. -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend.” -</p> -<p>“Then times are greatly changed for the ox. Nowadays the ox-tender lets the animal -go disgracefully dirty with dung and lie on a miserly allowance of straw; and he isn’t -at all sparing of the goad to quicken the ox’s pace.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p240width"><img src="images/p240.png" alt="Mummy of the Bull Apis" width="194" height="143"><p class="figureHead">Mummy of the Bull Apis</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“On great fête-days, when the bull Apis went out escorted by its retinue of servants, -the crowd prostrated itself to the ground along the way, with foreheads in the dust. -At its death, mourning was general throughout Egypt. An immense granite coffin, masterpiece -of art and patience, the work of a thousand artisans, received the sacred remains, -which were then placed in a sepulchral chamber hollowed out in the heart of a mountain -and sumptuously adorned with the finest examples of sculpture and painting.” -</p> -<p>“And did other domestic animals receive like honors?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“All were honored, but none so signally as the ox. In regard to the cat, for instance, -it was deemed sufficient to embalm it with aromatics after its death, swathe it in -bands of fine linen, and place the body thus prepared in a chest of sweet-scented -wood adorned with gildings, paintings, and inscriptions. These chests were then arranged -on shelves <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2341">[<a href="#xd31e2341">249</a>]</span>in the niches of a sepulchral chamber excavated to a great depth in the solid rock. -</p> -<p>“In some of these chambers, with decorations as fresh as if made yesterday, we find -to-day, after the lapse of three and four thousand years, a prodigious number of bodies -of cats and other animals, sufficiently preserved to be recognized, thanks to the -aromatic bitumen with which they were impregnated. Well, the examination of these -old relics conveys information on one point of great interest: it shows us that the -domestic animals of those remote times did not differ from those of our own day. As -were the ox, dog, cat, four thousand years ago, such they are to-day. -</p> -<p>“The cat—since it is the cat I am going to tell you about to-day—the cat in particular -is like ours in every way. The rat-hunter of forty centuries ago differs in nothing -from our tom-cat. But where did it come from, so long, long ago, in the houses of -the Egyptians? Of what country was it a native? -</p> -<p>“To the south of Egypt lies Abyssinia, where we have already found the wild dog, from -which probably came our greyhound. There, too, is still found, sometimes wild in the -heart of the forest, sometimes domesticated, a kind of cat, called the gloved cat, -that presents a striking resemblance to our domestic variety. It is generally agreed -that this is the parent stock of our cats, though perhaps only in part, since there -is reason to believe that a second species, Asiatic according to all appearance, has -a place in <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2348">[<a href="#xd31e2348">250</a>]</span>the pedigree of our domestic cat as we now know it. Briefly, the cat came to us from -Eastern Africa. -</p> -<p>“In the old forests of Europe, and notably in those of the east of France, there is -found, in no great numbers, a kind of cat called the wildcat, but which cannot be -regarded as the progenitor of the domestic cat, in spite of current opinion to the -contrary. Fitted by nature for violent exercise, for fighting and tree-climbing, and -for making long leaps, it has longer and stronger legs than the common cat, a larger -head, and more powerful jaws. The tail, very furry and variegated with black rings, -is more expanded at the end than at the base. The coat is a warm fur of yellowish -gray with large black stripes, transverse and encircling the body, thus imitating -a little the tiger’s coat. A dark band extends the entire length of the spine from -the nape of the neck to the tail. Finally, the fleshy balls of the soles of the feet, -and also the lips and nose, are black. -</p> -<p>“The domestic cat, on the contrary, generally has red lips as well as nose and balls -of the feet. It also has on the front of the neck and breast a band of light color -sometimes extending under the stomach. Similar coloring of nose, lips, feet, and front -of the neck is found, in exact detail, in the wild species of Abyssinia or the gloved -cat; and that is one of the reasons for regarding this species as the source, or at -least as one of the sources, of the domestic cat.” -</p> -<p>“But I have often seen domestic cats with black <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2354">[<a href="#xd31e2354">251</a>]</span>lips,” objected Louis. “Where do they come from?” -</p> -<p>“They are apparently in some way related to the wildcats of our woods. The female -cats of isolated dwellings near our large forests sometimes mate with wildcats, it -is said. The young of these parents bear inscribed on the nose and lips their paternal -origin, and transmit these family traits to their descendants. But if this crossing -gives new vigor to our cat, it is far from improving its disposition. The wildcat -of our woods is in fact an intractable animal, unruly despite all the care we bestow -upon it. It is an implacable destroyer of game and, if chance offers, a more formidable -ravager of the hen-roost than the fox. -</p> -<p>“It is believed that one of our domestic varieties, known as the tiger-cat, counts -this bandit among its ancestors; at any rate, it has the wildcat’s black lips and -zebra coat. It also has its disposition to a certain degree. The tiger-cat is the -least tame of all, the most distrustful, the most inclined to plunder. No other is -so ready with its claws if you try to take hold of it or merely stroke it on the back. -But these peculiarities of savagery ought not to make us forget its good qualities: -there is no more spirited hunter of mice. It is true that cheese forgotten on the -table and game hung too low in the kitchen attract its attention a little too readily. -</p> -<p>“I much prefer the Spanish or tortoise-shell cat, which is more civilized, of gentler -disposition, and not less adept at catching mice. It is in this variety, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2360">[<a href="#xd31e2360">252</a>]</span>one of the most widely diffused, that the original feline characteristics are the -best preserved, that is to say those of the gloved cat of Abyssinia. The Spanish cat -has rather short and brightly colored fur, the balls of the feet, the lips, and the -nose red, the front of the neck light-colored. Its coat is generally spotted with -irregular patches of pure white, black, and bright red. But, singularly enough, the -three colors are never found united except in the female; the male is limited to two -colors at most, generally white and red.” -</p> -<p>“Then every cat with three colors to its fur is a she-cat?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“So far I have met with no exception to this strange rule.” -</p> -<p>“It is very queer, that unequal division of colors—three for the Tabby and only two -at most for the Tom-cat. Other animals show nothing of the sort.” -</p> -<p>“The Angora cat forms a third variety. It is a magnificent animal, of majestic carriage, -with silky and very long hair, especially around the neck, under the stomach, and -on the tail. But its qualities do not equal the fineness of its fur. The Angora is -the friend of sweet idleness, fond of prolonged siestas in drawing-room arm-chairs. -Do not try to make it watch patiently for a mouse in the garret. Pampered by its mistress, -assured of its saucer of milk, it finds the business of hunting too arduous. Repose -and caresses and a soft bed are its lot. That is all I have to say about this lazy-bones. -</p> -<p>“Let us pass on to the cat’s weapons, its teeth <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2369">[<a href="#xd31e2369">253</a>]</span>and claws. In telling you the story of the Auxiliaries I pointed out to you the arrangement -of the cat’s teeth, so admirably adapted for coping with live prey. I will refresh -your memory on this subject by showing you a sketch of these teeth. How well formed -for cutting flesh are those molars, with their sharp points that play one against -another like the blades of a pair of scissors! And those canine teeth, so long and -sharp—aren’t they veritable daggers for the cat to stab the mouse with? How horribly -they must pierce the poor little victim’s body! A mere glance at this set of teeth -is enough to assure one that it belongs to a fierce hunter. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p245width"><img src="images/p245.png" alt="Cat’s Scull Showing Teeth" width="335" height="195"><p class="figureHead">Cat’s Scull Showing Teeth</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“It is by surprise and stealth that the cat seizes its prey. Hence it must have special -foot-gear to render its approach noiseless, to deaden completely the sound of its -footsteps. And that reminds me of something. When you were younger, you were told -the wonderful exploits of Puss-in-Boots, how Puss caught partridges and offered them -to the king, as a gift from the cat’s master, the future Marquis of Carabas.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, yes,” cried Emile, “I remember. The artful creature, with a grain of wheat in -its paw and the bag open, lay in wait for the partridges in a furrow. What astounding -success we credited it with! The <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2378">[<a href="#xd31e2378">254</a>]</span>giddy partridges and innocent quails, and foolish young rabbits ran helter-skelter -into the bag. According to us, the game of the entire canton was bagged. One day the -cat defied the ogre to take the form of every kind of animal in turn, as he pretended -he had the power to do. The stupid ogre hastened to change himself into a lion first, -then into a mouse. But in a half a jiffy out shoot the cat’s claws, the mouse is caught, -and the ogre is gobbled up. Thenceforth the castle belongs to the miller’s son, who -has become the Marquis of Carabas, as true as can be. Then the wedding is celebrated -with great magnificence. Isn’t that the way it goes, Uncle?” -</p> -<p>“Precisely; only I must say to you that I object to the boots in that performance. -How, with such foot-gear thumping and creaking on the gravel in the road, can the -cat approach the game without being heard?” -</p> -<p>“That’s so. Let us take off the boots. We will suppose the cat leaves them at the -mill while it is out hunting, and that it only wears them on great occasions.” -</p> -<p>“How much wiser the real cat is than the one in the story! It would not wear noisy -boots and run the risk of making the garret floor creak under its footsteps. If the -mouse heard the slightest sound of hard soles, it would never come out of its hole. -What the cat really needs is slippers and not boots or wooden shoes—slippers thick -and soft so as to muffle the footfall completely. -</p> -<p>“Let us examine the underside of the cat’s paw. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2385">[<a href="#xd31e2385">255</a>]</span>You will see under each toe a little ball of flesh, a real cushion softly stuffed. -Another ball, much larger, occupies the center. In addition, tufts of down fill up -the intervening spaces. Thus shod, the cat walks as if on tow or wadding, and no ear -can hear it coming. Have we not there, I ask you, slippers of silence, marvelously -adapted to surprise attacks?” -</p> -<p>“It is a fact,” assented Louis, “that we never hear the cat coming.” -</p> -<p>“The dog, too,” added Jules, “has similar little cushions, only larger, under its -paws. Nevertheless we hear its footsteps, perhaps on account of the claws scraping -the ground a little.” -</p> -<p>“Your ‘perhaps’ is superfluous,” his uncle rejoined. “It is certainly the claws scraping -the ground that make the dog’s walk heard in spite of the fleshy balls.” -</p> -<p>“How does the cat manage, then?” asked Jules. “It has claws and very strong ones.” -</p> -<p>“That is the cat’s secret. When walking and sleeping it keeps its claws drawn back -in a sheath at the extremity of the toes; it has then what we call velvet paws. Thus -drawn into their case, the claws do not project beyond the paw and cannot strike the -ground. To this first advantage of not making any noise in walking is added another -not less useful to the cat. Completely hidden inside their sheaths, the claws do not -get blunt; they preserve their sharpness and fine point for the attack. They are excellent -weapons, and the animal keeps them in a case <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2394">[<a href="#xd31e2394">256</a>]</span>until they are needed. Then the claws shoot out of their sheaths as if pushed by a -spring, and the velvet paw of a moment ago becomes a horrible harpoon that implants -itself in the flesh and rends the prey in most sanguinary fashion.” -</p> -<p>“If I give the cat’s paw a little squeeze with my fingers,” said Emile, “the claws -come out of their sheaths; if I stop squeezing, the claws go in again.” -</p> -<p>“That is just what the cat can do at will. Let us examine this curious mechanism more -closely. The little terminal bone of the toes, the one that bears the claw, is fastened -to the preceding little bone by an elastic ligament, the effect of which, in a state -of repose, is to raise the first bone and rest it on top of the second. Suppose that -the tips of your fingers had play enough to fold back: there you have an exact representation -of the process. In this position of the terminal bone the claw is held upright, half -sunk in a fold of the skin and hidden under the thick fur of the paw.” -</p> -<p>“I understand,” said Jules; “then it is a velvet paw; the claws are in their sheaths.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p248width"><img src="images/p248.png" alt="Cat’s Claws and Tendons" width="134" height="297"><p class="figureHead">Cat’s Claws and Tendons</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Promptly, at the call to arms, the cat has but to will it, and its claws spring out. -Look at this picture of a cat’s paw and notice what appears to be a network of cords. -Those are the tendons which, whenever the animal so desires, are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2405">[<a href="#xd31e2405">257</a>]</span><span class="corr" id="xd31e2406" title="Source: puled">pulled</span> by the muscles situated higher up. They are fastened each to the lower side of one -of the terminal bones of the toes. Pulled by its tendon, this terminal bone pivots, -as if on a hinge, on the extremity of the preceding bone, and gets in a straight line -with it. At the same time the pointed end of the claw comes out of the paw.” -</p> -<p>“Then the cat’s claws are worked by cords and pulleys!” exclaimed Emile. “It is enough -to bewilder one, it is so complicated. But I understand it in the main. To make velvet -paws the cat doesn’t have to do anything at all; the claws go in of their own accord -and stay in their sheaths; and if they have to be drawn out, the cords or tendons -give a pull, and the thing is done.” -</p> -<p>“To be shod with soft slippers which both admit of a noiseless approach to the hunted -prey and can, on the instant, change into terrible weapons of attack, is not alone -sufficient for the hunter’s success; he must also have eyes to guide him in the darkness -of midnight, the hour most favorable for an ambuscade. In this respect the cat is -admirably equipped. Its eyes are formed for receiving more or less light as may be -necessary for seeing. -</p> -<p>“Notice a cat in the sun. You will see the pupil of the eyes reduced to a narrow slit -resembling a black line. Not to be dazzled by too great light, the animal has closed -the passage to the rays of light; it has closed the pupil while leaving the eyes wide -open. Take the cat into the shade: the slit of the eyes will enlarge and become an -oval. Put it in a <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2414">[<a href="#xd31e2414">258</a>]</span>semi-dark place: the oval opening will dilate to a circle and this circle will grow -larger as the light diminishes. -</p> -<p>“Thanks to these pupils, which open very wide and can thus still manage to receive -a little light where for others it would be pitch-dark, the cat guides itself in the -dark and hunts at night even better than in broad daylight, since it remains invisible -to the mice while it can see them well enough. Nevertheless, if there were no light, -if the darkness were absolute, the cat could not see anything. In this connection, -recall what we were saying a while ago about nocturnal birds of prey. Some maintain -that a cat sees distinctly in complete darkness; I have shown you, on the contrary, -that for every animal without exception sight becomes impossible as soon as there -ceases to be even the faintest ray of light.” -</p> -<p>“The cat cannot see without some light, I haven’t the slightest doubt,” assented Jules. -“But all the same I have known it to hunt in places where not a glimmer of light could -get in.” -</p> -<p>“Then its mustaches served to guide it; these are frequently made use of by the cat -when it cannot see.” -</p> -<p>“Mustaches!” Emile exclaimed. “Oh, what a queer guide! And how can those long hairs -that stand out on its lip tell it where it is?” -</p> -<p>“Perhaps you think the cat wears mustaches simply as a bit of swagger. Undeceive yourself: -they are a valuable item of its equipment for hunting by <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2422">[<a href="#xd31e2422">259</a>]</span>night. With them it feels the ground, gets its bearings, explores nooks and corners. -Let a mouse so much as graze one of those long hairs sticking out in all directions, -and that is enough to warn the cat. Immediately the jaw snaps and the claw seizes. -Moral: never cut a cat’s mustaches; you would place it in a sad predicament, seriously -impairing its efficiency as a mouser.” -</p> -<p>“That’s what I’ve heard said,” Louis remarked, “though I didn’t know the reason for -it. Now I see that to deprive a cat of its mustaches, out of childish mischievousness, -is like depriving a blind man of his cane.” -</p> -<p>“In my humble opinion,” Uncle Paul continued, “the cat has been slandered. The eloquent -historian of animals, Buffon, speaks thus about the cat: ‘It is an unfaithful servant, -kept only out of necessity, as the enemy of another and still more troublesome inhabitant -of our houses, otherwise not to be got rid of.’ ” -</p> -<p>“Buffon means the rat and mouse?” was Emile’s query. -</p> -<p>“Evidently. ‘Although cats,’ says he, ‘especially when young, have pretty ways, they -have at the same time an innate malice, a treacherous disposition, a perverse nature, -which age increases and education only masks. From being determined thieves they become, -under domestication, docile and fawning rogues: they have the same skill, the same -cleverness, the same taste for mischief, the same tendency to petty pilfering, as -have rogues. Like them, they <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2429">[<a href="#xd31e2429">260</a>]</span>know how to cover their tracks, dissimulate their purpose, watch for their opportunity, -lie in wait, choose their time, seize the right moment for their stroke, then steal -away and escape punishment, scamper off and keep out of sight until they are called -back. They make a show of attachment, nothing more, as one can see in their sly movements -and shifty eyes. They never look the loved one in the face; whether from distrust -or falsity, they take a roundabout way of approach and of winning the caresses which -they value only for the momentary pleasure they themselves receive. It cannot be said -that cats, although living in our homes, are thoroughly domesticated. The best tamed -among them are no whit more brought under control than the rest; one might even say -that they are entirely beyond control. They do only what they choose, and nothing -in the world would avail to keep them for a moment in a place they desired to leave. -Furthermore, most of them are still half wild, do not know their masters, frequent -only garrets and roofs, and sometimes the kitchen and pantry when they are hungry. -They are less attached to persons than to houses.’ ” -</p> -<p>“To my mind,” commented Jules, “that accusation amounts to no more than this, that -Buffon did not like cats.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, perhaps,” suggested Louis, “he wrote it when he was vexed at some misdeed committed -by his tom-cats.” -</p> -<p>“I, for my part,” Uncle Paul replied, “will say <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2436">[<a href="#xd31e2436">261</a>]</span>this to you: treat the cat well, and it will not be wild; feed it, and it will not -turn thief; show it a little attention, and it will return the compliment. But what -a miserable fate it often has! It is allowed to grow thin with hunger under the pretense -that then it will hunt rats better. If it comes into the kitchen, mewing for something -to eat, it is driven out with a broom; if it ventures into the dining-room to gather -up the crumbs fallen from the table, the dog, suspecting designs on the bone it holds -between its paws, growls and makes a move to throttle the invader. As a last resort -the poor animal takes to pilfering. Who would go so far as to call this a crime? Certainly -not Uncle Paul.” -</p> -<p>“Nor I either,” chimed in Jules; “for it must eat.” -</p> -<p>“Buffon says the cat does not become attached to its master, that it shows no signs -of affection. I appeal the case to your own memories of the matter. When Minette, -our gentle cat, installs herself with loud purrings on Emile’s knees in the chimney-corner -and rubs her pretty red nose on his cheeks, then on his forehead, and higher still -until it makes his cap fall off, are not those, I ask you, kisses and caresses of -the most affectionate sort? Emile is transported with delight when his cap tumbles -to the floor under the poking of that delicate nose. He puts it on again and the friendly -rubbing begins afresh.” -</p> -<p>“Certainly,” Emile assented, “the cat gives me caress for caress. Her look is affectionate, -not <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2442">[<a href="#xd31e2442">262</a>]</span>treacherous and distrustful, as the author says, that you have just been reading. -And then Minette never steals, and always has velvet paws for me. She hasn’t once -given me a scratch in all the time we have played together.” -</p> -<p>“Emile forgets one very good quality,” put in Jules. “Minette is a splendid hunter. -Let her hear the slightest rustle anywhere, and there she will sit for hours and hours -on the watch, motionless, patient, all eyes and ears. A mouse heard is for her a mouse -caught. But it isn’t hunger that gives her that love of hunting, for she kills her -mouse and then leaves it lying there, with no desire to eat it.” -</p> -<p>“Minette has other talents too,” Emile hastened to add. “When there is going to be -a change in the weather, she licks her paws and washes her ears and nose over and -over. Then you say, that is a sign of snow, or a sign of storm. And the cat’s prediction -is hardly ever wrong. When the north wind blows cold and dry, I like to rub my hand -over her fur and make the bright sparks fly. In the evening I like to hear her <i>rerr-rerr</i>, which makes me sleepy.” -</p> -<p>“Why,” asked Uncle Paul in conclusion, “do not Minette’s good qualities agree with -what Buffon says? Because you love the cat and the cat loves you in return. Animals, -my dear children, are what people make them. Good master, good servant.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2451">[<a href="#xd31e2451">263</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch27" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e449">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXVII</h2> -<h2 class="main">SHEEP</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Concerning the cat’s origin there are surmises, probabilities; concerning the sheep’s -origin nothing is yet known. But if we are ignorant from what wild species the sheep -descends, we are at least certain it came to us from Asia, where man has raised flocks -of these useful animals from the earliest recorded times.” -</p> -<p>“The East gave us the dog, cat, and sheep,” Jules here interposed, “and from what -you said in some of our former talks, I got the impression that the other domestic -animals also came from Asia.” -</p> -<p>“The Asiatic origin of our oldest known and most important domestic animals is a truth -that all the records of history affirm without a shadow of doubt. We owe to the East -the ox, horse, donkey, sheep, goat, pig, dog, cat, hen. Civilization, in fact, had -its cradle in the lands of central Asia, where already there were flourishing peoples -versed in sheep-raising and agriculture when in our western countries man, still plunged -in wretched barbarism, lived only by the chase and hunted the bear and urus with his -stone weapons.” -</p> -<p>“Then those ancient peoples of the East came and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2461">[<a href="#xd31e2461">264</a>]</span>settled here and brought the first domestic animals with them?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“That is just how it happened, and hence the Asiatic origin of our oldest domestic -animals.” -</p> -<p>“Doubtless the sheep was with the new-comers?” -</p> -<p>“Very likely; for its habits to-day show the sheep to have been dependent on man a -very long time. No species has undergone so radical a change from its primitive character; -and this indicates a very early domestication. -</p> -<p>“In the beginning, when it wandered wild on the grassy plateaus of Asia, the sheep -must have had means of defense against its enemies, since otherwise the species would -have become extinct. It was not enough for it to crop the greensward; it must also -have been able to hold its own when menaced, or at least to escape from danger by -flight. The other domestic species shared the same risks as a necessary concomitant -of freedom; but all knew how to defend themselves, and all, under man’s protection, -have nevertheless kept the use of their own means of protection. Left to itself, the -dog, by its courage and its murderous jaws, valiantly copes with any assailant; the -horse flees at full gallop or breaks the enemy’s bones with a vigorous kick; the cat -climbs trees and from her lofty fortress braves the foe; bulls group themselves in -a circle, the weak ones in the center, the strong at the circumference, with horns -pointing out, and woe then to any creature that dares to approach; the goat overthrows -the aggressor by butting with lowered head. What <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2468">[<a href="#xd31e2468">265</a>]</span>can the sheep do in its turn when in danger? Nothing. With no thought of defending -itself, imbecile and stupid, it waits for the wolf to come and devour it. -</p> -<p>“Look at a flock of sheep, startled by some unusual noise. They rush headlong, bewildered -with fear; they crowd together, press against one another, lower their heads to the -ground, then await, motionless, the issue of the event. The wolf, if it be a wolf -that has caused the panic, has only to choose its victim out of this compact mass: -there will be no thought of resistance or flight. What would become of the poor creatures -if shepherds and dogs were not there to protect them? In a few days they would all -perish, sacrificing their last drop of blood to the wolf. See them again in the open -country in bad weather. They press close to one another and refuse to budge, enduring -rain and snow, shivering with wet and cold, while not one of them so much as thinks -of seeking shelter. Their stupidity is such that they do not even seem to notice how -unfavorable their situation is; they come to a standstill wherever they may happen -to be, and obstinately stay there. To make them go and to conduct them to a more suitable -spot, the shepherd is obliged to chase them before him and give them a leader taught -to walk in front. -</p> -<p>“Certainly, in its primitive freedom the sheep could not have been the actual animal -of our folds; it must have possessed the qualities necessary to sustain its existence; -it must have found in itself <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2474">[<a href="#xd31e2474">266</a>]</span>means of protection and must at least have imitated the goat, which resolutely faces -danger, or, if too weak, scales with unerring foot the ledges of rock and there takes -refuge. The sheep, as we have it to-day, is absolutely incapable of living without -man’s protection; left to itself, the whole species would soon perish, the victim -of carnivorous animals and inclement weather. To lose thus all its native instincts -and descend to the lowest degree of stupidity, how many centuries of servitude must -it not have undergone? I would not venture to say; but at least I see that, after -the dog, the sheep was one of the first animals tamed by man. -</p> -<p>“No other species, the dog alone excepted, has undergone so complete a transformation -at our hands. Let me tell you some of the strange results obtained. In Africa, Madagascar, -and India there is found a breed of sheep in which the tail, loaded with a heavy mass -of fat on each side, right and left, is transformed into a sort of ponderous battledore, -broader at its base than the body itself. The weight of this inconvenient appendage -amounts to and even exceeds thirty pounds.” -</p> -<p>“Inconvenient appendage I should say it would be,” remarked Louis. “The sheep cannot -walk very easily with that heavy battledore knocking against its hocks. The tallow -from that tail would make a good many candles, but it is a very troublesome sort of -treasure when one has to run away from a wolf.” -</p> -<p>“This breed is called the broad-tailed sheep. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2480">[<a href="#xd31e2480">267</a>]</span>Other sheep, particularly in southern Russia, have tails of moderate size, like the -tails of our sheep, but very long so that they drag on the ground.” -</p> -<p>“Again a hindrance when fleeing from the wolf,” Jules observed. “In its primitive -state the sheep certainly had neither this long trailing tail catching in the bushes, -nor that other one in the shape of a heavy load of tallow.” -</p> -<p>“Neither had it the singular horns that it sometimes bears to-day. Some sheep have -horns of excessive length and twisted in long spirals that sometimes stand erect on -the top of the forehead, and sometimes point sidewise. Those weapons are more threatening -than serviceable: they needlessly overburden the head and are a serious source of -annoyance to the animal when it has to pass through a thicket of underbrush. As if -to hamper themselves still more in the brambles, other breeds wear an addition to -this inconvenient ornament. The sheep of the island of Cyprus have two pairs of horns, -one standing straight up on the forehead, the other curving back behind the ears. -Those of the Faroe Islands have three pairs, all arranged spirally and pointing backward. -Our sheep, as a rule, have only two horns, rather small and making barely one turn -at the sides of the head; apparently that is how the primitive species wore them. -In fact the greater part of our flocks is composed of entirely hornless sheep. It -is best for the animal, which is thus relieved of a useless load. -</p> -<p>“These horns, double or triple in number, and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2486">[<a href="#xd31e2486">268</a>]</span>twisting in curious fashion, this tail so long that it trails on the ground, or else -swollen with tallow and broad beyond measure, while showing us what singular modifications -the body of the sheep is capable of, are of no use to us whatever. It is much to be -preferred that the animal, profiting by the care we bestow upon it, should gain in -weight and furnish more abundant food material. The English, who are great meat-eaters, -were the first to ask themselves this question: how to make the sheep an abundant -source of mutton chops and legs of mutton, or, in other words, how to increase to -the utmost the proportion of it that can be eaten and at the same time diminish or -even reduce to nothing that which cannot? -</p> -<p>“A celebrated breeder, a benefactor to humanity—Bakewell was his name—solved the problem -in England about a century ago. He said to himself: The sheep that I want as a producer -of legs of mutton must have no horns, for these useless ornaments would mean so much -pure loss in the total weight of the animal; the food required for the growth and -maintenance of the horns would be better employed in producing flesh. For the same -reason it should have only just enough wool to clothe it and protect it from the cold. -The bones I cannot eliminate, the more’s the pity, as in their place I should prefer -something of greater nutritive value. But as a matter of fact they are necessary to -the animal: they are the indispensable framework for the flesh. If I cannot eliminate -them, the bones shall at least be light, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2490">[<a href="#xd31e2490">269</a>]</span>thin, reduced in weight and size. When the leg of mutton is served at table, the knife -must be able to penetrate it like a ball of butter and find in the center only a small, -hard drum-stick. I will reduce in like manner all that is not meat and leave the sheep -only what is strictly necessary for the functions of life.” -</p> -<p>“And that came to pass as the breeder wished?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“That came to pass just as Bakewell foresaw. In his sheepfolds the animal was transformed -into an opulent source of meat, such as had never been seen before; it became a pair -of enormous legs of mutton and a pair of enormous shoulders, led to pasture by a small -head on four thin legs.” -</p> -<p>“With large mutton chops mixed in?” Emile inquired. -</p> -<p>“To be sure. A few figures will show you the importance of the result obtained. The -gross weight of our ordinary sheep averages thirty kilograms, representing about twenty -kilograms net of meat. The Leicester sheep, as the perfected breed developed by Bakewell’s -exertions is called, weighs from sixty to one hundred and sometimes one hundred and -fifty kilograms; and its net yield in meat varies from fifty to one hundred kilograms; -that is, at the very lowest, two and a half times as much meat as our common sheep -produces, and at the highest, which is exceptional, I admit, five times as much.” -</p> -<p>“Then man can do what he likes with his domestic animals to change them as he pleases?” -asked Louis. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2499">[<a href="#xd31e2499">270</a>]</span> -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure p262width"><img src="images/p262.png" alt="Leicester Sheep" width="528" height="339"><p class="figureHead">Leicester Sheep</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“He does not do exactly as he likes, for the organization is from its very nature -bounded by definite limits which no effort of ours can set aside; but by holding one -end constantly in view and bending every exertion toward its attainment he can do -much. The great means used by Bakewell on the breeding of sheep, and utilized since -for the improvement of various other domestic animals, consists above all in selection, -which I have already told you something about in speaking of the dog. Selection is -called into play when the breeder singles out and sets apart for the propagation of -the species those individuals that show in the highest degree the qualities he desires. -These qualities, however feeble at first, are capable of great development in the -course of several generations; for the offspring inherit the parents’ qualities, keep -them, and add to this inheritance certain qualities of their own.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2507">[<a href="#xd31e2507">271</a>]</span></p> -<p>“You compared that to a snowball increasing in size as it rolls,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend; the succeeding generations, always chosen from among the best, are -the successive layers that bring their complement to the increase of the ball.” -</p> -<p>“The Leicester sheep must have acted on the snowball wonderfully, to increase its -weight from thirty kilograms to one hundred and fifty.” -</p> -<p>“I admit that such a transformation is not brought about in a single year, and that -Bakewell must have had great confidence in his method to devote his whole life to -the pursuit of the end foreseen by his genius.” -</p> -<p>“What is this famous Leicester sheep like?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“Its trunk is all of a size, almost cylindrical. The head is small, bald, and without -horns. It is supported by a neck so slender and short that the head appears to spring -directly from the trunk.” -</p> -<p>“To judge by the picture you are showing us, one would say that the head came out -of a hole made in the middle of the fleece.” -</p> -<p>“That comes from the smallness of the neck. The wool, long and coarse, takes the form -of pointed locks hanging down and not very close together, so that the whole fleece -weighs much less than one would suppose from the size of the animal. The four legs -are thin and naked. All the bones in short, are remarkably light, having only enough -solidity to support the animal’s massive bulk of flesh.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2518">[<a href="#xd31e2518">272</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Is this breed found in France?” Louis asked. -</p> -<p>“With us it is represented by the Flemish breed, raised in Flanders, Normandy, and -Poitou. It is the most corpulent of the French varieties, furnishing sheep that weigh -as much as sixty kilograms, and more. In the second class for size comes the Picardy -breed, scattered over Picardy, Brie, and Beauce. The sylvan breed of Touraine, Sologne, -Bourgogne, Anjou, in short a great part of central France, is smaller still. It is -remarkable for the fineness of its wool and the excellence of its flesh. By its side -may be placed the Provence breed, occupying Roussillon, Provence, and Languedoc. Immense -flocks of this variety graze during the winter in the salt marshes bordering the Mediterranean, -notably in the vast pebbly plain of Crau and in the island of Camargue which the forks -of the Rhone form at the mouth of that river. After the cold weather is past, these -flocks move up to the high mountains of Dauphiny, where they pass the whole summer -out of doors. I will come back in a few moments to their interesting migrations. -</p> -<p>“Besides meat, the sheep furnishes us wool, which is still more important, since it -is the best material for our clothing. Other animals, the ox and pig for example, -feed us with their flesh; only the sheep can clothe us. With wool we make mattresses -and weave cloth, flannel, serge, in fact all the different fabrics best adapted for -protecting us from the cold. It is far and away the most suitable material for clothing; -cotton, despite its importance, takes only <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2523">[<a href="#xd31e2523">273</a>]</span>second place; and silk, with all its fine qualities, is very inferior to wool for -actual service. The sheep’s coat, more than anything else, we use for clothing; we -cover ourselves with its fleece after converting it by spinning and weaving into magnificent -cloth.” -</p> -<p>“All the same,” objected Emile, “wool is not in the least beautiful when it is on -the animal’s back; it is dirty, badly combed, often completely covered with filth. -To be changed into the fleece suitable for cloth it must go through a good many processes.” -</p> -<p>“A good many, indeed. We will speak only of the first, for the others would lead us -too far from our subject. -</p> -<p>“As it is found on the sheep, the wool is soiled by the sweat of the animal and by -dust, which together form a layer of dirt called natural grease. An energetic washing -is necessary to remove these impurities. The best way is to wash the sheep itself -before shearing. The flock is driven to the edge of a stream, not so cold as to endanger -the health of the animals, and there each sheep is seized in turn by men who plunge -it into the water and rub and squeeze the fleece with their hands until the grease -has disappeared and the water runs clear from the tufts of wool. That is what is called -washing on the back, because the wool is cleaned on the body itself, on the animal’s -back. -</p> -<p>“At other times the sheep is shorn without having been washed first, just as it comes -out of the fold, with all its coating of dust and sweat. The wool <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2530">[<a href="#xd31e2530">274</a>]</span>thus obtained is called greasy wool, while the washed fleece is known as greaseless -wool. The greasy wool is too dirty to be used as it is, even for making mattresses; -it is washed in a stream of running water, and then it is like the wool taken from -a washed sheep. -</p> -<p>“To shear a sheep, the animal is tied fast by all four legs to keep it from moving -and perhaps getting cut during the operation; then it is placed on a table about as -high as a man is tall, and with large, wide-bladed shears the wool is clipped off -as close as possible to the skin without at the same time cutting the poor animal. -As the locks of wool are naturally curly and entangled, the fleece comes off all in -one piece. -</p> -<p>“Sheep are white, brown, and black. White wool can be dyed any shade, from the lightest -to the darkest, whereas black or brown will only take dark colors. White wool, therefore, -is always preferred to any other; but however beautiful it may be after all impurities -have been removed by washing, it is still far from possessing the degree of whiteness -that it should have if it is to be used without dyeing. Accordingly it is bleached -by being exposed in a closed room to the suffocating vapor that comes from burning -sulphur. -</p> -<p>“Wool varies in value according to the sheep that produced it; there are different -degrees of coarseness and fineness and length. The best wool, that which is reserved -for the finest stuffs, comes from a breed of sheep raised principally in Spain and -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2536">[<a href="#xd31e2536">275</a>]</span>known by the name of merino. This breed has a squat, short, thick body, legs strong -and short, large head furnished with stout horns that fall in a spiral behind the -ear, woolly forehead, and a very snub nose. The skin, fine and pink, forms at different -parts of the body, chiefly around the neck, ample folds which give room for additional -fleece. Wool covers the whole body, except the muzzle, from the edge of the hoofs -to a rim around the eyes. It is fine, curly, elastic, and short. The grease with which -it is impregnated is very abundant, so that the dust sticking to it forms on the surface -of the fleece a grayish crust, a sort of plate-armor, which splits open here and there -with a slight crackling sound when the animal moves, and closes of itself when the -animal is at rest. By washing, these impurities all disappear and merino wool then -shows the whiteness of snow and has a softness that rivals silk. -</p> -<p>“In Spain the merino flocks pass the winter in the fertile plains of the South, in -a climate remarkable for its mildness. At the beginning of April they start for the -high mountains of the North, which they reach after a journey of a month or six weeks. -All through the summer they remain in the highland pastures, rich in savory greensward -which the summer sun never dries up, and at the end of September they descend again -to the plains of the South. These traveling flocks, changing from plain to mountain -and from mountain to plain, according to the season, are called migratory flocks. -Some of them <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2541">[<a href="#xd31e2541">276</a>]</span>number as many as ten thousand animals, tended by fifty shepherds and as many dogs.” -</p> -<p>“It must be very interesting,” said Jules, “to see those immense flocks in motion -along the highways when they go to or from their mountain pasture.” -</p> -<p>“What takes place in the south of France can give us some idea of this. I told you -that the vast plains of the Mediterranean coast, the plains of Crau and Camargue, -support flocks of considerable size, which emigrate to the mountains of Dauphiny when -warm weather comes, and return home on the approach of cold.” -</p> -<p>“Are those sheep merinos?” Jules asked. -</p> -<p>“No, my friend: they are ordinary sheep; but, like the merinos, they travel alternately -from the plain to the mountains and from the mountains to the plain; in a word, they -are migratory flocks. Let us look at them on their return journey. -</p> -<p>“At the head are the donkeys laden with clothing and provisions. Large and heavy bells -hang from their collars, each collar being made of a big sheet of bent deal. If they -spy a thistle beside the road, they turn out and with a grimace crop the savory mouthful -with a movement of their lips, after which they at once return to their posts of file-leaders. -In large panniers of plaited grass one of them carries the lambs born on the journey, -too weak to follow the flock. The poor little things bleat, their heads nodding to -the movements of their nags, and the mothers answer from the midst of the throng. -Next come the ill-smelling, high-horned, flat-nosed, cross-eyed he-goats; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2549">[<a href="#xd31e2549">277</a>]</span>the bells attached to the wooden collars ring under their thick beards. After them -come the she-goats, their heavy udders, swollen with milk, striking against their -hams. By their side caper the giddy band of young kids and goats, already beginning -to butt with their foreheads. Such is the vanguard. -</p> -<p>“Who is this with holly stick cut from an alpine hedge and large drugget cloak draped -over his shoulder? It is the head shepherd, the one responsible for the flock. At -his heels come the rams, leaders of the stupid common sheep. Their horns, twisted -into a pointed spiral, make three and four turns. They have deal collars like those -of the he-goats and asses; but their large bells, sign of honor, have a wolf’s tooth -for tongue. Tufts of red wool, another sign of distinction, are fastened to their -fleece on the sides and back. In the midst of a cloud of dust comes now the main flock, -its members crowded close together and bleating, their countless little hoofs striking -the ground with a noise like that of a storm. In the rear straggle the loiterers, -the lame, the crippled, the ewes accompanied by their lambs. These last, at the briefest -stop, bend their knees, take the teat in their mouth, and, while their tail trembles -and wriggles, butt the udder with their forehead to start the flow of milk. The shepherds -bring up the rear, urging on the slow ones with their cries and giving orders to the -dogs, their lieutenants that go and come on the flanks of the army and watch that -none go astray. If all is in good order, the dogs <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2553">[<a href="#xd31e2553">278</a>]</span>walk beside their masters, pensive, fully appreciating the seriousness of their functions, -and perhaps thinking of the woods they came from, the dark woods where there are bears.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2555">[<a href="#xd31e2555">279</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch28" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e459">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE GOAT</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“In the hilly regions of Persia there are found herds of wild goats of a kind that -is universally regarded as the parent stock of the domestic variety. This goat closely -resembles our own in size and form. It has a grayish fawn-colored coat with a black -line on the backbone. The tail and forehead are black, the cheeks red, the beard and -throat brown. The horns have sharp edges on the front side and are short in the female, -very long in the male, always erect on the forehead, and not rolling back behind the -ears like those of the ram. -</p> -<p>“In domestication the goat has preserved its primitive instincts, no doubt because, -being of less value than the sheep, it has not been so carefully and completely tamed -by man. It has remained with us much as it was on the bare rocks of its native country, -lively, wandering, adventurous, fond of lonely and steep places, delighting in rocky -summits, sleeping on the edge of precipices, and always ready to use its horns at -the slightest appearance of hostility. -</p> -<p>“Willingly it accompanies the sheep to pasture, but without mixing with the flock, -the stupid society of which is not to its taste. It walks at the head, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2564">[<a href="#xd31e2564">280</a>]</span>staying its impatience on the way by browsing an occasional twig in the hedgerow.” -</p> -<p>“That’s the way the he-goats of the emigrating flock go, the captains of the company,” -put in Jules. “The she-goats follow pell-mell with the kids. Left to themselves, they -would walk at the head and occupy the post of honor held by the donkeys and he-goats.” -</p> -<p>“Arrived at the pasture, the sheep begin peacefully cropping the grass without straying -too far from the spot chosen by the shepherd. Besides, the dog is there to call to -order any that might tend to wander away.” -</p> -<p>“But the goats don’t listen to the dog’s warning: their wish is to go and flock apart, -is it not?” asked Emile. -</p> -<p>“Precisely. The turf is green, smooth as a carpet; the grass thick and tender. What -more could be desired? But no, the goats will have none of it. The rich grass and -the company of the timid sheep are not what they are after. Away up yonder, on the -top of the hill, are some great rocks, cleft and overturned in disorder. In the clefts, -where a handful of earth has lodged, there are thin tufts of grass half dried up by -the sun; between the fragments of stone a few pitiful shrubs with scanty foliage manage -to find room for their roots. Those are the goat’s haunts of delight. Nothing can -keep it from them; away it goes. -</p> -<p>“Soon you will see it on the steep slope of the rocks, moving about with ease where -any other animal <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2572">[<a href="#xd31e2572">281</a>]</span>would break its neck, and sometimes having no more secure support than a narrow ledge -that offers barely room enough for its four hoofs. From this perilous position it -stretches its neck in an effort to reach the neighboring bush, a bush no better than -countless others that are in places easy of access; but the difficulty gives it an -added charm, and to get it the goat risks its life on slopes that would be its destruction -if it should chance to slip. But don’t worry about that: the goat will not fall; its -sinewy leg is of unequalled surety, and its head, giddy though it seems, is never -seized with vertigo on the brink of a precipice. The coveted bit of foliage is reached, -the bush twisted out of shape in its attainment, and the ascent continues from one -projection to another. The goat is at the top of the rock. It proclaims its prowess -to the surrounding world with bleatings. The sheep are down there, beneath its feet. -Proudly it surveys them, saying perhaps to itself: Poor, timid creatures, they will -never climb up here! -</p> -<p>“I must tell you, my friends, that the goat is very hard to keep in flocks. Its wandering -propensity always impels it to stray, and its predilection for precipices leads it -to places where it would be dangerous for the shepherd to follow. It has a still worse -caprice. I have pictured the goat to you as abandoning at the first opportunity the -rich grass in which the sheep delights, to scale the rocky summit and crop the sparse -shrubbery growing on some perilous ledge. It is an undoubted fact that to the tender -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2576">[<a href="#xd31e2576">282</a>]</span>grass of the best pasture it prefers hard turf, yellowed in the sun, dried and trodden, -and especially the young woody sprouts of the shrub and bush. Thus far all is for -the best, since such tastes enable us to gain profit from the most sterile soil and -even from the bare rock. Where the sheep would die of want, the goat finds the wherewithal -to fill its udder with milk. Unfortunately its passion for the bitter bark of the -shrub has evil consequences. Cultivated grounds, gardens, orchards, quickset hedges, -copses, and woods have no more terrible enemy than the goat. The young shoots are -eagerly browsed, the bark is gnawed, and all shrubbery within reach is destroyed. -Accordingly, to prevent these ravages, severe laws forbid flocks of goats access to -all wooded tracts.” -</p> -<p>“I shouldn’t like such gnawers of branches and bark among the pear trees in the garden,” -remarked Jules. “If any goats got in there, it would be good-by forever to those delicious -juicy pears.” -</p> -<p>“I have told you the goat’s bad qualities; now let us look at its good ones. The goat -is much more intelligent than the sheep. It comes to us of its own accord, makes friends -with us readily, is responsive to caresses and capable of attachment. In households -where it furnishes the milk supply it is the companion of the children, who know how -to win its friendship by a few handfuls of choice grass. It takes part in their games -and amuses them with its frolicsome gambols.” -</p> -<p>“It also runs with lowered head at its playmates <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2583">[<a href="#xd31e2583">283</a>]</span>as if it meant to knock them over with a butt of its horns,” added Emile; “but it -is only in fun. They hold out an open hand, and the goat strikes the palm very softly -without hurting it, provided they are good friends. If not, I shouldn’t like to find -myself facing the goat’s horns.” -</p> -<p>“The goat is always friendly if well treated. Its butting is then harmless, and play -does not degenerate into a fight. -</p> -<p>“To appreciate fully the kindness of the goat, one must have witnessed the following -illustration of it. When a nursing baby has had the misfortune to lose its mother, -it sometimes happens that the she-goat is substituted as a nurse. In this function -the excellent animal is truly admirable; the tenderest mother is not more vigilant -or more assiduous. To the wailing of the beloved baby it responds with a gentle bleating -and runs to it in all haste, lying on its side the better to present its udder to -the nursling. If there is any delay in putting the baby within reach, the goat by -its restless movements, trembling voice, I might almost say by its gestures, begs -that the infant be allowed to suck. How shall I express it, my friends? The animal -in this action is sublime in its devotion. -</p> -<p>“Should you like now to see the goat giving proof of its tame, trustful nature? I -will tell you how the milk-peddlers of our southern towns are in the habit of leading -their flocks of goats through the streets, to sell from door to door the milk freshly -drawn under the buyer’s very eyes. What would the timid sheep <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2589">[<a href="#xd31e2589">284</a>]</span>do if led thus through the turmoil and confusion of a populous town? It would take -fright and run away, and in its foolish terror it would get crushed under the wheels -of passing vehicles. The goat is not alarmed at anything. Throngs of people, the noise -of traffic, the barking of quarrelsome dogs, to all this it is quite indifferent. -The horned company, its approach heralded by the tinkling of little bells, moves with -a confident and familiar air in the midst of all this hustle and bustle, as if in -the perfect solitude of the mountains. With graceful coquetry it looks at its reflection -in the large shop-windows and strikes the flag-stones of the pavement with ringing -hoof. At the customers’ doors, which the flock never fails to remember, it comes to -a halt. Each goat in its turn is taken in hand by the milkmaid, and the warm milk -spurts foaming from the udder into the tin measure. They go on through the crowd to -another customer, and so it continues, a measure of milk at a time, until the flock -has exhausted its day’s supply.” -</p> -<p>“Is there anything gained by leading the goats from door to door?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“Unquestionably: the buyer cannot doubt the freshness and purity of the milk when -he sees it drawn under his eyes; and the milkmaid finds in the confidence of her customers -remuneration for her extra trouble.” -</p> -<p>“That’s so. No one can say the milk is watered if it comes fresh from the udder.” -</p> -<p>“Goat’s milk is light and very nourishing; it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2596">[<a href="#xd31e2596">285</a>]</span>agrees with weak stomachs better than the heavier milk of the sheep or cow. It is -remarkably abundant, too, considering the smallness of the animal. Two liters of milk -a day, from six to nine months in the year, make but a moderate yield. There are goats -that, when well-fed, give three and four liters a day. -</p> -<p>“Thus the goat, so easily maintained, is a valuable resource in mountainous and arid -countries; it takes the place of the milch cow in the poor man’s hut, as the donkey -serves instead of the horse. -</p> -<p>“This abundant milk supply is about the only merit of the goat, for its stringy flesh -is tasteless and of no value. Only the kid is prized for eating, especially in the -South, where the aromatic vegetation of the hills takes away its natural tastelessness. -The goat’s fleece, though used for certain coarse fabrics, is not of much importance, -either, and cannot in any way take the place of sheep’s wool. But a breed native in -the hilly regions of Central Asia, the Cashmere goat, furnishes a down of incomparable -fineness, from which precious stuffs are made. This goat, under a thick fur of long -hair, bears an abundant down that protects it from the rigors of cold and is shed -naturally every spring. When that season comes the animal is combed with a long toothed -comb that gathers from the rest of the fleece the fine down detached from the skin. -</p> -<p>“Another breed, the Angora goat, almost rivals the Cashmere in fineness of down. It -takes its name from the town of Angora in Turkey in Asia. Nothing <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2603">[<a href="#xd31e2603">286</a>]</span>could be more seductive in form, nothing more graceful, than these little goats with -their long silky fleece, always pure white. From the same country come the Angora -cat and the Angora rabbit, both furnished, like the goat, their compatriot, with long, -silky, white fur.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2605">[<a href="#xd31e2605">287</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch29" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e469">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXIX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE OX</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first"></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p279width"><img src="images/p279.png" alt="Ox" width="319" height="197"><p class="figureHead">Ox</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The taming of the ox took place in Asia a very long time ago when our western countries -were covered with wild forests in which a few miserable tattooed tribes wandered, -living by the chase. Bringing the ox under subjection must have been one of the most -memorable of events for the native of the Orient, since thereby the animal’s powerful -shoulders lent themselves to the labors of agriculture, and the tiller of the soil -profited accordingly. It must also have been a very dangerous undertaking, no doubt -impossible without the help of the dog. The friendly goat perhaps came to man of its -own accord; the peaceful sheep let itself be folded without resistance; but the ox, -terrible in power and anger, throwing the disemboweled enemy heavenward with a toss -of its horns, certainly did not let itself be led from its native forest to the stable -without a fight. No account has come down to us of the brave men who first dared to -attack the formidable beast with <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2616">[<a href="#xd31e2616">288</a>]</span>the hope of subjugating it; nor does any record remain of the difficult training which, -perhaps prolonged through centuries, finally reduced the wild creature to a state -of docility. The very first historical reference to the ox in the earliest annals -of our race shows him to us as a patient, docile beast, submissive to the yoke, and -in short no other than he is to-day. -</p> -<p>“But if these bull-tamers of ancient times remain unknown, all the East preserves -the memory of their invaluable achievement. The man was forgotten, but the animal -was fêted, here in one way, there in another, according to the fancy of a simple, -imaginative people striving in every possible manner to evince gratitude for services -rendered. I have told you of ancient Egypt and its raising of marble temples to the -bull, and I have also described its practice of bowing the forehead to the dust when -the majestic beast passed with its retinue of attendants. Elsewhere it was enjoined -on every one as a religious duty of the most sacred kind to raise at least one ox; -and, again, in still another country, where horned cattle were not yet plentiful enough -to make it permissible to use them for food, the laws punished with death anybody -who killed or even maltreated one of these animals. In our day, in India, the cow -is a thrice-sacred animal. Its tail, symbol of honor, is carried as a standard before -the great; and to win favors from Heaven the people believe there is no surer way -than to smear the body with cow’s dung and then go and wash in the waters of the Ganges. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2620">[<a href="#xd31e2620">289</a>]</span>These anointings with the holy dung make you smile, children; in me they arouse serious -reflections. From what depths of misery must not the domestic animals have raised -us if the Hindoo of our time still preserves in these strange rites some vestiges -of the ancient veneration of the entire Orient for one of these animals, and that -one the most important, the ox?” -</p> -<p>“I should say it was a strange rite,” declared Jules, “to daub oneself with dung in -honor of the cow. They might have hit on a better way.” -</p> -<p>“In every age and in every land popular imagination has easily lent itself and still -lends itself to extravagant notions. In the most important city of the South I have -seen, I, Uncle Paul, the people leading through the streets, in triumphal procession, -the fattened ox that was to be sacrificed on Easter Eve. A laurel branch on its forehead, -many-colored ribbons on its horns, the peaceful beast bore on its shoulders a pretty -little child, rosy, plump, clothed in a lamb’s skin. A retinue accompanied it in bright-colored -costumes. Is not that a vague reminder of the procession of the bull Apis, with this -difference that the Egyptian bull returned after the ceremony to its perfumed manger, -while ours meets its end in the heavy blow awaiting it at the slaughter-house? It -is the custom for the be-ribboned ox to be led from door to door, where its escort -never fails to present the basin for offerings, great and small; for it is to be noted -that at the bottom of every superstition is found the quest of the piece of coin. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2625">[<a href="#xd31e2625">290</a>]</span>Thus takes place throughout all France, with more or less pomp, the procession of -the fattened ox. -</p> -<p>“But here is a peculiarity worthy of note. If the house has a wide enough entrance -door, the ox is led into the vestibule, where its presence is supposed to confer honor; -and if by good luck at that moment the animal deposits on the floor some of the material -used by the Hindoo for smearing himself, it is the greatest possible blessing for -the visited. A prosperous future is presaged by a few spans’ breadth of this dung, -according to the hope and belief of the simple folk. You see, my friends, without -leaving home we find, under a little different form, the Indian customs that make -you smile so. I cannot but see therein the survivals of the ancient honors paid to -the bull. Without explaining these customs to themselves, without knowing their origin, -without understanding their significance, the people perpetuate them among us.” -</p> -<p>“The survivals from those old customs,” remarked Jules, “prove clearly that the acquisition -of the ox left an ineffaceable trace on man’s mind; but, once more, why didn’t they -hit on some better way to honor the ox?” -</p> -<p>“Well, if you want something better as a mark of honor, perhaps this will satisfy -you: the invaluable animal has its name written forever among the stars, those jewels -of the sky. I will explain myself. History tells us that we owe the invention of astronomy -to the shepherds of the East, who spent their leisure night-hours, under the mildest -of skies, in <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2631">[<a href="#xd31e2631">291</a>]</span>deciphering the secrets of the stars while their flocks rested in the open air. To -get their bearings in the midst of the infinite multitude of stars, these shepherds -gave to the principal groups or constellations names that have been perpetuated and -that science still uses. Man’s most precious possession received at that time a celestial -consecration by having its name given to such and such a part of the sky. One of the -constellations was called Taurus (the bull); and that is what it still is and always -will be called. In this group are seen stars that form an angle, the two branches -of which represent the animal’s horns; there is also a superb star that darts red -fire and suggests the sparkling eye of an infuriated bull. What greater honor could -the bull receive than to be thus placed among the splendors of the sky?” -</p> -<p>“The shepherds’ idea fully satisfies me; nothing better could be imagined for the -glorification of the ox. Other domestic animals doubtless have had places assigned -them in the firmament?” -</p> -<p>“Of course. Another constellation is called Aries (the ram), another Capricornus (goat-horned).” -</p> -<p>“And how about the dog?” Emile asked. -</p> -<p>“The dog was not to be forgotten: is it not man’s earliest ally, the courageous servant -that made possible the taming of the herd? Its name has been given to a magnificent -constellation in which shines the brightest star in the sky.” -</p> -<p>“And the others, the cat, horse, pig, and donkey?” -</p> -<p>“None of them received from the ancient shepherds the honor of a place in the firmament, -their acquisition <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2641">[<a href="#xd31e2641">292</a>]</span>being undoubtedly more recent and of less importance. Briefly, my friends, the most -esteemed and the most ancient of our domestic animals have been glorified by honors -never bestowed upon prince, emperor, or monarch. Man’s gratitude has placed them among -the splendors of the firmament. -</p> -<p>“In Asia, where it originated, the ox is no longer found wild; but in the pampas of -South America the species has resumed its primitive freedom and, mingled with horses -that have become equally wild, lives in vast herds beyond the supervision of man. -<i>Pampas</i> is the name given to the immense plains extending from Buenos Aires to the foot of -the Cordilleras of the Andes. During the rainy season they furnish rich pasturage -of tall grass, but in the dry season verdure disappears and the soil becomes a powdery -plain where thistles wave. Nothing, not even a tree, breaks the uniformity of these -plains, the limits of which cannot be seen in any direction. There lives the wild -ox, descendant of the domesticated ox that the Spaniards brought to this part of the -New World, for the species did not exist anywhere in America before the arrival of -Europeans. -</p> -<p>“The few pairs that escaped from their stables or were left to themselves in the pastures -of the pampas three or four centuries ago, have multiplied so rapidly that to-day -the number of cattle there is incalculable. More than two hundred thousand are slaughtered -every year, and still the herds show no sign of diminution. The carnage has long been -and still continues to be carried on for the sake of the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2649">[<a href="#xd31e2649">293</a>]</span>hides, or at least this is in great part the purpose.” -</p> -<p>“They kill the cattle just for the hides?” asked Jules incredulously. “Then the meat -isn’t good for anything?” -</p> -<p>“It is excellent, but they do not know what to do with it, there is so much. The population -of the country not being sufficient to consume this enormous quantity of food, the -cattle are slaughtered, the hides removed and cured, after which they can be kept -indefinitely, and the flesh is left behind as a useless encumbrance. This is a waste -much to be regretted, for with us meat is becoming scarcer every day, and our food -problem would find a ready solution in the pampas cattle that now feed only carnivorous -animals. -</p> -<p>“It is true that attempts are made to save a part of this copious supply of provision. -The meat is cut into strips which are dried in the sun or salted or smoked, as a means -of preservation; and in this state commerce carries them to all parts of the world. -Unfortunately, I must acknowledge, this meat preserved by salting, smoking, or drying -is not very palatable eating. Let us hope that improved methods of preserving will -be introduced, and that some day South America will furnish Europe a rich supply of -butcher’s meat. -</p> -<p>“In the present state of things the pampas cattle are hunted principally for their -hides. I say hunted, for the cattle of the grassy plains of Buenos Aires may be called -veritable game, since these animals do not fall, as do our cattle, under the blow -of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2656">[<a href="#xd31e2656">294</a>]</span>the butcher’s hammer, but are pursued in the open pasture and killed on the spot. -The hunter is on horseback. For weapon he has the lasso; that is to say, a very long -and tough leather thong, fastened at one end to the saddle-bow, armed at the other -with balls of lead. When the hunted animal is within reach, the hunter throws the -perfidious leather thong, which, whistling and following the course of the lead, encircles -the animal’s horns and neck. At the touch of the spur the horse gallops off, putting -forth all its strength, and drags the half-strangled ox after it. A plunge of the -dagger in the heart finishes the beast. After removing the skin and rolling it up -on the crupper of his horse, the cattle-hunter resumes his quest, leaving to the birds -of prey the dead bodies whose bones, whitened by rain and sun, will serve him on future -expeditions as material for building himself a hut.” -</p> -<p>“A hut of bones!” exclaimed Emile. -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend. On those vast plains wood is lacking as well as stones. Therefore -bones, piled one on top of another, serve the hunter of the pampas for building him -a shelter, where he rests under a grass roof. The skull of an ox with long horns serves -him as a seat by day and a pillow at night.” -</p> -<p>“It seems to me I shouldn’t sleep very well with my head between the two horns of -an ox’s skull.” -</p> -<p>“The hardened hunter of the pampas sleeps on it as on feathers.” -</p> -<p>“And what do they do with all those hides that they get by hunting the ox?” asked -Jules. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2665">[<a href="#xd31e2665">295</a>]</span></p> -<p>“There is an extensive commerce in those hides. Ships bring them to us, well salted, -so that they will keep. In our tanneries the salt is washed out, and then with oak-bark -they are made into leather for boots and shoes.” -</p> -<p>“Then the leather of our shoes may come from some ox strangled by the lasso on the -pampas?” Louis queried. -</p> -<p>“There is nothing impossible in that. I would not say positively that we are not wearing -shoes made from the hide of a wild ox, for Buenos Aires supplies a considerable part -of our deficiency in leather. It may be, on the other hand, that our shoes come simply -from the domestic ox, whose hide is put to the same use as that of the South American -bullock. You are at liberty to ascribe your footwear to either source.” -</p> -<p>“For my part,” Emile declared, “I choose the wild ox, and perhaps its body is now -being used by some hunter for his hut.” -</p> -<p>“To finish the subject of tame cattle that have run wild, I will say a few words about -the herds of Camargue. A little below Arles, about seven leagues from the sea, the -Rhone forks and encloses between its two branches and the Mediterranean a large triangular -plain. That is Camargue, a shifting tract subject to the action of both fresh and -salt water, receiving the alluvial deposits of the river and the sands of the sea. -There are three different regions to be distinguished in going from the riverbanks -to the interior of the island, where there is a <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2672">[<a href="#xd31e2672">296</a>]</span>large pond known as the <span class="corr" id="xd31e2674" title="Source: Valcarès">Vaccarès</span> Pond. These regions comprise the cultivated territory, the pasture land, and the -group of ponds. The first, running the length of the two outlets of the Rhone, is -wonderfully fertile, being made so by the annual deposits of silt. Rich harvests gild -these strips of land along the river, the current of which prevents the infiltration -of salt from the sea. Going further, one comes to the salt marshes, and finally, from -the center of the island to the sea, stretches the region of ponds. This last is merely -dry land in the making, a plain in the process of formation, with the river constantly -adding its accretions of soil and the sea forever washing them away. -</p> -<p>“In the portion devoted to pasturage roam thousands of bullocks that have reverted -to the wild state, unprovided with shelter of any sort and free from all surveillance -except such as is exercised by mounted keepers who, at long intervals, come and round -up the unruly herds with the aid of a trident. Black, small, and stocky, with fierce -eyes and menacing horns, they have resumed the primitive characteristics of the race. -Bad luck to whoever should come and disturb them at their sport among the reeds. Only -the herdsman, mounted on a fast horse and equipped with a trident for pricking the -nostrils of the beasts, can control the wild herd. In one particular alone are we -reminded that they are still man’s servants, victims destined for his slaughter-houses -and sometimes also, alas, set apart for his entertainment in the barbaric bull-fight: -on their <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2679">[<a href="#xd31e2679">297</a>]</span>shoulders the mark of the proprietor is branded with red-hot iron. -</p> -<p>“Over the same prairies gallop, heedless of bad weather and proud of their freedom, -horses descended from those that the Arabs, once masters of the south of France, left -in these regions. They are white in color, small, active, and skittish. Their mouth -knows not the bit, nor their hoof the shoe. At harvest time they are led up from their -pasture-ground to tread the threshing-floor and thresh the wheat. The work finished, -they are set free again. -</p> -<p>“Of all our domestic animals the ox is certainly the most useful. During its lifetime -it draws the cart in mountainous regions and works at the plow in the tillage of the -fields; furthermore, the cow furnishes milk in abundance. Given over to the butcher, -the animal becomes a source of manifold products, each part of its body having a value -of its own. The flesh is highly nutritious; the skin is made into leather for harness -and shoes; the hair furnishes stuffing for saddles; the tallow serves for making candles -and soap; the bones, half calcined, give a kind of charcoal or bone-black used especially -for refining sugar and making it perfectly white; this charcoal, after being thus -used, is a very rich agricultural fertilizer; heated in water to a high temperature, -the same bones yield the glue used by carpenters; the largest and thickest bones go -to the turner’s shop, where they are manufactured into buttons and other small objects; -the horns are fashioned by the maker of small-wares into snuff-boxes <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2685">[<a href="#xd31e2685">298</a>]</span>and powder-boxes; the blood is used concurrently with the bone-black in refining sugar; -the intestines, cured, twisted, and dried, are made into strings for musical instruments; -finally, the gall is frequently turned to account by dyers and cleaners in cleaning -fabrics and partially restoring their original luster. -</p> -<p>“But this does not exhaust the list of the animal’s merits. Under man’s care, under -the influence of climate, soil, and manner of living, the ox has become modified and -has given us many different breeds that have adapted themselves to the most varied -conditions of existence; one breed furnishing more work, another more meat, and still -another more dairy food, according to our choice. Among the breeds scattered over -France I will limit myself to the following. -</p> -<p>“A stocky body, large and strong head, short, thick horns, short and massive neck, -powerful legs, bold appearance, quick walk, medium-sized and well-shaped body—these -natural endowments make the Gascon breed one of the best for work. Its coat, generally -brown or tawny, is always lighter along the back. The chief source of this breed is -the department of Gers. -</p> -<p>“The Salers breed is originally from the department of Cantal. Its coat is bright -red, often with white splashes on the rump and belly. The horns are large, smooth, -black at the tips, of symmetrical shape, and pointing a little backward. Very rustic, -sober, intelligent, vigorous, inured to toil, the Salers ox is an excellent worker. -When fattened at the end <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2691">[<a href="#xd31e2691">299</a>]</span>of its toilsome service, it gives abundant, firm, and savory meat. The cow, if well -fed, can furnish as much as twenty liters of milk a day. -</p> -<p>“The Breton breed stocks the five departments of ancient Brittany. It is characterized -by smallness of body, readiness for work, and remarkable excellence of milk, which -is rich in butter-fat. The cow’s coat is spotted with white and black in large splashes, -and she has a black muzzle, slender horns, bright eyes, and determined gait. The ox, -similarly spotted with black and white, has powerful and very pointed horns; but the -peaceful beast never dreams of using its formidable weapons. -</p> -<p>“The Normandy breed furnishes animals of enormous size, little adapted to work, and -hence reserved for the butcher. Some of these gigantic animals raised in the rich -pastures of Normandy are said to have attained the weight of 1970 kilograms. In the -Normandy ox the head is long and heavy, muzzle broad, the mouth deeply cut, the skin -thick and hard, the hair close, sometimes red, sometimes brown, sometimes black and -white. The horns are rather short and are borne well forward on the forehead. On an -average the cow gives 3000 liters of milk a year. -</p> -<p>“The Garonne breed, occupying the basin of the Garonne River from Toulouse to Bordeaux, -is likewise tall, corpulent, and almost as highly esteemed for butchering as the Normandy -breed. Its coat is uniform in shade, resembling in color the yellow of wheat. The -horns, which turn forward, are white <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2697">[<a href="#xd31e2697">300</a>]</span>all over; the edge of the eyelids and the nose are pale pink. In fact, the whole physiognomy -of the animal has something remarkably peaceful about it.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2699">[<a href="#xd31e2699">301</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch30" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e479">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXX</h2> -<h2 class="main">MILK</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Mother Ambroisine had just milked the goat for breakfast. While Emile and Jules were -crumbling their bread each in a cup of milk, foamy and still warm, Uncle Paul, who -takes advantage of every occasion for enriching the intelligence of his young nephews -with new ideas, thus began the conversation: -</p> -<p>“What a priceless resource we have in milk; what delicious breakfasts with this food -so nourishing, so light, so appetizing! To judge by the reception you are giving it -at this moment, you know well how to appreciate its value.” -</p> -<p>“For my part,” Emile declared, “I like milk better than anything else Mother Ambroisine -can give us, especially when the bread is toasted a little over the coals.” -</p> -<p>“I don’t need anything of that sort,” said Jules, “to make the milk first-rate.” -</p> -<p>“Since you like milk so much, you shall learn something about it; then your breakfast -will give you a double benefit, food for the body and food for the mind. -</p> -<p>“Let us speak first of a property the effects of which you have doubtless seen more -than once without <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2711">[<a href="#xd31e2711">302</a>]</span>paying attention to them. At times the milk turns, as they say; in other words, it -curdles. Why is that? You do not know. I will tell you. -</p> -<p>“Here is a glass of milk just as it came from the goat. It is of irreproachable fluidity -without the slightest trace of curdling. I squeeze into it a drop of lemon juice, -one only, and stir the liquid. Immediately a great change is effected: one part of -the milk clots and rises to the surface in thick white flakes; another part remains -liquid, but loses its whiteness and becomes like slightly turbid water. If I let the -glass stand for some time, the curd collects at the surface and floats on a clear -liquid. With a drop of lemon juice I have just made the milk turn quickly.” -</p> -<p>Emile examined with lively interest the contents of the glass thus speedily transformed. -His uncle, whom nothing escapes, perceived it. “What is it you are looking at so attentively?” -he asked. -</p> -<p>“Your experiment,” Emile answered, “reminds me of what happened to my milk one day -at breakfast. To my toasted bread, which Jules turns up his nose at, I wanted to add -something still better. I had an orange and I took it into my head to squeeze the -juice into my cup of milk, thinking to make a delicious drink of the mixture. Who -was the fool that time? It was giddy Emile. The milk instantly curdled, just like -this when you squeezed the lemon juice into it. Trying to improve my cup of milk, -I only made it so that I had to throw it all away, it had gone so bad.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2717">[<a href="#xd31e2717">303</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I wish I could have seen the face Emile made,” said Jules, “when he saw the result -of his improvement.” -</p> -<p>“I was much surprised, I admit,” Emile rejoined, “to find how two things, orange juice -and milk, each excellent by itself, could make such a nasty drink when mixed.” -</p> -<p>“In future, my friends, you will know that anything sour makes milk turn. What I brought -about with lemon juice you effected with orange, which contains, though in small quantity -and masked by the sweet flavor of the fruit, exactly the same ingredient that gives -the lemon its sour taste. -</p> -<p>“The juice of sorrel leaves, that of green grapes, and of unripe fruits in general, -vinegar, and in fact everything with a similar taste, make milk turn at once. These -<span class="corr" id="xd31e2724" title="Source: soul-tasting">sour-tasting</span> substances are called acids. Vinegar is an acid; that which gives its sourness to -the lemon is another; green grapes contain a third; sorrel leaves furnish a fourth. -The number of acids is very considerable. All those that we need to know anything -about have this same sharp flavor, sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker; all, in short, -make milk curdle just as I showed you with the acid of the lemon. -</p> -<p>“From theory let us turn to practice. Cleanliness in everything is of the first importance, -but in the care of milk especially must one be scrupulous in this particular. The -vessels for holding it and keeping it any length of time must be carefully and thoroughly -cleaned as often as they are used, if one <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2729">[<a href="#xd31e2729">304</a>]</span>would avoid the risk of its turning. Suppose a few drops of old milk or some remnants -of any kind of food are left in a pot, tucked away where they are hard to get at: -these impurities soon turn sour, especially in warm weather, and the milk, finding -an acid substance in the vessel, quickly spoils and curdles. How often the milk itself -is blamed for this accident when want of cleanliness is the sole cause! -</p> -<p>“Milk contains three principal substances, namely: cream, or fatty matter from which -butter is made; casein, or curds, used for making cheese; and, finally, a substance -with a slightly sweet taste called sugar of milk. These three ingredients taken away, -hardly anything is left but water. To separate these three, one proceeds as follows: -</p> -<p>“Left standing in a cool place and exposed to the air, milk becomes covered, sooner -or later, according to the season, with a thick oily layer that takes the name of -cream. This is the material from which butter is made. It rises to the surface unaided -and separates when simply exposed to the air. It is removed with a skimmer. -</p> -<p>“What is left is skimmed milk, of the same whiteness, the same appearance, as the -original milk, but deprived of its fatty matter. Into this skimmed milk let us pour -a few drops of some acid, lemon juice for example. The milk turns and thick white -flakes are formed. Those flakes are the curd, the casein, in short the material of -which cheese is composed. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2735">[<a href="#xd31e2735">305</a>]</span></p> -<p>“After the casein has been removed there remains nothing but a transparent liquid -that might be taken for water slightly tinted with yellow. This liquid is called whey. -It contains little besides water with a small quantity of sugar of milk which gives -it a slightly sweet taste. It is especially in Switzerland that sugar of milk is obtained -on a large scale by the evaporation of the liquid that remains after removing the -cream and curds from the milk. In spite of its name this substance has nothing in -common with ordinary sugar, the white loaf-sugar we use; it is a dull-white substance, -rather hard, crunching under the teeth, and of a slightly sugary taste. It is used -only in pharmacy. -</p> -<p>“Cream and casein constitute the nutritive ingredients of milk, and determine its -food value. The milk that is richest in these constituents is sheep’s milk, next comes -goats’ milk, and last of all cows’ milk. Although of little value to us, sugar of -milk claims our attention for a moment on account of the change it undergoes to the -great detriment of the milk itself. Little by little, especially when exposed to the -heat of summer, this sugary matter sours and becomes an acid. That is what makes milk -sour if kept too long. Of course when this sourness shows itself the milk soon curdles. -Coagulation takes place as if an acid had been added to the milk. Hence, to keep milk -for some time and prevent its turning sour of its own accord, this acidulation of -the sugar of milk must be delayed. This is done by taking care to boil the milk a -little every day.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2739">[<a href="#xd31e2739">306</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch31" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e489">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXI</h2> -<h2 class="main">BUTTER</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“From milk,” continued Uncle Paul, “we make butter and cheese. I have just explained -to you in a few words how the ingredients composing them—that is, cream and casein—are -obtained in their separate forms; but further details are now called for, and I will -give them to you, beginning with butter. -</p> -<p>“The material necessary for making butter is cream, a fatty substance disseminated -through the milk in excessively fine and almost invisible particles. When milk is -left undisturbed in a cool place and exposed to the air, these particles of fat rise -to the surface little by little and collect there in a layer of cream. An example -taken from things familiar to you will explain the cause of this spontaneous separation. -</p> -<p>“Oil, you know, cannot in any way be made to dissolve in water. If a mixture of the -two liquids is well shaken, the oil divides into an infinity of tiny globules uniformly -distributed, and the whole takes on a whitish tint that looks something like milk. -But this condition is only temporary. If you stop heating or shaking the mixture, -the oil, the lighter part, comes to the surface, globule by globule, and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2748">[<a href="#xd31e2748">307</a>]</span>soon the two liquids are completely separated, the oil on top, the water at the bottom. -If a little gum were added to the water to make it sticky, the separation of the oil -would be less easily effected and the mixture would retain its milky appearance for -a longer time; nevertheless the two liquids would always end by separating. -</p> -<p>“The fatty matter composing butter behaves in the same way as the oil of our experiment. -It is not dissolved by the milk; it is simply divided into very minute particles that -are held in place by a liquid thickened with casein, just as water thickened with -gum holds for a long time the tiny drops of oil. Left undisturbed long enough, these -oily particles free themselves and rise to the surface.” -</p> -<p>“Cream rises to the top of milk,” observed Jules, “just as oil that has been shaken -up with water rises to the surface; only the separation is slower on account of the -casein that thickens the liquid.” -</p> -<p>“That is the secret of this curious separation. Milk is placed in large earthen nappies, -smaller at the bottom than at the top, and thus a large surface is exposed to the -cooling action of the air, which hastens the separation of the cream. The full nappy -is put in a cool and very quiet place. In summer half a day is long enough for the -rising of the cream; in winter it takes at least twenty-four hours. When the separation -is finished, the cream is removed with a skimmer or a large almost flat spoon. -</p> -<p>“Cream is yellowish white, oily to the touch on account of its greasy matter, and -sweet and very <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2755">[<a href="#xd31e2755">308</a>]</span>pleasant to the taste, having the flavor of both fresh butter and cheese. It is most -delicious eating.” -</p> -<p>“We know that,” Emile assented, “from those capital sandwiches Mother Ambroisine makes -for us with cream on feast days.” -</p> -<p>“That delicacy,” remarked his uncle, “cannot be allowed every day, for the cream is -needed for butter for the family.” -</p> -<p>“Once I helped Mother Ambroisine work the little butter machine, a kind of small cask -called a churn. Why do we have to thump so long to get the butter?” -</p> -<p>“That is what I am going to explain to you. In cream the particles of butter are simply -grouped side by side, without forming a united body. Besides, a layer of moisture, -coming from the whey, isolates them and prevents their uniting. To combine all these -particles into a compact mass of butter, it is necessary to squeeze out the milk and -knead them together. This is accomplished by prolonged beating. -</p> -<p>“The implement used is called a churn. The simplest consists of a kind of small cask -larger at the bottom than at the top. The cover is pierced with an opening through -which runs a rod carrying a perforated wooden disc on the end inside the churn. After -the cream has been poured into the churn, the operator takes the rod in both hands -and vigorously raises it and plunges it down in alternate strokes, thus causing the -terminal disc to rise and fall in the creamy mass. By this prolonged beating the fatty -particles unite and become butter. Sometimes the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2764">[<a href="#xd31e2764">309</a>]</span>churn is made of a small cask in which turns by means of a crank an axle bearing perforated -wings or blades which beat the cream in their rotation. -</p> -<p>“Some precautions must be taken to carry this delicate operation through successfully. -During the heat of summer churning should be done only in the morning and in a cool -place. It is even well to set the churn in a tub of cold water. If this is neglected -the butter may turn sour in the process of churning. In winter, on the contrary, the -churn should be kept a little warm by wrapping it in warmed cloths and working it -near the fire. Cold hardens the fatty particles and prevents their uniting. If nothing -is done to raise the temperature enough to soften them they will be slow in turning -to butter and the operation will be long. -</p> -<p>“As soon as all the fatty particles are well stuck together the butter is made. It -is taken out of the churn and put into cold water, in which it is kneaded over and -over again with a large wooden spoon to press out the whey with which it is impregnated. -</p> -<p>“If the butter is to be eaten soon, it suffices to keep it in water that is changed -every day for the sake of freshness and to prevent the butter’s souring. But if it -is to be kept for a long time, more thorough-going means of preservation are necessary. -The most simple method consists in kneading it with kitchen salt, well dried in the -oven and reduced to fine powder. After salting, the butter is put in earthen jars -and the surface covered with a layer of salt. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2770">[<a href="#xd31e2770">310</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Another way to keep butter is to melt it. I must tell you, to begin with, that butter, -however carefully prepared it may be, always contains a certain quantity of whey and -casein. These are the substances that, changing later by contact with the air, make -butter sour and finally rancid. If the fatty matter were all by itself, if it could -be completely rid of the casein and whey that go with it, we could keep it much longer. -This result is attained by melting. -</p> -<p>“The butter is placed in a kettle over a bright fire that is even and moderate. Melting -soon begins. The moisture of the whey is evaporated, this process being hastened by -stirring the melted mass. A part of the casein rises to the surface and forms a scum -which is removed; another part collects at the bottom of the kettle. When the melted -butter looks like oil and when a drop of it thrown on the coals takes fire without -crackling, thus proving that it is quite free from moisture, the operation is finished. -The kettle is taken off the fire, the liquid is left standing a few minutes to give -the casein time to settle at the bottom, and finally the butter is poured by spoonfuls -into earthen jars carefully dried in the oven. These jars should be of small capacity -and narrow opening, so as to prevent as much as possible the access of air, the cause -of change in all our food substances. It is advisable to put on top of the butter, -as soon as it hardens, a layer of salt, as is done with salted butter. Finally the -jars are closed with parchment, which is tied on with string.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2774">[<a href="#xd31e2774">311</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch32" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e499">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXII</h2> -<h2 class="main">RENNET</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“In the making of cheese the first step is to cause the milk to curdle. Lemon juice, -vinegar, or any other acid would bring about this result, as we have already seen; -but it is customary to make use of another and much more efficacious liquid called -rennet. Let us learn first what this liquid consists of. That calls for certain explanations -apparently foreign to our subject, but nevertheless leading directly to it. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p303width"><img src="images/p303.png" alt="Typical Ruminant Stomach" width="227" height="109"><p class="figureHead">Typical Ruminant Stomach</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p><span class="corr" id="xd31e2785" title="Not in source">“</span>Among our domestic animals three, the ox, goat and sheep, are remarkable for their -horns and split hoofs. All three have a way of eating very different from that of -other kinds of animals. The dog, for example, after masticating its food sufficiently, -swallows it once for all and passes it into a single digestive cavity called the stomach, -where it becomes a fluid mass suitable for nutrition. On the contrary, the goat, sheep, -and ox chew and swallow the same food twice; at two different times, with a rather -long interval between, the same fodder is subjected to mastication and passed down -the throat. -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2787">[<a href="#xd31e2787">312</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Animals are characterized as ‘ruminant’ that, after chewing their food once and letting -it pass into the digestive cavity, bring it back into the mouth for a more complete -trituration. The ox, goat, and sheep are ruminants. Instead of only one stomach they -have four, that is to say four membranous pouches where the alimentary matter passes -from one to another before being converted into a sort of nutritive soup. -</p> -<p>“The first of these pouches is called the paunch. It is a spacious cavity in which -the animal accumulates the fodder that has been hastily browsed and not thoroughly -chewed. Its inside surface is thickly covered with short flat filaments that give -it the appearance of coarse velvet. -</p> -<p>“Watch the ox and sheep in the pasture. They crop the grass without stopping, without -a moment’s rest; they chew very slightly, very hastily, and then swallow; one mouthful -does not wait on another. It is the time for filling the paunch without losing a bite -by prolonged chewing. Later, in the hours of repose, there will be leisure for bringing -up again the food swallowed and for grinding it to the proper fineness. -</p> -<p>“This receptacle known as the paunch having received its due supply of fodder, the -animal retires to a quiet spot, lies down in a comfortable position, and takes up -at its ease, for hours at a time, the work of chewing. This second stage in the preparation -of the food under the millstone of the teeth is called rumination. The ox is then -seen patiently chewing, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2793">[<a href="#xd31e2793">313</a>]</span>with an air of gentle satisfaction, without taking anything from outside. What is -it eating thus, when there is apparently no fodder within reach? It is re-eating what -has been stored up in the paunch, and which now comes up from the bottom of the stomach -in little mouthfuls. Then the motion of the jaws ceases, the mouthful is swallowed, -and immediately after something round and bulging is seen making its way upward under -the skin of the neck. It is a fresh alimentary ball coming up from the paunch to the -mouth to be chewed. Ball by ball, the mass of fodder accumulated in the paunch comes -back thus to be ground by the teeth to the right degree of fineness and then swallowed -for good.” -</p> -<p>“That’s a clever way to eat,” was Emile’s comment. “In order not to lose a moment -of their time in the pasture, the sheep, goat, and ox do not stop to do their chewing -there: they browse without stopping and store up a good supply. Then, lying down comfortably -in the shade, they bring up again the contents of the paunch and grind it at their -ease, little by little.” -</p> -<p>“The second stomachic cavity is called the reticulum, its inner surface presenting -a reticulated appearance, with an arrangement of dentate and laminate folds forming, -all together, an elaborate network of meshes. This curious formation cannot fail to -strike you if you look for a moment at a piece of tripe, one of our countless articles -of food; for what is called tripe is nothing but the collective stomach of the ox.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2798">[<a href="#xd31e2798">314</a>]</span></p> -<p>“I remember having seen that beautiful honeycomb network,” said Jules, “and the coarse -velvet lining of the paunch. They were very interesting.” -</p> -<p>“The office of the honeycomb is to receive, in small portions, the food already somewhat -softened in the paunch, and to mold it into balls, which rise one at a time to the -ruminant’s mouth. That in fact is where the alimentary balls are made that we see -gliding from below upward, under the skin of the neck of the ruminating ox. -</p> -<p>“After being re-chewed to the proper fineness the food does not return to the paunch, -where it would mix with material not yet similarly prepared; it goes to the third -stomach, or manyplies, so named on account of its numerous and wide parallel folds, -having some resemblance in arrangement to the leaves of a book. -</p> -<p>“From the manyplies the food passes finally to a fourth and last stomach called the -rennet-bag. After this come the intestines. Now guess whence we get that significant -name of rennet, knowing as you do what I have especially in mind in this connection?” -</p> -<p>“You have in mind,” answered Jules, “a certain liquid, rennet, that makes milk curdle -quickly. The word rennet, or runnet, as it is also written, must be connected with -the verb run, in the sense of dropping, coagulating. Can it be, then, that from this -fourth stomach or rennet-bag of ruminants we get the liquid rennet that is used for -curdling milk?” -</p> -<p>“You have said it yourself,” declared Uncle Paul, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2807">[<a href="#xd31e2807">315</a>]</span>much pleased at his nephew’s clear explanation of the matter. “It is from the fourth -stomach of ruminant animals that we obtain rennet, the most efficacious substance -known for curdling milk. -</p> -<p>“Preferably it is the rennet-bag of a young calf that is selected; then it is cleaned -carefully, salted, and dried. Thus treated, it keeps a long time. When it is required -for use, a piece as large as your two fingers is cut off and put to soak in a glass -of water or whey. The next morning two or three spoonfuls of this liquid, called rennet, -is added to each liter of milk. In a very short time, if kept moderately warm, the -milk turns to a mass of fresh cheese.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2811">[<a href="#xd31e2811">316</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch33" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e510">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">CHEESE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“The chief constituent of cheese is casein coagulated by the action of rennet. But, -prepared from casein alone, cheese would be coarse and almost tasteless, and when -dry would become as hard as stone. To give tenderness and flavor to the paste-like -mass, the cream is commonly retained in milk used for making cheese. The casein furnishes -the main substance of the product, while the cream contributes what might be called -the seasoning. -</p> -<p>“Hence we have two principal varieties of cheese: one, prepared with milk from which -the cream has been taken, contains only casein; the second, made from unskimmed milk, -contains both casein and cream. The first kind, known as cottage cheese, white cheese, -or, more expressively, skim-milk cheese, has little food value and is not made for -its own sake, but in order to put to some use the milk that has already served to -make butter. The second kind, called cream cheese, is what commonly appears on our -tables in different varieties and varying appearance, according to the quality of -the milk and the mode of preparation. -</p> -<p>“To make cheese still more unctuous and to give <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2820">[<a href="#xd31e2820">317</a>]</span>it a finer flavor, we do not always content ourselves with using milk in its natural -state; to the cream that it naturally contains we often add some more from milk skimmed -expressly for the purpose. The cheeses thus enriched with fatty matter are the most -delicate of all. Again, we occasionally adopt a middle course, using neither natural -milk nor entirely creamless milk, but of two equal parts of milk we keep one just -as it is and skim the other, mixing them together afterward. -</p> -<p>“By adding or withdrawing, in varying quantities, this fatty constituent of the milk, -we obtain as many different varieties of cheese. If also we bear in mind that sheep’s -milk has not exactly the same properties as goats’ milk, nor goats’ milk the same -properties as cows’ milk; if we remember, further, that the same animal’s milk varies -according to the nature of its feed and the care given to the herd; and if, finally, -we take into account the different methods of manufacture, of one sort in one place, -of another sort somewhere else, we shall understand how numerous may be and in fact -are the various kinds of cheese.” -</p> -<p>“For my part,” Jules interposed, “I know at least half a dozen kinds. There is Roquefort, -a pasty cheese streaked with blue and of a sharp flavor; Gruyère, riddled with large -round holes and yellowish in color, and clear like quartz; Auvergne, as large as a -big millstone and not very delicate in flavor; Brie, in thin, wide cakes that sweat -a kind of ill-smelling cream; Mont d’Or, packed with a little <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2825">[<a href="#xd31e2825">318</a>]</span>straw in a round deal box; and a lot of others that I can’t remember now.” -</p> -<p>“Jules has just told us the best known kinds of cheese; I will add a few words on -the way they are made. -</p> -<p>“Fresh cheeses are those that are eaten soon after being made. They are white and -soft. They are made of either skimmed or unskimmed milk, and in the latter case they -are incomparably better. When the rennet has brought about coagulation, the curdled -milk is poured into round molds of tin or glazed earthenware, with holes in the bottom -for the escape of the whey contained in the curdled mass. As soon as this has drained -enough and is sufficiently firm, the cheese is done, and it is taken from the mold -ready for the table without any other preparation.” -</p> -<p>“That’s the cheese I like best,” Emile declared. “It’s the kind we spread on slices -of bread to make those delicious sandwiches.” -</p> -<p>“That is very true, but it has the fault of not keeping long. In a few days it turns -sour and uneatable. All the other cheeses would do the same, all would spoil and become -sour if certain measures were not taken to prevent this. These measures consist in -the use of salt, which is rubbed and sprinkled on the outside of the cheese, and sometimes -even mixed with the curd itself. All cheeses, then, that are to be kept a long time -receive more or less salt, while fresh cheese is not salted at all. -</p> -<p>“Of these salted cheeses some are soft, some hard. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2834">[<a href="#xd31e2834">319</a>]</span>That of Brie, named from the district where the best is made, in the department of -Seine-et-Marne, is a large and thin soft cake, made of sheep’s milk. It is salted -on both sides with finely powdered salt, and is left to soak for two or three days -in the salted liquid that drips from it. The salting finished, the cheeses are packed -in a cask with alternate layers of straw, and are left alone for several months. Then -there starts a kind of fermentation, which is the beginning of putrefaction, and which -develops new qualities. The curd loses its odor and insipid taste of milk-food, to -acquire the heightened flavor and strong smell of cheese; its mass becomes more oily, -even partially fluid, and changes under the rind to a liquid pap of creamy appearance. -This work of modification is called refining. It has gone just far enough when the -liquid part under the rind is of a pleasant taste. The cheeses are then taken out -of the cask and are ready for eating. -</p> -<p>“This first example shows us that cheese acquires its peculiar qualities through an -incipient deterioration. Before this putrefaction sets in the cheese is simply curd, -sweetish, insipid, without pronounced odor; after this process it has the odor, the -taste, in fact all that is required to make it really cheese. But the putrefaction, -once started artificially, does not stop where we should like it to stop. It goes -on all the time, slowly indeed if we take some precautions, and the cheese, smelling -more and more, and tasting stronger and stronger, ends by becoming a mass of rottenness. -All cheese, therefore, when it <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2838">[<a href="#xd31e2838">320</a>]</span>gets too old, is sure at last to go bad; it spoils by continuing to excess the kind -of deterioration that in the beginning gave it precisely the qualities desired. -</p> -<p>“From its appetizing flavor and fine texture Roquefort is the king of cheeses, the -prominent feature in any well-appointed dessert. Its renown extends all over the world.” -</p> -<p>“That’s the cheese that is so strong and takes so much bread to go with it?” asked -Emile. -</p> -<p>“Yes, that is it. Its pronounced flavor and its blue streaks make it easy to recognize. -It is made in a village of Aveyron called Roquefort, and is obtained from sheep’s -milk only, the best of all milk on account of its richness in casein and butter.” -</p> -<p>“Brie cheese also,” observed Louis, “is made of sheep’s milk; yet it doesn’t compare -in quality with Roquefort.” -</p> -<p>“That marked difference shows us how much the method of making it determines the quality -of cheese. You have just seen what pains are taken with Brie cheese; now see how much -care is given to Roquefort. -</p> -<p>“The cakes of curd are not thin in this case, but as thick as they are wide. They -are stored for months in grottoes hollowed in the heart of a rock, either by nature -or by man, in the environs of the village of Roquefort. These grottoes are remarkable -for the strong currents of air that circulate through them, and for the coolness of -their temperature. During the summer, while the thermometer <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2847">[<a href="#xd31e2847">321</a>]</span>outside marks thirty degrees,<a class="noteRef" id="xd31e2849src" href="#xd31e2849">1</a> it shows but five inside the cheese caves. The difference is that between the heat -of an oppressive summer and the cold of a severe winter. It is in the depths of these -cold caves that the cheeses acquire their peculiar qualities. The only care given -them is an occasional rubbing with salt and a scraping of their surface to remove -whatever moldiness may have developed. This moldiness even gets into the inside by -degrees, where it forms blue veins. But that is in no way detrimental; on the contrary, -the flavor of the cheese gains by the formation of this mold, which is merely another -kind of rotting that adds its energies to those of the usual change undergone by cheese. -Hence the makers are not content with letting nature produce these signs of moldiness: -they hasten the process by mixing with the fresh curd a little powdered moldy bread. -The cheese would be better if left to its own working, but this addition accelerates -the result, and to-day, alas, in the making of Roquefort, as in so many other branches -of industry, there is greater eagerness for quick results than for excellence. -</p> -<p>“The cheese called Auvergne is made in the mountains of Cantal. Cows’ milk is used. -When the curd has formed, the dairyman, legs and arms bare, mounts a table and tramples -and compresses with feet and hands the mass of fresh cheese to squeeze out the whey. -The curd is then separated, mixed with pounded salt, and pressed in large round molds -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2855">[<a href="#xd31e2855">322</a>]</span>containing up to fifty kilograms. These enormous cheeses are finally left in cellars -to the action of fermentation, which perfects them. -</p> -<p>“Gruyère cheese owes its name to a little village in the canton of Fribourg in Switzerland. -In the Vosges, Jura, and Ain a great quantity of this cheese is made. This too is -made of cows’ milk. The milk, after a third of its cream has been skimmed off, is -slightly warmed in large kettles over a brisk fire. Then the rennet is poured in. -When the curd has formed, it is separated as much as possible by being stirred in -the kettle with a wide paddle, after which it is warmed still further. Finally the -curd is collected, placed in a mold, and subjected to strong pressure. The cheese -thus produced is next rubbed several times with salt, and then stored in a cellar -and left undisturbed for two or three months. It is during its stay in the cellar -that the holes or eyes characteristic of Gruyère cheese make their appearance; they -are due to bubbles of gas released from the fermenting substance of the cheese. You -will notice in the making of this kind of cheese the application of heat. The milk -is warmed over the fire just before the rennet is added, which is not done in the -other kinds. Hence Gruyère cheese is called cooked cheese. -</p> -<p>“If kept too long, all cheeses are sooner or later invaded, first on the outside and -then within, by mold, yellowish white at first, then blue or greenish, and finally -brick red. At the same time the cheese decays and acquires a repulsive odor and a -taste so <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2860">[<a href="#xd31e2860">323</a>]</span>acrid as to make the lips sore. The cheese is then a mere mass of putrefaction to -be thrown on the dung-hill. The rate of decay is proportioned to the softness of the -cheese and its permeability by the air. Therefore, in order that it may keep well, -it must be carefully dried and also reduced to a compact mass by strong pressure. -That is why so much force is exerted in pressing the large cheeses of Gruyère and -Auvergne in their molds. But it is nothing in comparison with certain cheeses, called -Dutch cheeses, which are noted for their extraordinary lasting qualities. They become -so hard and dry that before they can be eaten they sometimes have to be broken up -with a hammer and put to soften again in a cloth wet with white wine.” -</p> -<p>“Those very hard cheeses, as solid as a rock, can’t be of much use,” commented Emile. -</p> -<p>“That is where you are mistaken. Cooks use this hard cheese to season certain dishes, -after grating it to a powder. It is also in favor on shipboard as a valuable article -of food on long voyages. The Dutch cheese is round like a ball, and has a reddish -rind. It takes its name from the country where it is made.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2866">[<a href="#xd31e2866">324</a>]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="footnotes"> -<hr class="fnsep"> -<div class="footnote-body"> -<div class="fndiv" id="xd31e2849"> -<p class="footnote"><span class="fnlabel"><a class="noteRef" href="#xd31e2849src">1</a></span> Centigrade, not Fahrenheit.—<i>Translator.</i> <a class="fnarrow" href="#xd31e2849src" title="Return to note 1 in text.">↑</a></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch34" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e520">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE PIG</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“There is every reason to believe that the domestic pig is descended from one or another -of the numerous kinds of wild boar scattered over Asia—perhaps even from several of -them. But the Asiatic wild boar bears so close a resemblance in shape and habits to -the European that it will suffice for me to acquaint you with the latter in order -to give you a correct idea of the former, and thus show you what the pig must have -been in its primitive state. -</p> -<p>“Though very numerous in early times throughout the forests of France, wild boars -are from day to day diminishing in number with us, and are destined sooner or later -to disappear altogether, as they have already disappeared from England, where they -have now been exterminated to the last one, as is the case also with wolves. This -complete extermination is explained by the situation of the country. England is entirely -surrounded by the sea. If then the wolf and boar, hunted down as two undesirable neighbors, -are at last entirely destroyed, the two species are forever annihilated in the island, -since the sea interposes an impassable barrier against new arrivals.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2875">[<a href="#xd31e2875">325</a>]</span></p> -<p>“That is perfectly clear,” assented Emile. “As soon as the last wolf and boar have -been killed, the English, protected by the sea that surrounds them, are rid of these -animals once for all.” -</p> -<p>“If we could only rid ourselves of wolves like that!” Louis exclaimed. “Gladly would -I see the skin of the last one stuffed with straw and paraded from farm to farm. I -will say nothing of the boar, as I don’t know its manner of living.” -</p> -<p>“The wild boar is also a formidable foe, not to flocks, but to cultivated fields, -where it does great damage; besides, it is a brutal beast, rather dangerous to meet -in the depths of a forest. In size and shape it closely resembles the common pig, -the chief difference being in the boar’s coarse, blackish-red coat; its dorsal bristles, -stiff and strong and standing up in anger in a horrible looking mane; its head, longer -and more curved; its ears, smaller, more erect, and very mobile; its thick and shorter -legs; and, finally, the great stockiness of the body as a whole. The eyes are small -but not without expression, becoming quite fiery and ferocious in anger. The eye-teeth -of each jaw project in a threatening manner beyond the lips, the lower ones being -very long, with a backward curve, sharp edges, and pointed ends, the upper ones shorter -and rubbing against the first in such a manner as to serve them as whetstones. From -this peculiar function the upper tusks are in fact sometimes likened to grindstones -and hence go by the name of grinders, while the lower tusks, terrible in combat, are -called defenders. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2880">[<a href="#xd31e2880">326</a>]</span>With its powerful muzzle or snout the boar strikes and overthrows an opponent; with -its sharp tusks it rips open and disembowels. The female, or sow, has no tusks, but -her bite is most formidable; she accompanies it with a ferocious gnashing of the teeth -and an infuriated stamping of the hoofs that would alone prove fatal to the trampled -adversary. The cry of both consists in an obstreperous snort, a signal of alarm and -surprise; but except in case of danger the brute is usually silent. -</p> -<p>“The wild boar is fond of vast forests, in which it seeks the darkest and most retired -spots where it will not be disturbed by man’s presence. In the daytime it lies in -its retreat or lair amid the thickest of brushwood and bushes. In the neighborhood -there is generally some sort of muddy pool where it wallows with delight. Toward nightfall -it leaves its retreat in search of food. With its snout it plows the ground, always -in a straight line, to unearth fleshy roots; it gathers the fruit fallen to the ground, -the kernels of cereals, also chestnuts, beech-nuts, hazel-nuts, and acorns, especially -the last, its favorite food. But a vegetable diet fails to satisfy its voracity. If -it knows of a fish-pond, it plows up the banks to get the eels lurking in the mud; -if it knows of a rabbit-burrow, it ransacks it by hollowing out a deep ditch and upturning -stones with its powerful snout. It surprises the partridge on its nest and devours -mother and brood; it crunches young rabbits in their snug retreat; it lays hold of -young fawns in their sleep. Finally, if live prey is wanting, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2884">[<a href="#xd31e2884">327</a>]</span>it gorges itself with carrion. The whole night is passed in predatory raids of this -sort, after which the beast regains its lair at the dawn of day. -</p> -<p>“A wild sow’s litter numbers from three to eight little ones, sometimes called grice. -They are white, with tawny or brown stripes running lengthwise. At the age of six -months their hair becomes darker, a sort of dirty gray, and they outgrow the name -of grice. When two years old their tusks begin to be dangerous, and at an age ranging -from three to five years the animal attains its maximum size and strength and is entitled -to the name of wild boar. After this, until twenty-five or thirty, the ordinary limit -of its life, it is called an old boar or an old hermit, on account of the isolation -in which it lives. Then the tusks become blunted and turn in toward the eyes. -</p> -<p>“Boar-hunting is not without its dangers. If the boar finds itself hard pressed by -the pack of hounds pursuing it, the animal takes refuge in some dense thicket of brambles -and holly, and forces a passage through the thorny rampart where no other would dare -to penetrate. Through the opening thus made rush the dogs, vying with one another -in ardor and in barking. There are eight, twelve, fifteen of them; no matter, the -boar awaits with firmness its numerous assailants. Backing up against a gnarled stump -which protects it in the rear, it sharpens its tusks and works its drivelling jaws. -Its mane stands erect on head and back; its little eyes, inflamed with fury, resemble -two glowing coals. The boldest dogs <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2889">[<a href="#xd31e2889">328</a>]</span>rush to seize it by the ears; it disperses them with a few vigorous blows from its -snout, dealt with startling promptness. Some fall back with belly split open, from -which the entrails protrude and catch on the bushes; others have a leg broken, a shoulder -dislocated, or at least one or two flesh wounds. The dying stretch their legs in the -last convulsions of agony, the wounded howl with pain, the least crippled beat a hasty -retreat. But reinforcements arrive, bringing back the fugitives to the charge. Then, -from the midst of the thicket, an indescribable uproar is heard. To the cries of the -pack, howling, barking, and growling in various keys, and to the wild boar’s grunts -of rage, are added the crashing sound of underbrush broken in the fierce scrimmage -and the shrill notes of the magpies that have flown in all haste to the scene of tumult -and from the surrounding tree-tops noisily discuss the event. Finally the boar emerges -from the thicket and, drunk with carnage, takes its turn as pursuer. Woe then to the -inexperienced hunter who loses his presence of mind or whose shot misses its mark: -he might forfeit his life for his unwariness and lack of skill. But let us hope that -a bullet, cleverly aimed between the beast’s eyes, will put an end to a battle that -has already cost the lives of the best dogs in the pack.” -</p> -<p>“I see that this is no tame rabbit-hunt,” said Jules. “If any one should come within -reach of the fierce brute that the dogs are worrying, he would not, as they say, have -much of a picnic.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2893">[<a href="#xd31e2893">329</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Nevertheless there are men of dauntless courage who go straight for the furious beast -and plunge their hunting knife into its heart. But usually the thing is attended with -less peril and with no such atrocious ripping-up of the dogs, a sport for the grand -<i>seigneurs</i>. Ambushed in a safe place, the hunter awaits the boar and gives it a couple of bullets -as it passes; and that is the end of it. If the attack is less spectacular, at least -it spares the life of the dog and does not endanger man’s.” -</p> -<p>“Then I give it preference,” Jules declared, “to that in which a whole pack might -be killed. I don’t like that slaughter of dogs, with the boar’s tusks ripping them -open there in the underbrush.” -</p> -<p>“And what do they do with the beast after they have killed him?” asked Louis. -</p> -<p>“It is a piece of game,” replied Uncle Paul, “that surpasses anything else to be found -in our woods. Such a boar, old hermit-boar, as we call him, may weigh as much as two -hundred kilograms. That is enough for a feast, I should hope, and all the more so -as the flesh is excellent. The piece of honor is the head, the famous boar’s head. -</p> -<p>“The Asiatic wild boar, from which the domestic pig descends, does not differ from -ours in its habits; it is, like ours, a ferocious, coarse, vigorous, bold, voracious -animal, a formidable creature to encounter in the dark woods. How has this intractable -beast become the pig that we raise? By what care, what gentle treatment, has it been -made to lose its ancient savagery? To these questions there is no further <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2904">[<a href="#xd31e2904">330</a>]</span>answer than in the case of the dog and the ox. After centuries and centuries of domestication, -the first steps in this process of redemption from the wild state have become lost -in oblivion. -</p> -<p>“Despite all its improvement the pig still remains a coarse animal, resembling the -wild boar in more than one trait. Like the latter, it feeds on anything and everything; -and even more than the latter is it addicted to gluttony. The perils attending its -wild state no longer existing, it devotes itself unreservedly to the gratification -of its voracious appetite. The pig is a fat-factory: it lives only to eat, digest, -and fatten. Its gluttony extends even to the devouring of kitchen refuse, greasy dishwater, -nasty leavings, garbage; in fact everything even to excrementitious matter. Ill effects -can result from its nosing about in filth to satisfy its gluttony, since it is thus -liable to a horrible disease of which we will speak later. Not satisfied with acorns -and other viands that go to fill its trough, it turns up the earth with its snout -in quest of roots, worms, and fat larvæ. It is always either sleeping, stretched out -on its side in the full enjoyment of digestion, or rooting in the ground in the hope -of some chance additional tidbit, however small. In the cultivated fields, in prairies -and grass-lands, devastation makes rapid progress with such a miner tearing up the -ground. To check this mania for excavating, the end of the snout is pierced with two -holes through each of which is passed a piece of iron wire, which is then bent into -a ring.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2908">[<a href="#xd31e2908">331</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Oh, I know,” cried Jules. “I have often seen little rings of iron wire at the end -of a pig’s snout. I didn’t know what they were for, but now I see. If the pig wants -to dig, the iron wire is pressed against the earth and bruises the raw flesh through -which it passes; and the pain forces the animal to stop.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, that is the part played by the rings fixed in the end of the snout.” -</p> -<p>“And we see pigs, too, with a kind of large wooden triangle around the neck,” Emile -put in. -</p> -<p>“As the pig is not very tractable and pays little heed to the drover’s voice, it is -customary, when a number of these animals are taken to the fields, to put around their -neck a large triangular wooden collar, which prevents their getting through hedges -and overrunning the neighboring cultivated fields. -</p> -<p>“The pig’s gluttony is proverbial. But let us beware of reproaching it for this. Its -voracious appetite transmutes into savory meat and fat quantities of refuse that none -of the other domestic animals would eat, and that would be wasted but for its intervention; -out of otherwise worthless scraps its strong stomach, which turns at nothing, makes -those delectable articles of food so much enjoyed by all of you when they appear in -the form of sausages and sausage-cakes. Let us not reproach it, either, for its passionate -love of mud, in which it wallows to reduce its temperature. In that it simply inherits -the habits of its ancestor, the wild boar, which also delights in the luxury of a -mud-bath. Besides, it is more our fault than the pig’s taste. The pig likes a cold -bath; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2915">[<a href="#xd31e2915">332</a>]</span>it submits with every indication of satisfaction to being washed and brushed by its -keeper. So fond is it of cleanliness that it alone of all the domestic animals hesitates -to soil its bed with its excrement. Why then does the word pig suggest the idea of -dirtiness? Here we are to blame, more often than not. Let the pig be given clean water -for its bath, and it will turn its back on the foul mud that it contents itself with -for want of something better; let its premises be kept clean, and the poor animal -will be highly delighted, much preferring a sanitary straw bed to a filthy hole. By -these attentions to cleanliness the animal will be the gainer, and we shall profit -likewise. -</p> -<p>“In lifetime the pig is of no use to us, unless it be in hunting for truffles, an -exercise in which it excels by reason of the extraordinary development of its nose -and the keenness of its scent. Yet even for this service the dog is preferred, as -being better fitted for exploring uneven ground, more active, and more intelligent. -It is after its death that the pig pays us for the care bestowed upon it. Let us be -present at this event, a festive occasion for the family. -</p> -<p>“Fattened for a long time on potatoes, excellent for making flesh, and on acorns, -which give firmness and savor to the meat, the porker can hardly stand on its short -legs. It sleeps and digests in a reclining posture, lying lazily on its side. From -its neck hang three and four great cushions of fat; under its belly are seen ponderous -masses of lard; the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2921">[<a href="#xd31e2921">333</a>]</span>rump is well rounded, the back padded with fat. The animal is ripe for the knife. -At the break of day it is aroused from its sweet repose and sacrificed in the midst -of piercing cries of protest against so cruel a fate. With torches of burning straw -the bristles are burnt off, after which the body is well scraped and washed, then -opened and cut up. Now the housewife proceeds to the work of salting and curing this -rich store of provision. Every member of the family comes to her aid. Here, over a -big fire, in a resplendent copper kettle, the lard is tried out and poured into pots, -where it hardens and turns as white as snow. Yonder the black puddings are hardening -in boiling water. Over there some one is busily plying a big chopping-knife, mincing -the meat that is to go into sausages, which will be wound in a long garland about -two laths and hung from the ceiling opposite the fireplace to get a good drying. In -still another place the ham is being made ready for wrapping in linen and hanging -in a corner under the chimney mantel to assure its preservation. On a screen are spread -the most important parts of the animal, the chine and flanks, covered with a layer -of salt. And the housewife’s heart is filled with content as she views her cupboards -and larders stored with provisions for a year to come. -</p> -<p>“Now, these provisions, on which the housekeeper’s hopes are based, would speedily -decay and become unfit for food without the use of salt. A piece of meat left to itself -soon gives out a bad smell and undergoes putrefaction. The higher the temperature -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2925">[<a href="#xd31e2925">334</a>]</span>and the damper the air, the more rapid the rate of decay. That is why the approach -of winter and as far as possible a dry time are chosen for the annual pig-killing. -Salt in liberal quantities is used for preserving the meat, lard, and fat. Salted -meat dries without becoming tainted, and keeps for a long time, though not indefinitely, -since sooner or later it turns rancid. Nevertheless salting is the best way to preserve -meat. -</p> -<p>“Another process, discovered long ago and very efficacious, consists in exposing the -meat to the action of smoke from burning wood. That is why salted hams are hung in -the chimney-corner. But on the farm it usually happens that too little attention is -paid to this method of curing: it is deemed sufficient to place the hams within reach -of the smoke from the fireplace without any covering to protect them. Hence the meat -becomes covered with soot, black juices permeate it, and putrefaction sets in. To -avoid this mishap it is enough to wrap the hams in two layers of linen, which sifts -the smoke, keeps out the soot, and admits only the vapors really adapted to the preservation -of the meat without blackening it and giving it a disagreeable taste. -</p> -<p>“In various countries, Germany and England for example, smoking is practised on a -large scale for curing beef as well as pork. Three or four rooms with low ceilings -and communicating with one another by means of openings are connected with a fireplace -at some distance, in which oak shavings and aromatic plants are burnt. The largest -pieces are <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2930">[<a href="#xd31e2930">335</a>]</span>hung in the first room on poles or iron hooks, the medium-sized pieces are hung in -the second, and the smallest are relegated to the last room. The smoke, on account -of the comparative remoteness of the fireplace, is cold when it reaches the first -compartment, where it acts with full force on the large pieces of meat, the hardest -to penetrate. Thence it passes to the second compartment, and finally to the third, -thus in proportion to its loss of strength encountering pieces less resistant to its -action. As food, smoked meat is preferable to salted: it tastes better and is easier -to digest. -</p> -<p>“Smoking is also applied to fish. You have a well-known example in the herring. This -fish, as it comes from the grocer, is sometimes silvery white, sometimes golden red. -In the first state he calls it white herring; in the second, red herring. The difference -is in the way it is cured. Directly after being caught, the herrings are opened, cleaned, -washed, and put to soak in brine, that is to say in a strong solution of salt. About -fifteen hours later they are taken out, put to drip, and finally packed in casks in -regular layers. The product of this process is the white herring, so named because -the fish, simply salted and put up in casks, keeps its beautiful silvery color. Smoking -produces the so-called red herring, recognizable from its golden-yellow tint and smoky -smell. The fresh fish are first of all strongly salted by being left thirty hours -in the brine; then they are attached to small twigs or branches passed through the -gills, after which they are hung in a sort of fireplace <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2934">[<a href="#xd31e2934">336</a>]</span>where green wood is burnt, which gives out little flame and torrents of smoke. It -is here that the herring takes on its red color and its slightly smoky smell.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2936">[<a href="#xd31e2936">337</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch35" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e530">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXV</h2> -<h2 class="main">PIG’S MEASLES</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">Jean had come to market to sell his pig; Mathieu, on his part, had gone thither to -buy one. Jean’s animal pleased him. After some talk in which all sorts of finesse -were employed on the part of the seller to heighten the value of his merchandise, -on the part of the buyer to lower it, they came to an agreement on the price and shook -hands to bind the bargain. -</p> -<p>But before taking out his purse and counting out the crowns Mathieu wished, as was -his right, to make sure that the pig was sound. A man was called whose business it -was to decide such questions. He took the animal by the legs and threw it over on -its side. Whereas Jean and Mathieu stood in some awe of the animal, he made no ceremony -about forcing a stick, as a sort of lever, between the pig’s teeth and prying the -jaws apart. Then he plunged his hand in between those terrible jaws and felt about -with his fingers to the right, to the left, and especially under the tongue. Meanwhile -the pig was giving forth heartbreaking cries, and with raucous grunts all its companions -in the market voiced their sympathy in its distress. The whole square was in an uproar. -The ordeal over, the animal was <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2944">[<a href="#xd31e2944">338</a>]</span>let loose and immediately everything became quiet again. The pig was found to be in -good condition. -</p> -<p>Emile was passing at the time of this performance. What are they doing to that poor -animal with the big stick thrust between its jaws? Why are they feeling in its mouth? -Couldn’t they leave the creature in peace instead of making it squeal worse than if -they were slaughtering it? Such were the questions that passed through Emile’s mind -as he found himself almost seized with terror at the piercing cries of the animal -and the chorus of alarmed grunts from its companions. In the evening the conversation -turned upon this event. -</p> -<p>“The man who felt with his hand in the pig’s mouth,” Uncle Paul explained, “while -the stick kept the formidable jaws apart, had a definite purpose, which was to assure -himself that the animal was free from measles. For the pig is subject to a strange -disease thus named, which makes its flesh unwholesome and even dangerous. When the -animal is afflicted with this malady, its flesh is filled with a multitude of round -white granules from the size of a pinhead to that of a pea, or larger; these granules -are called hydatids. Their number is sometimes so great that in a piece of fat no -larger than the five fingers of my hand they can be counted by hundreds. To determine -whether a pig is thus affected, it is of course out of the question to explore the -flesh of the living body. What do they do then? They feel the soft parts accessible -to the hand—the walls of the mouth and especially the under side of the tongue, a -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2949">[<a href="#xd31e2949">339</a>]</span>favorite haunt of the hydatids. If hard granules are felt by the fingers, the pig -is affected and its market value greatly lowered; if no such granules are found, the -animal is healthy and will bring its full price. That is the reason of the operation -that so puzzled Emile this morning in the market. The man that was feeling of the -animal’s tongue was an inspector. His office is to examine all pigs offered for sale -and to determine from the feeling of the tongue whether the animal has the measles. -Hence he is commonly called a tongue-tester, a word that will now explain itself to -you.” -</p> -<p>“I see very well,” Jules interposed, “how the word came to be used in connection with -the examination of the pig’s tongue, but I don’t yet in the least understand how those -hard white granules that the tongue-tester looks for, those hydatids as you call them, -can make the meat unwholesome and dangerous.” -</p> -<p>“You will soon see. Each of those granules is a lodge, a cell, a little chamber if -you like, in which lives a sort of worm, richly fed by the pig’s animal substance. -You are familiar with the worm that inhabits the juicy pulp of cherries, with the -one that gnaws the kernel of nuts, with the one that makes its home in the heart of -the pear and apple, and with countless others in fact that I told you about when we -were on the subject of harmful insects. Well, fruit is not the only thing to harbor -such troublesome guests; every animal has its parasites to devour it while it is still -alive. The pig in its turn has a great <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2954">[<a href="#xd31e2954">340</a>]</span>many, especially when its gluttonous habits lead it to feed on excrement. One of these -parasites is the worm<span id="xd31e2956"></span> I have mentioned. -</p> -<p>“It is the most curious creature one could possibly imagine. Picture to yourselves -a little bladder full of liquid as clear as water; on this bladder a very short and -wrinkled neck; finally, at the extremity of this neck a round head bearing on the -sides four suckers and at the end thirty-two hooks arranged in the shape of a crown -in a double ring. That is the worm, the hydatid. Each one is enclosed in a sort of -little pouch, a firm and semi-transparent cell which derives its substance from the -flesh of the pig itself. Commonly the tiny creature is entirely hidden in its snug -retreat; at other times, through an opening in the pouch, it stretches its neck and -pushes its head out a little, doubtless to feed on the adjacent fluid matter by means -of its four suckers. As to the little bladder forming the other part of the worm, -it never leaves its cell, the cavity of which it fills exactly. Hence the animal never -changes its place.” -</p> -<p>“That must be a very dull sort of life,” was Emile’s comment. “No exercise for the -little worm except occasionally sticking its head out of the bag that holds it, and -then drawing it in again and shutting the door. Is this bag very large?” -</p> -<p>“There are different-sized ones, according to the worm’s degree of development, for -as it grows its dwelling also becomes larger. The usual shape of these cells is that -of a small egg, the greatest dimension <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2962">[<a href="#xd31e2962">341</a>]</span>of which might be as much as two centimeters, and the smallest five or six millimeters. -</p> -<p>“Hydatids live in the flesh of a live pig; they live there by thousands and thousands, -in such multitudes that sometimes not a piece of fat the size of a nut could be found -free from these little parasites. Each one, snugly ensconced in its retreat, its strongly-walled -cell, grows in peace, sheltered from all attack, and makes predatory raids in the -immediate vicinity with its crown of hooked claws and its four suckers.” -</p> -<p>“What a miserable fate is the pig’s,” Emile exclaimed, “to be eaten up alive like -that, all full of the ravenous vermin and unable to get rid of them! The poor animal -must soon succumb.” -</p> -<p>“Not exactly. It wastes away, it is true, but it resists for a long time, being very -tenacious of life.” -</p> -<p>“I can’t think without horror,” said Jules, “of the terrible itching such an army -of vermin must cause, biting and boring into the creature’s flesh all over its body.” -</p> -<p>“Your horror would redouble if you knew that this vermin only awaits a favorable opportunity -to emigrate to our bodies even, and to ravage us in our turn.” -</p> -<p>“What! Those horrid pig worms have designs on us?” -</p> -<p>“And designs, alas, too often accomplished, if we are not careful. That is what we -are now about to consider.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2973">[<a href="#xd31e2973">342</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch36" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e540">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> -<h2 class="main">A PERSISTENT PARASITE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Many members of the animal kingdom change their form in the course of their existence, -and with the new structure adopt also a new way of living. Thus the caterpillar and -the butterfly, for example, are in reality the same creature, but very different in -shape and habits. The caterpillar drags itself heavily over the plant, gnawing the -foliage; the butterfly, furnished with light and graceful wings, flies from flower -to flower, imbibing a sugary liquor from each with its long proboscis. The cherry -worm grows in the midst of the juice that feeds it; after attaining full size it falls -from the tree with the damaged fruit and hastens to bury itself in the ground, there -to undergo its transformation. Next spring it comes forth in the form of an elegant -fly that lives on honey from the flowers and never again touches a cherry except to -deposit its eggs therein, one by one. In the same way, again, the nut worm, after -finishing its growth, bores a hole in the firm shell, emerges from its fortress, and -buries itself for a time in the soil. There it becomes a beetle with a long proboscis, -the so-called nut weevil, which leaves its subterranean retreat in the spring and -takes up its quarters on the foliage of a <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2980">[<a href="#xd31e2980">343</a>]</span>nut tree, where it lays its eggs in the growing nuts. -</p> -<p>“All species of animal life that change their shape act in this way. In the first -half of their existence, under their initial form, they have certain habits and certain -dwelling-places; in the second half, under their final form, they have habits and -abodes that are quite different. -</p> -<p>“Well, the worm that makes its home in the white cells or granules of the diseased -pig’s flesh is also subject to transformation. It has to change its form, but before -doing so it must first change its abode. The cherry worm would never turn into a fly -so long as it remained in the cherry; the nut weevil would never become a beetle if -it continued to abide in the nut. Both must emigrate and hollow out a home for themselves -in the earth if they would cease to be worms and become a fly in one case, a beetle -in the other. In like manner, the parasites of the diseased pig would never attain -their final form in the flesh that they inhabit; it is absolutely necessary for them -to change their abode in order that the transformation may take place. But as they -cannot leave their cells of their own accord and transport themselves to their new -abode, which is difficult of access, as you will see, they wait patiently, whole years -if necessary, for a favorable opportunity to emigrate.” -</p> -<p>“Where then is this new abode?” asked Jules. -</p> -<p>“In us, my poor child, in us exclusively. The cherry worm and the nut weevil are content, -for the purposes of their metamorphosis, with a hole in the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2987">[<a href="#xd31e2987">344</a>]</span>sand; but the odious worm of the diseased pig must have the human body for its new -home—nothing else.” -</p> -<p>“It can’t be that the abominable creature really gets into us.” -</p> -<p>“It gets there very easily, and it is we ourselves who unconsciously open the door -to the perfidious enemy. Some day or other the pig is killed for our nourishment. -Its four legs become hams, other parts are made into sausages, its fat is tried out -and stored away. All these various pork products are well salted, carefully dried, -or sometimes smoked; nothing is neglected that will assure long keeping. Now in all -this thorough treatment, this salting and trying and smoking, what do you think becomes -of the little worms inhabiting the diseased flesh?” -</p> -<p>“They must die, surely.” -</p> -<p>“That is where you are mistaken. They are very tenacious of life, the accursed things! -The strongest saline solution leaves them unaffected; but if some or even a great -many should perish, there would always be plenty of survivors, for they are numerous -beyond counting. Behold, then, our food infected with the vermin that at the first -opportunity will invade our bodies. You eat a sausage the size of your finger, or -a slice of ham, and the thing is done: with the appetizing mouthful you have just -swallowed the horrible creature. Henceforth the enemy is with you, at home; it will -grow, develop, be transformed, and cause no end of mischief.” -</p> -<p>“But the stomach will digest it, I hope, as it would <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e2996">[<a href="#xd31e2996">345</a>]</span>digest anything else; and the hateful intruder will perish.” -</p> -<p>“Not at all. The digestive energies of the stomach make no impression on it. It passes -through quite untouched, protected perhaps by its resistant shell, and goes farther -on to establish itself definitively in the intestines. -</p> -<p>“And now all the conditions are the best possible for the worm. The situation is quiet, -disturbance from without is not to be apprehended, and the best food in our power -to furnish is supplied in abundance. With its double ring of hooks, each one shaped -like the fluke of an anchor, the organism fastens itself to the wall of its abode -and straightway begins to develop. On its arrival it was a very short and wrinkled -little worm, terminating at one end in a small round head, at the other in a spacious -bladder. In a short time it will turn into a sort of ribbon that may attain the enormous -length of four or five meters.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, how horrible!” cried Louis. “Can it be that we serve as a dwelling for such a -guest?” -</p> -<p>“Say rather for a number of such guests, since as a rule they are not found singly. -They are commonly called solitary worms, an improper term, as you see, since there -are generally several of them together. Their real name is tænia, or tape-worm, from -their ribbon-like form. -</p> -<p>“Imagine a narrow tape or band of a dull white color, a sort of ribbon of variable -length that may measure as much as five meters; imagine this ribbon <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3004">[<a href="#xd31e3004">346</a>]</span>almost as small as a hair near the creature’s head, then broadening little by little -and attaining the width of a centimeter; picture to yourself the entire length of -the creature divided into sections or joints, some square, others oblong, placed end -to end like the beads of a chaplet, or, better, like pumpkin seeds strung one after -another, and you will have a sufficiently good idea of the tænia or tape-worm. -</p> -<p>“The number of these joints is sometimes as many as a thousand, and, what is more, -new ones are always forming, for the tænia has the singular faculty of producing them -indefinitely in a row, each one growing out of the preceding. All are full of eggs, -detestable seed of the original malady in the pig, and then of the tape-worm in man. -The terminal sections or joints, the oldest and ripest, become detached from time -to time in chaplets and are expelled. Any pig nosing about in the excrement containing -them is pretty sure to become infected from the eggs contained in these joints, for -each one is the germ of a hydatid. These eggs will hatch in the animal’s intestines; -and, as soon as hatched, the young worms, opening a passage for themselves here and -there with their crown of hooks, will go and lodge wherever they please, some in the -lean flesh, some in the fat, there to encase themselves in a resistant shell, a cell -built out of the pig’s substance, and there they will await the moment favorable for -their emigration to the human body. -</p> -<p>“These frequent losses in chaplets of discarded sections do not in the least impair -the tape-worm’s <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3009">[<a href="#xd31e3009">347</a>]</span>vigor; new sections grow, and the frightful length of the creature is maintained. -Were it to lose almost its entire length, that would in no wise trouble it; let only -the head remain, firmly held in place by its hooks, and new joints will form until -the worm is as long as ever. Until the head is got rid of there is no hope of deliverance. -I could not describe to you, my children, the atrocious sufferings of a person afflicted -with this formidable parasite so difficult to dislodge.” -</p> -<p>“You give us goose-flesh,” said Emile, “with that five-meters-long worm that keeps -growing again, each time stronger than before, provided its head is left.” -</p> -<p>“It must need very serious precaution,” Louis remarked, “not to be attacked by the -creature.” -</p> -<p>“The precaution is very simple. Since the tape-worm has its origin in the diseased -pig, let us beware of all pork thus infected. This infection, as I told you, is recognizable -in the white granules abounding in the flesh, each granule being the abode of a little -worm, the first form of the tænia. Raw meats, such as ham and sausage, are the only -ones to fear, because salting and drying leave, if not all, at least some of these -worms alive. But meat perfectly cooked, either boiled or baked, is absolutely without -any danger even if infested with a multitude of these little granules, because heat -of a sufficient intensity kills whatever worms they contain. -</p> -<p>“The rule to follow, therefore, is plain: if a pig is diseased, it need not be summarily -thrown away; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3017">[<a href="#xd31e3017">348</a>]</span>its flesh, although of inferior quality, its lard and bacon, can very well be utilized, -but care must be taken never to use any of this food without first thoroughly cooking -it at a heat intense enough to destroy every dangerous germ. As for the pig itself, -it can be kept from the measles by cleanliness, and especially by seeing that it eats -no excrement. Every pig that wanders about and feeds on filth deposited along walls -may find under its snout some pieces of tænia, swallow them with the dirty food, and -thus become infected with hydatids. -</p> -<p>“To finish this subject, I will tell you of another tænia which in its tape-worm form -inhabits the dog’s intestines, and in its bladder-like or hydatid stage has its home -in the sheep’s brain. Grass defiled by the excrement of dogs affected with this tænia -receives the eggs of the expelled ripened sections. A sheep comes to browse this grass, -and in a few weeks a terrible disease shows itself in the poor animal. With wild eye, -driveling mouth, and heavy head, the animal turns round and round, always the same -way, and falls gasping on its side. Food no longer tempts it, the blade of grass stops -on its bleeding lips. All its efforts to stand up are powerless; it keeps looking -for a support, especially for its head, and if this support is lacking it falls after -a few turns. This strange disease is called the staggers, from the animal’s tendency -to turn and turn with staggering motions. -</p> -<p>“Now if we open the brain of a sheep that has died of the staggers, we invariably -find in the cerebral <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3022">[<a href="#xd31e3022">349</a>]</span>substance one or more limpid bladders from the size of a pea to that of a hen’s egg.” -</p> -<p>“And these horrid worms in the bladder,” queried Jules, “no doubt destroy the brain -matter, little by little.” -</p> -<p>“They grow at the expense of the brain.” -</p> -<p>“I can well believe then, that the sheep is unable to stand.” -</p> -<p>“Each of these little bladders is a tænia in its first stage of development, and comes -from the germ sown by the severed link or joint that the dog ejects with its excrement. -As indisputable proof of this, if lambs are made to swallow some of the tænia links -ejected by the dog, these lambs soon show themselves to be seized with the staggers, -and in their brains are found the bladder-like organisms that cause the disease. The -germs contained in the severed pieces of the tænia must therefore hatch in the lamb’s -intestines, and the worms thus brought into being must make their way, through a thousand -obstacles, to the animal’s brain, the only part of its body adapted to the development -of the parasite.” -</p> -<p>“Then it is in the brain that the little worms grow and become bladders as large as -hens’ eggs?” -</p> -<p>“It is only there that they can flourish. But these bladder-shaped worms are only -incomplete beings, comparable to the larvæ of insects; and as long as they remain -in the sheep’s brain their final development will not be attained. To acquire their -final form, to become tænias, tape-worms, these larvæ must pass into the dog’s intestines. -A conclusive <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3031">[<a href="#xd31e3031">350</a>]</span>experiment shows it. If a dog is made to take with its food some vesicular worms from -a sheep’s brain, the animal soon gives unequivocal signs of the presence of the tænia: -its excrement contains chaplets more or less long of ripe joints. Furthermore, by -sacrificing the dog so as to be able to decide the question more conclusively, one -finds in the intestines the vesicular worms converted into veritable tænias or tape-worms. -So the dog gives the sheep the germs that develop in the brain into vesicular worms; -and the sheep gives the dog back these vesicular worms, which change into tape-worms -in the intestines.” -</p> -<p>“But how,” asked Louis, “can the dog become infected with vesicular worms when they -are not expressly given to it with its food, as an experiment?” -</p> -<p>“Nothing easier. The sheep affected with the staggers is slaughtered, and its head, -the seat of the disease, is thrown away. The dog that finds it feasts on it.” -</p> -<p>“And there we have shepherd dogs attacked by tænia,” said Louis. “Their excrement -will spread the staggers among the flock.” -</p> -<p>“We must, then,” concluded Uncle Paul, “as is recommended by those who have studied -this subject experimentally in veterinary schools, exercise careful supervision over -shepherd dogs and exclude from the flock those that are attacked with the tænia; finally, -if the infection shows itself in the sheep, we must bury beyond the reach of any dog -the heads of the slaughtered animals.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3039">[<a href="#xd31e3039">351</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch37" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e550">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE HORSE</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Would you like to hear some eloquent words written about the horse several thousand -years ago? I take them from the book of Job, the just man, whose admirable history -is related in the Bible.” -</p> -<p>“It was Job wasn’t it,” asked Jules, “who was tried by the hand of God, lost his health, -family, all his goods, and was reduced to such misery that, lying on a dung-hill, -he scraped his boils and vermin with a potsherd? His faith in God gave him back his -former prosperity.” -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend. The just man whose faith in God even the direst misfortunes could -not shake has left us these beautiful words on the horse: -</p> -<p>“ ‘Hast Thou given the horse strength? hast Thou clothed his neck with thunder? Canst -Thou make him afraid as a grasshopper? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth -in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: he goeth on to meet the armed men. He -mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword. The -quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swalloweth the -ground with <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3049">[<a href="#xd31e3049">352</a>]</span>fierceness and rage: neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He -saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder -of the captains, and the shouting.’ -</p> -<p>“Thus spake Job in the ancient days while around his camel’s-skin tent bounded mares -and colts under the shade of the palm trees. Now let us listen to our great historian -of animals, Buffon, who, in his turn, draws in a few splendid phrases the portrait -of the horse. -</p> -<p>“ ‘The noblest conquest man has ever made is that of this proud and spirited animal -that shares with him the fatigues of war and the glory of battle. As intrepid as its -master, the horse sees danger and shrinks not; it becomes accustomed to the clash -of arms, loves it, seeks it, and is fired with the same ardor. It also shares his -pleasure in the chase, in the tournament, and in racing. But, no less docile than -courageous, it does not let its ardor run away with it; it knows how to control its -impulses. Not only does it obey the hand that guides it, but it seems to consult that -hand’s wishes; always responding to its touch, it quickens or slackens its pace, or -stops altogether, compliant in its every act. It is a creature which renounces itself -to exist only by the will of another; which by the promptness and precision of its -movements expresses and executes that will; which feels as much as it is desired to -and only renders what is asked; which surrenders itself unreservedly, refuses nothing, -serves with all its strength, wears itself out, and even dies to obey the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3054">[<a href="#xd31e3054">353</a>]</span>better.’ Thus Buffon expresses himself in regard to the horse.” -</p> -<p>“I like Job’s way of saying it a good deal better,” Jules declared. -</p> -<p>“I too,” his uncle assented. “To my mind, no one has said it better than the old author -who lived in the land of palms. In a few sublimely energetic words he paints for us -the character of the horse.” -</p> -<p>“I’m too young,” said Emile, “to have an opinion on such a lofty subject; at the same -time I will confess, Uncle, that I get lost very easily in Buffon’s long sentences.” -</p> -<p>“In the form in which I have quoted them to you, do not call them long, for on your -account I took the liberty to cut them up into separate clauses. In the author’s exact -words the whole makes but one sentence. From beginning to end, the sonorous period -does not give one a chance to take breath.” -</p> -<p>“All the same, in spite of the cutting, I still lose my way.” -</p> -<p>“Let us return then to your uncle’s simple manner of talking. The appearance of the -horse denotes agility combined with strength. The body is powerful, the chest broad, -the rump well rounded, the head somewhat heavy but sustained by strong neck and shoulders; -the thighs and shoulders are muscular, legs slender, hocks vigorous and supple. A -graceful mane falling on one side runs along the neck; the tail bears a thick growth -of long hair which the animal uses to drive troublesome flies from its <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3064">[<a href="#xd31e3064">354</a>]</span>flanks. The eyes are large, set near the surface, and very expressive; the ears, remarkable -for their mobility, point and open in any desired direction in order the better to -catch the sound in their trumpet-shaped exterior. The nostrils are full and also very -mobile; the upper lip projects and folds over to seize the food, arrange it in a convenient -mouthful, and carry it to the teeth, just as a hand would. The whole surface of the -skin, which is extremely sensitive, quivers and shakes at the slightest touch. Let -us not forget a characteristic peculiar to the horse and other animals that most nearly -resemble it, such as the zebra and donkey: on the forelegs, and sometimes the hind -ones as well, there is a bare spot, hard as horn, and known as a callus. -</p> -<p>“The horse’s neigh or whinny, as it is called, varies according to the feelings expressed. -The whinny of delight is rather long, rising little by little, and ending in a shrill -note. At the same time the animal kicks out, but not violently or with any desire -to do harm—merely as a sign of joy. To express desire the whinny is longer, ends on -a lower key, and is not accompanied with any kicking movement. On these occasions -the horse sometimes shows its teeth and seems to laugh. The neigh of anger is short -and sharp. Vigorous kicks accompany it, the lips are distorted in a grimace, showing -the teeth, and the ears lie close to the head and point backward. This last sign shows -an intention to bite. The neigh of fear is pitched low and is hoarse and short. It -seems to be produced chiefly by blowing through <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3068">[<a href="#xd31e3068">355</a>]</span>the nostrils, and slightly resembles the lion’s roar. The animal’s chief mode of defense, -kicking, is sure to accompany it. Finally, the note of pain is a deep groan, becoming -weaker and weaker, subsiding and then coming again with the alternate inspiration -and expiration.” -</p> -<p>“So when the horse shows its big teeth and seems to laugh, it wants something,” Emile -broke in. -</p> -<p>“Yes, my friend. It is hungry and tired, and it thinks of the repose of the stable, -of the crib filled with hay, of the manger with its savory peck of oats. Perhaps it -has heard the joyful neighing of its mates and wishes to join them. Horses that are -most given to neighing with eagerness or desire are the best horses, the most spirited.” -</p> -<p>“And if they lay their ears back they want to bite?” -</p> -<p>“Yes, that is their way of giving notice that they are going to have revenge for some -ill-treatment, by biting. -</p> -<p>“In our talk on the Auxiliaries, I have already told you of the remarkable structure -of their teeth; in particular I showed you how the horse’s molars, or grinders, are -arranged so as to grind the tough fodder like mill-stones. A very hard substance called -enamel, capable of striking fire like flint, covers the teeth and extends into the -underlying and less resistant mass of ivory, forming on the crown of each molar a -number of sinuous folds. These hard folds constitute a kind of strong file which tears -in pieces the blades of forage when the opposite molar <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3076">[<a href="#xd31e3076">356</a>]</span>is brought into play. Need I go over all this again?” -</p> -<p>“No, Uncle,” replied Jules; “we all remember how ivory wears away by degrees, but -the folds of enamel cap this softer substance and keep the molars in a proper condition -for crushing the food.” -</p> -<p>“Then I will continue by showing you how by examining a horse’s incisors we may learn -the animal’s age. These incisors are six in number in each jaw. They are accompanied -in the upper and often also in the lower jaw by two small canine teeth having the -shape of pointed nipples. Beyond these, and until the row of molars begins, the jaw -is toothless, and this part is called the bar.” -</p> -<p>“I know,” broke in Louis; “it is in the bar that the bit is placed with which the -horse is guided.” -</p> -<p>“Let us return to the incisors. The two in the middle of the jaw are called the first -or central incisors; the next two, one on the right and the other on the left of the -first ones, are called the second incisors; finally, the two last, one on each side, -are called the third incisors. Remember these names; they will save us the trouble -of roundabout expressions. -</p> -<p>“A few days after birth the central incisors show themselves in each of the foal’s -jaws. In one or two months the second incisors appear, and in six or eight months -the third incisors pierce the gum. These are the first or milk teeth, as they are -called. When the animal is between two and a half and three years old they fall out -and are replaced by the second teeth, which make their appearance in the same order -as the preceding ones: first the central incisors, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3085">[<a href="#xd31e3085">357</a>]</span>then the second incisors, and lastly the third incisors. The three pairs succeed one -another at intervals of about a year. I will add that the milk teeth are whiter and -narrower than the others. You already see that by examining the incisors and noting -whether they are first or second teeth we can tell the age of a young horse; but there -are other distinctive marks which we must now learn. -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p349width"><img src="images/p349.png" alt="Longitudinal Section of a Horse’s Incisor" width="150" height="375"><p class="figureHead">Longitudinal Section of a Horse’s Incisor</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“Here is a picture of the longitudinal section of a horse’s incisor. In the lower -part, or root, of the tooth is a cavity occupied by the nerve which gives sensitiveness -to the tooth and which carries to it, in the blood, the materials for its growth and -maintenance. The upper part, or crown, likewise contains a depression, which is called -the pit or cavity of the crown, and is filled with blackish matter. A layer of enamel -covers the outside of the tooth, folds over the crown, and extends into the cavity, -the walls of which it lines. The rest of the tooth is composed of ivory. -</p> -<p>“From this structure you will see that the enamel, continuing uninterruptedly from -the outside to the inside, forms a sharp ridge on the edges of the coronal cavity. -But this condition does not last long and is found only in incisors of recent formation. -In fact, by the grinding of the teeth one against another <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3094">[<a href="#xd31e3094">358</a>]</span>when the animal chews its forage, the edge of the enamel first crumbles, then wears -off little by little, and finally disappears altogether, leaving the ivory exposed -on the top of the crown. This friction always going on, the coronal cavity or pit -becomes less and less deep until at last there is nothing of it left. The upper face -of the crown is then flat instead of hollowed-out as it was at first. This gradual -obliteration of the hollow or pit in the crown of the incisor, whether in the first -or in the second set of teeth, furnishes a means of determining the horse’s age. I -have just told you when the milk teeth make their appearance; I will now add what -is to be said about their wearing down. The central incisors of the first set of teeth -are worn down so that their crowns are flat in ten months, the second incisors in -one year, and the third incisors in from fifteen months to two years. Let us next -consider how the horse’s age may be determined at a later period. -</p> -<p>“I here show you a picture of the incisors of the lower jaw. What do you see that -will help you to estimate the horse’s age?” -</p> -<p>“I see in the first place,” answered Jules, “that the teeth are not all of the same -age. The two in the middle, the central incisors as you call them, are newer, since -the cavities in their crowns are in good condition, with their sharp edges of enamel. -The others are older; their crowns are blunted by friction; in fact, they are a good -deal worn down.” -</p> -<p>“Are all six of the same cutting?” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3100">[<a href="#xd31e3100">359</a>]</span></p> -<p>“Evidently not, for if they were, the middle incisors would show the most wear, as -they come first; but exactly the opposite is the case. Since they are quite new and -those on each side are already worn, they must belong to the second cutting.” -</p> -<p>“That is quite right. Now find the animal’s age.” -</p> -<p>“Let me think a moment. I have it. When the horse is between two and a half and three -years old the shedding of the milk teeth begins. The first to be replaced are the -central incisors. The jaw you show me has these teeth of the second set quite new. -Consequently the horse is about three years old.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p351width"><img src="images/p351.png" alt="Teeth of a Four-Year-Old Horse" width="329" height="165"><p class="figureHead">Teeth of a Four-Year-Old Horse</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“The answer leaves nothing to be desired: the horse is in fact three years old. Now, -Louis, what have you to say about this jaw that I next show you?” -</p> -<p>“Here, too, the teeth are of different sets, since the central incisors and those -next to them are less worn than the others. Moreover, the second incisors are newer -than the middle ones, as can be seen from their sharper edges. These second incisors -are second teeth; so are the central incisors, which are a little worn because they -appeared the preceding year. The third incisors, which show the most wear of all, -are milk teeth.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3112">[<a href="#xd31e3112">360</a>]</span> -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatLeft p352-1width"><img src="images/p352-1.png" alt="Teeth of a Five-Year-Old Horse" width="351" height="144"><p class="figureHead">Teeth of a Five-Year-Old Horse</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“All that is correct. And the animal’s age?” -</p> -<p>“It must be four years old. At three the second set of central incisors has grown, -and now at four come the incisors next to them.” -</p> -<p>“Your opinion is mine too: the horse is four years old. Now it is Emile’s turn. I -will ask him to examine this third picture of a horse’s jaw, and I hope he will show -his usual perspicacity.” -</p> -<p></p> -<div class="figure floatRight p352-2width"><img src="images/p352-2.png" alt="Teeth of a Six-Year-Old Horse" width="373" height="207"><p class="figureHead">Teeth of a Six-Year-Old Horse</p> -</div><p> -</p> -<p>“These teeth,” said Emile after some study, “are too large to be milk teeth. All six -belong to the second set, and as the newest are the outside incisors the animal must -be a year older than the preceding one; that is to say, five years.” -</p> -<p>“Very good, Emile,” applauded his uncle. “You have handled the case like a master. -At five years the entire second set of incisors has pushed through and it is too late -to learn anything by comparing teeth of first and second sets; henceforth the degree -of wear in the different incisors is our sole guide. Thus at six years the coronal -pit in the central incisors has entirely disappeared, while it is still <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3128">[<a href="#xd31e3128">361</a>]</span>plainly seen in the third incisors. Finally, at eight years these latter are worn -down so that their crowns are smooth. It is then said that the horse no longer shows -its age by its teeth. Nevertheless an expert can still detect, on the surface of the -incisors as they become more and more worn, certain marks that enable him to estimate, -at least pretty nearly, the age of the horse up to the twentieth year and beyond.” -</p> -<p>“That must be a difficult undertaking,” commented Jules. -</p> -<p>“Very difficult; therefore I will not dwell on it any longer.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3134">[<a href="#xd31e3134">362</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch38" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e560">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE HORSE</h2> -<h2 class="sub">(<i>Continued</i>)</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Now let us say a few words about the horse’s coat, the growth of hair that covers -its body. This may be of uniform color or of two or more different colors. Coats of -uniform color are the white, the black, and the chestnut. The two first do not need -any explanation. A horse is chestnut when its coat is of a reddish or yellowish tint. -</p> -<p>“Among the composite coats, the following are distinguished. The horse is piebald -if the coloring is in large splashes, some white, others black or red. It is flee-bitten -gray if the coat is a mixture of white, black, and red, over the whole body, legs -and all; but if the legs are black while the body presents a combination of the three -tints, the horse is roan. Bay horses have a chestnut-colored coat, that is to say -reddish or yellowish, with the legs, the mane, and the tail brown or black. The coat -is dappled when it is thickly sprinkled with light spots on a darker background of -uniform color. Dappled gray is common. It is dun when the color is yellowish with -a brown stripe on the back, a peculiarity rather common in the donkey and mule. A -number of other terms are used in describing a horse’s coat in detail. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3146">[<a href="#xd31e3146">363</a>]</span>Thus the term white-foot is applied to the white marking sometimes found just above -the hoof. A white spot in the middle of the forehead is called a blaze if it is round, -a star if angular. -</p> -<p>“The horse’s mode of progress is called its gait, and may be either natural or artificial, -depending on whether the animal is untrained or trained. The natural gaits are the -walk, the trot, and the gallop. In the walk the legs move in what may be termed a -diagonal sequence, as follows: the right fore leg, the left hind leg, the left fore -leg, the right hind leg. If the horse is well formed the hind foot steps exactly into -the track left by the fore foot on the same side. -</p> -<p>“In the trot the feet are lifted and put down two by two in diagonal pairs, the right -fore foot with the left hind foot, and the left fore foot with the right hind foot. -This gait is more rapid than the preceding, but is also harder for the rider as well -as for the horse, because of the shock sustained when two feet strike the ground at -the same time. -</p> -<p>“The gallop is of several kinds, the simplest and swiftest consisting of a succession -of forward bounds. The two fore feet are lifted at the same time, then the two hind -feet, which push the animal with a sudden spring. That is the racer’s gait. -</p> -<p>“Among the artificial gaits I will mention the amble, in which the legs move in pairs -on the same side, the two left at the same time, then the two right, alternately. -The horse thus maintains a sort of oscillation, furnishing a gentle and easy motion -for <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3153">[<a href="#xd31e3153">364</a>]</span>the rider. The amble is, however, rapid, for as there is no support on the side of -the two uplifted legs the animal keeps from falling only by the rapidity of its motion. -</p> -<p>“In galloping a horse covers ten meters a second, or at most fifteen when going at -top speed. In trotting it covers from three to four meters, and in walking, from one -to two.” -</p> -<p>“Let me reckon up what that would be in an hour,” Emile interposed. “I will take the -highest figures.” With his pencil he wrote some figures on a piece of paper, and then -said: “That would make, by the hour, thirteen leagues of four kilometers each for -the horse at its fastest gallop; only three leagues for the horse when trotting; and -a league and a half when walking.” -</p> -<p>“I must inform you, my friend,” rejoined his uncle, “that though a horse can keep -up a trot for whole hours at a time, it is impossible for it to gallop even one hour -without stopping. The speed that would give the enormous distance of thirteen leagues -an hour lasts fifteen minutes at the most in racing, after which the animal is exhausted. -Note in passing the superiority of the railway engine, the locomotive, in regard to -rapidity. This speed of thirteen leagues an hour, which blows a horse in a quarter -of an hour’s race, the locomotive keeps up and even exceeds as long as may be desired. -No comparison, you see, is possible between the iron steed and the steed of flesh -and blood. -</p> -<p>“Let us turn to the subject of the horse’s strength. <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3161">[<a href="#xd31e3161">365</a>]</span>A riding horse carries on an average from 100 to 175 kilograms at a slow gait. If -the load is a rider of 80 kilograms, the horse can travel seven hours and cover ten -leagues of four kilometers each. But its strength is much better employed if instead -of carrying the weight on its back the animal draws it in a vehicle. Then an expenditure -of energy represented by the weight of five kilograms is sufficient to move a load -of 1000 kilograms if the wheels of the vehicle run on a railway track. For the same -load on a smooth, level road an expenditure of energy represented by 33 kilograms -is needed; finally, if the road is paved with stone the required energy will be 70 -kilograms. On an excellent road, stagecoach horses draw each a load of 800 kilograms -and cover six leagues in two hours, after which they are replaced by others. -</p> -<p>“Let us compare these figures once more with those relating to the steam engine. A -passenger locomotive draws with a speed of a dozen leagues an hour a train having -a total weight of as much as 150,000 kilograms. A freight locomotive draws at the -rate of seven leagues an hour a total weight of 650,000 kilograms. More than 1300 -horses would be needed to take the place of the first locomotive, and more than 2000 -for the second, if they were used to transport similar loads the same distance at -the same rate of speed, using cars running on rails. How many more would be needed -with wagons on ordinary roads, where the surface inequalities cause such waste of -energy! -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3165">[<a href="#xd31e3165">366</a>]</span></p> -<p>“The domestication of the horse goes back to the first communities of the East. After -the herd they must soon have had, first, the ass to carry the baggage of the nomadic -tribe, then the horse, man’s valiant comrade in the chase and in war. What is still -to be observed to-day shows us how easily this valuable animal submitted to man’s -domination. The grassy plains of Tartary abound in wild horses, and probably the species -originated in these Asiatic regions. The pampas of South America feed innumerable -herds of them, mingled with the wild cattle that I have told you about. Both descend -from domestic animals brought to the New World by Europeans. Each herd follows a leader -of tried strength and courage. If danger arises, if there is menace from some ferocious -wild beast, such as a wolf, panther, or jaguar, the horses crowd together and press -against one another for their common defense. Their haughty look and their kicking -are generally sufficient to put the aggressor to flight. But if the enemy charges -them, counting on an easy prey, the leader of the herd rears and falls on the beast -with all its weight, crushing the assailant with its fore hoofs; then with its powerful -jaws seizes the shattered body and throws it to the colts, which finish it and caracole -on its body.” -</p> -<p>“An animal that defends itself like that,” remarked Jules, “must be rather hard to -tame into a docile servant.” -</p> -<p>“No, the difficulty is not, after all, very great. What happens to-day on the pampas -when it is desired <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3170">[<a href="#xd31e3170">367</a>]</span>to master a wild horse is of a nature to show us how the ancient horse-tamers accomplished -the same object. A herd of horses, skilfully turned aside from its feeding ground -and surrounded little by little on all sides, is driven without suspecting the ruse -into a large enclosure called a corral. There those of finest appearance are selected. -Immediately a dexterous hand throws the lasso, the long leather thong weighted with -balls of lead, which catches them round the neck and legs and prevents their moving. -A halter is quickly put on the captive. A practised horseman wearing sharp spurs mounts -the animal, the fettering lasso is removed by helpers, and there stands the animal, -free, but trembling after its misadventure.” -</p> -<p>“Now the horseman had better look out,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“Certainly, the first moment is not without danger. The indignant animal rears, kicks, -bounds, and tries to roll on the ground to get rid of its burden; but the horseman -masters this rage with the bleeding prick of the spur; he keeps his seat as if he -were one with his mount. Then the gate of the enclosure is opened, and the horse darts -out and gallops away at breakneck speed until utterly winded. This unbridled run suffices -to tame the animal, after which the horseman rides it back, unresisting and already -obedient to bit and spur, to the corral. Henceforth it can be left with the domesticated -horses without fear of its trying to escape. -</p> -<p>“Horses are classed, according to the rearing and <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3176">[<a href="#xd31e3176">368</a>]</span>training they have received, in two chief groups—saddle horses and draft horses. The -first serve as mounts for riders, the second draw loads in vehicles. Among saddle -horses the most celebrated are the Arabian, remarkable for their mettle, intelligence, -docility, fleetness of foot, and ability to endure long abstinence from food and drink. -The Arab steed is medium-sized and has a delicate skin, small head, slender frame, -a spirited bearing, finely modeled legs, stomach little developed, and small, polished, -very hard hoofs. -</p> -<p>“Draft horses, whose function it is to draw heavy loads in wheeled vehicles at a walking -pace, have quite opposite characteristics. They lack lightness and mettle, but patiently -exert their strength, which is considerable, as might be inferred from their more -massive build and from the great quantity of feed that their maintenance demands. -They have a stout body, heavy walk, thick skin, large head, wide chest, broad rump, -capacious stomach, strong legs, and hoofs of no delicate proportions. France possesses -in the Boulogne breed the most highly prized of draft horses. This vigorous animal, -usually dapple-gray, plays the laborious part of shaft-horse. Having its position -next to the cart or wagon, it is placed between the two shafts. It is the one to pull -the hardest on up-grades, the one that eases with its enormous weight the jolts on -street pavements and checks the dangerous momentum of the vehicle on down-grades. -Compare these two pictures that I <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3180">[<a href="#xd31e3180">369</a>]</span>show you here, and you can easily see in the first the horse made for speed; in the -second, the horse intended for hard work.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3182">[<a href="#xd31e3182">370</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -<div id="ch39" class="div1 chapter"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#xd31e574">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="label">CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> -<h2 class="main">THE ASS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first">“Your uncle’s partiality, you have already been able to see, my friends, is for the -weak, the ill-treated, the unfortunate. I did not try to eulogize the horse, the valiant -animal commending itself sufficiently to our esteem without that; but very gladly -will I enumerate the good qualities of the ass, sad victim of our brutality despite -the service it renders us. To give my words more authority I will add Buffon’s testimony -to my own. -</p> -<p>“ ‘The ass,’ says the illustrious historian of animals, ‘is not a degenerate horse, -as many imagine; it is neither a foreigner nor an intruder nor a bastard; like all -animals it has its family, its species, and its rank. Although its nobility is less -illustrious, it is quite as good, quite as ancient, as that of the horse. Briefly, -the ass is an ass, nothing more, nothing less. -</p> -<p>“ ‘This initial fact is of no slight importance. In considering the ass as a degenerate -horse we are led to compare it with its assumed origin, and the comparison is not -favorable to it: the long-eared donkey makes but a pitiful showing beside the brisk -and noble courser. But as it is in reality a separate animal let us expect of it only -the qualities of its species, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3191">[<a href="#xd31e3191">371</a>]</span>the qualities of the ass, without depreciating the animal by comparisons with others -that are stronger and better endowed. Do we despise rye because it is not so good -as wheat? We thank Heaven for both, the first as the valued crop of the mountains, -the second as that of the plains. Let us not, then, despise the ass because it is -inferior to the horse. It possesses the good qualities of its species, and cannot -possess others. We fail to recognize that the ass would be our foremost, our finest, -our best made, our most distinguished domestic animal if there were no horse in the -world. It is second instead of first, and for that reason seems as nothing to us. -It is comparison that degrades it. We look at it and judge it, not on its own merits, -but relatively to the horse. We forget that it has all the good qualities of its nature, -all the gifts belonging to its species, and remember only the beauty and merits of -the horse, which it would be impossible for the ass to possess.’ -</p> -<p>“Buffon asserts that the nobility of the ass is as ancient as that of the horse. I -will venture even further than the master and maintain that it is certainly more ancient -in the sense that the ass was domesticated before the horse. It was the first to serve -the Asiatic shepherds in their migration in quest of better pasturage. It carried -the folded tent, the dairy utensils, the new-born lambs, the women and children. What -animal did the ancient patriarchs ride? What did Abraham ride on his journey into -Egypt? The ass, my friends, the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3195">[<a href="#xd31e3195">372</a>]</span>peaceful ass. On nearly every page of Genesis the ass is mentioned; the horse does -not appear there until Joseph’s time.” -</p> -<p>“The ancient origin of the ass could not have nobler credentials,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“Why then, asks Buffon, such scorn for the ass, so good, patient, sober, useful? Should -men scorn, even among animals, those that serve them well and at so little expense? -We educate the horse, take care of it, teach it, train it; while the ass, left to -the rough handling of the lowest servants or to the mischievous pranks of children, -far from improving in quality, can only deteriorate. If it were not fundamentally -of excellent character, it would lose all its virtues from the way in which it is -treated. It is the laughing-stock and the drudge of boors who beat it, overload it, -and wear it out without consideration.” -</p> -<p>“Oh, how many of these poor donkeys I have seen,” Jules exclaimed, “overwhelmed with -their loads and beaten unmercifully because they hadn’t strength enough to go on!” -</p> -<p>“What can become of the poor animal thus degraded by bad treatment? An intractable, -brutalized, bald-headed, mangy, weakened creature, object of pity for any one who -has not a heart harder than stone. But let us consider the ass as the Orientals know -how to raise it in all the comfort and content of careful home treatment. We shall -find an animal of fine appearance, gentle looks, glossy coat, distinguished and spirited -bearing, trotting briskly along the streets of the large towns, where it is habitually -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3202">[<a href="#xd31e3202">373</a>]</span>used as mount for going from one quarter to another. Its gait, without fatigue for -the rider, makes it preferred to the horse; the greatest ladies, in making their calls, -do not disdain its richly ornamented pack-saddle. The city of Cairo alone, in Egypt, -uses some forty thousand of these graceful trotters. In such society would our shameful -donkey dare to show itself? Ah! let us pity the poor creature: its wretched lot has -made it what it is.” -</p> -<p>“I should willingly agree with the people of Cairo,” said Emile. “I should prefer -the donkey for a mount. At any rate, if one gets a fall the danger is not so great.” -</p> -<p>“The donkey is just the mount for invalids, children, women, and old people; it is -naturally gentle, as quiet as the horse is spirited, mettlesome, and impetuous. Since, -by endowing it with a patience that is proof against everything and with a small size -which makes a fall from its back not at all dangerous, Heaven has created the donkey -expressly for you, show the good beast by your care that you are not forgetful of -your servant. -</p> -<p>“The ass is patient; it suffers punishment and blows with constancy and perhaps with -courage. This fine virtue is, as it were, written on its coat. You will often see -on the donkey’s back a long black stripe and another shorter one crossing the first -on the shoulders. The two dark bands form the image of the cross, divine symbol of -resignation to suffering. I know very well that this peculiarity in the animal’s coat -has not the least significance in itself; <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3209">[<a href="#xd31e3209">374</a>]</span>but still it is worthy of remark that the donkey, the innocent victim of our brutality, -bears the cross on its back. -</p> -<p>“The ass is temperate in both the quantity and quality of its food. It is contented -with the toughest and least palatable pasturage, which horses and other animals disdain -to touch. Along the roadside it browses the prickly tops of thistles, branches of -willows, shoots of hawthorn. If afterward it can roll on the grass a moment, it counts -this as the very summit of earthly happiness. But it is very dainty about water: it -will drink only the very clearest and from streams that it knows. It drinks as temperately -as it eats, and does not plunge its nose into the water, from fear, as they say, of -the reflection of its ears.” -</p> -<p>“That’s a funny sort of fear,” said Jules. -</p> -<p>“Therefore I don’t believe the saying is well founded. The ass is not so silly as -to be frightened by the reflection of its ears. If it drinks merely with its lips, -without plunging its nose into the water, it is because, like the cat, it fears getting -wet. It does not, like the horse, wallow in mire and water; it shrinks from even wetting -its feet, and will make a detour to avoid mud. Hence its legs are always dry and cleaner -than a horse’s. Its aversion to wet explains sufficiently its manner of drinking, -without attributing it to any silly fear of the reflection of the animal’s ears.” -</p> -<p>“Why do people speak of that fear, then?” -</p> -<p>“Simply for the malicious pleasure of adding one <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3217">[<a href="#xd31e3217">375</a>]</span>more example of stupidity to the donkey’s account. Is it not agreed that the unfortunate -beast has every possible whimsicality? Has not its very name become the favorite term -to denote stupidity? All this is pure calumny; far from being the idiot it is called, -the ass is a cunning beast, prudent, full of circumspection, as is proved by the care -it takes in not drinking except from known springs already tested by use.” -</p> -<p>“Why make such a fuss about drinking?” was Emile’s query. -</p> -<p>“Why? Alas, my friend, evil sometimes befalls us for not exercising the donkey’s prudence -in the choice of our drinking-water. The unknown spring whence we draw water may be -too cold, unwholesome, full of injurious substances. Better advised than we, the ass -will put its lips only to water known by experience to be wholesome.” -</p> -<p>“And the ass is a hundred times right,” Jules declared. -</p> -<p>“If I dared to, I should blame the ass for the passion it has for rolling on the ground, -sometimes, alas, without any thought of the load it carries. But is it really the -animal’s fault? Since nobody takes the trouble to curry the ass, to relieve the itching -of its skin, it rolls on the grass and seems thus to reproach its master for neglect. -Let the curry-comb and the brush keep its back clean, and the donkey will cease trying -to rub itself, all four legs in the air, against the prickly foliage of the thistles. -It is the accumulation of dust and dirt that torments it, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3224">[<a href="#xd31e3224">376</a>]</span>not parasites, for of all hairy animals the ass is the least subject to vermin. It -never has lice, apparently on account of the hardness and dryness of its skin, which -is in fact harder than that of most other quadrupeds. For the same reason it is much -less sensitive than the horse to the whip and to the sting of flies. -</p> -<p>“When overloaded, it lies on its stomach and refuses to move, determined to let itself -be beaten to death rather than get up. ‘Oh, the stubborn brute! Oh, the stupid ass!’ -cries the master; and down comes the stick. Is it stubbornness on the animal’s part -to refuse to work? Listen first to a short story. In the old days of the Roman Empire -a man of profound wisdom, Epictetus, was a slave in the house of a brutal master. -One day the latter beat him unmercifully with his cane. ‘Master,’ said Epictetus to -him, ‘I warn you that if you keep that up you will break my leg and your slave will -lose in value.’ The brute struck all the harder, and a bone broke. With sublime resignation -the slave uttered no reproach except to say: ‘I told you you would break my leg.’ -</p> -<p>“To return to the ass laden beyond its strength, if it could speak it would certainly -express itself thus in imitation of the sage: ‘Master, I assure you very humbly the -load you are putting on me overtaxes my strength and I cannot carry it.’ But the man -inconsiderately continues augmenting the burden until at last the animal’s back bends -under the weight. The donkey first inclines its head, lowers its ears, and then lies -down. That is its way of saying, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3230">[<a href="#xd31e3230">377</a>]</span>‘I told you I couldn’t carry such a heavy load.’ Any one but a boor would hasten to -lighten the load, instead of unmercifully beating the animal, and the donkey would -get up as soon as the weight became suited to its strength.” -</p> -<p>“They won’t make the donkey any stronger by beating it,” was Jules’s comment. -</p> -<p>“And, what is more, they will turn a docile animal into an obstinate, ill-tempered -one. In its early youth, before it knows the hardness of life, the donkey is gay, -playful, full of pretty tricks; but with the sad experience of age, with crushing -fatigue and ill-treatment, it becomes indocile, slow, obstinate, vindictive. Is not -that, however, our fault? How many injuries has not the unfortunate beast to avenge, -and what a host of good qualities must it not have to remain in the end as we find -it? If the donkey harbored ill-will for blows received, its master would become an -object of hatred and it would be constantly biting and kicking him. On the contrary, -the animal becomes attached to him, scents him from a distance, distinguishes him -from all other men, and can if necessary find him amid all the confusion of a fair -or market. -</p> -<p>“With passable food and, above all, with good usage, the ass becomes the most submissive, -faithful, and affectionate of companions. Let it be saddled or harnessed, loaded with -pack-saddle, panniers, farm tools, or what not, it shirks no labor. If there is any -fodder for it, it eats; if not, it crops the thistles by the side of the road; and -if there are no thistles <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3236">[<a href="#xd31e3236">378</a>]</span>it goes hungry without letting its fast diminish in the least its good will. It is -a philosophical beast, neither <span class="corr" id="xd31e3238" title="Source: umiliated">humiliated</span> by bearing the poor man’s pack-saddle nor puffed up by the rich man’s elegant housings, -and anxious only to do its duty everywhere and always. -</p> -<p>“The ass has good eyes, keen scent, and excellent ears. From the quickness of its -hearing and the length of its ears the inference is drawn that the animal is timid. -I am willing to assent to this, the ass never having earned a reputation for prowess -or daring. Moreover, its quickness of hearing and length of ears are shared by many -other animals that do not surpass it in courage, as, for example, the hare and the -rabbit, which are even more richly endowed than the ass in respect to length of ears. -Their weakness and defenselessness expose them to a thousand dangers and make their -life a continual state of alarm. To be warned in time of peril and save themselves -by speedy flight, their surest dependence is the excellence of their hearing, which -is partly due to the enormous size of the external ear, movable in every direction -so as to receive sounds from all sides. -</p> -<p>“Merely because the ass has the long ears indicative of timidity shall we charge the -animal with poltroonery? That would be unfair, for if it does not court danger it -at least knows how to face it when peaceful means of safety are out of the question. -The horse is warlike, the ass prefers the gentle ways of peace and consents to the -arbitrament of <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3244">[<a href="#xd31e3244">379</a>]</span>force only when no other course is possible; but then its courage rises to meet the -danger. If in its wild state it is surprised by an assailant, it hastens to rejoin -its companions of the pasture; and, all grouping together as do wild horses in their -war tactics, they begin to kick and bite with such fury that the enemy decamps as -quickly as possible, with jaw-bone fractured by a flying hoof.” -</p> -<p>“After such an exploit,” said Jules, “let no one tell me the donkey is a coward.” -</p> -<p>“I fancy,” put in Emile, “that after routing the enemy the donkeys do not fail to -chorus a song of victory.” -</p> -<p>“It is not to be doubted that, to congratulate one another and to celebrate their -triumph, the donkeys sound a few clarion notes, such as they so well know how to give. -The horse neighs and the donkey brays, the latter cry being very loud, very prolonged, -very disagreeable, and composed of a succession of discords ranging from sharp to -grave and from grave to sharp.” -</p> -<p>“And the last notes,” added Emile, “are hoarser and gradually die away.” -</p> -<p>“I see Emile is well acquainted with the donkey’s voice. Let us go on to some of its -other peculiarities. From time immemorial the ass has had the reputation of being -stupid: its very name is synonymous with stupidity. There is a whole vocabulary of -abusive epithets that we bestow on the ass, and these epithets nearly always allude -to its stupidity. We call it a numbskull, a ninny, a jackass, a wooden-head, <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3253">[<a href="#xd31e3253">380</a>]</span>and I don’t know what all; and, as a crowning slander to the animal, the dunce of -his class at school is made to wear a cap with donkey’s ears. Never has calumny been -more flagrant. The donkey a dunce? By no means! Is it not the donkey that, with a -prudence worthy of imitation, refuses to drink from unknown springs? Does it not, -when lost in the crowd at market, know how to find its master almost as easily as -the dog, and does it not begin to bray with joy at sight of him? But there is something -better than this to prove its intelligence. Recall to mind the wagoner’s long team -of horses on the highway. There are four, six, eight of them, sturdily tugging at -the enormous load. Between the two shafts, the most arduous position of all, is the -massive shaft-horse, while at the head of the team proudly marches a donkey, harnessed -very lightly. What is this little creature doing at the head of those robust companions? -First, it pulls with vigor, so far as its strength will admit; and, secondly, it has -a still more important function to fill. Its part is to guide the equipage and keep -it in the middle of the road, to avoid ruts, get around difficult places, and, in -general, pick the way. While the heavy horses work only with their shoulders to draw -the load, the donkey, to lead the way, works at the same time with its head. This -post of honor, this position as leader of the file—would it be assigned to the ass -if the animal were not recognized as the most intelligent of the team? -</p> -<p>“I should like to show you also the donkey traveling <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3257">[<a href="#xd31e3257">381</a>]</span>in mountainous countries in company with horses and mules. It is the one to direct -the band, showing the others the turnouts to take to avoid a dangerous place. If the -path gets too bad, the donkey foresees the peril with an astonishing sagacity; it -turns aside a moment from the beaten track, finds a way around the difficult spot -by a cleverly calculated bend, and takes the regular road again farther on. Any mule -or horse that disdains to follow the donkey’s intelligent leadership runs the risk -of getting into trouble whence it will be very hard to get it out.” -</p> -<p>“As far as I can see,” said Jules, “the donkey is more intelligent than the horse, -since it acts as the horse’s guide.” -</p> -<p>“That is my opinion, too, in spite of the reputation for stupidity that it has acquired, -I don’t know why. The donkey walks, trots, and gallops like the horse, but all its -movements are within a smaller compass and much slower. Although it can start out -at a brisk enough pace, it cannot cover great distances or continue on the road for -a long time. Whatever gait it takes, if the animal is urged to go faster it is soon -exhausted. It is especially suited to mountainous countries. Its small, hard hoofs -enable it to follow stony paths with the greatest ease; its prudent gait and firm -and circumspect step give it access to rough places and the steepest slopes. -</p> -<p>“The donkey is very robust. In proportion to its size it is perhaps of all animals -the one that can carry the heaviest load, but as its body is small the <span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3263">[<a href="#xd31e3263">382</a>]</span>burden placed on it ought not to exceed moderate limits. What a useful servant would -one not have in an animal having the qualities of the donkey and the vigorous development -of the horse! Such a creature does not exist in the natural order, but man has obtained -it by the intervention of his art. -</p> -<p>“The species of the horse and that of the ass are unmistakably distinct from each -other and never cross in the wild state. Nevertheless, since they are very nearly -related, as their close resemblance in form proves, cross-breeding between them is -possible with careful management. From this unnatural union comes the mule, of which -the father is the ass and the mother the mare. The mule then is not a separate species -of animal having its own independent existence; it is not an ass nor a horse, but -a bastard creature intermediate between the two. To its father, the ass, it owes its -large head, long ears, narrow and hard hoofs, thick skin, rough coat, generally dark -in color and sometimes ornamented with the two black stripes in the form of a cross -on the back. To the ass it also owes its temperate habits, its tenacity in work, its -robust constitution, and the sureness of foot so necessary in mountainous countries. -From its mother, the mare, it gets its powerful equine frame, its quick gait, its -freedom of limb. Its rude strength, moderation in supplying its animal wants, power -of enduring the utmost fatigue, indifference to extreme heat, make it one of the most -useful animals, especially in hot climates where there are long spells of drought.” -<span class="pageNum" id="xd31e3267">[<a href="#xd31e3267">383</a>]</span></p> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="back"> -<div class="div1 advertisement"><span class="pageNum">[<a href="#toc">Contents</a>]</span><div class="divHead"> -<h2 class="main xd31e3270">THE ADIRONDACKS</h2> -</div> -<div class="divBody"> -<p class="first xd31e3272"><i>By</i> <span class="sc">T. 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It is a book especially -for young people of from ten to sixteen years; it is a fascinating and accurate account -in crystal-clear language for grown-ups with hearts still young enough to permit them -to be interested in the great living but inarticulate world around them. -</p> -<p>Maeterlinck has called Fabre “the insects’ Homer.” In France his popularising hand-books -have gone into many editions. Of recent years, too, the entire world that reads has -bestirred itself to do honor to the eminent scientist who studied the nature world -with the zeal of a medieval monk, whose background of scholarship and innate chivalry -and good humor always made itself felt in his writing, and who expressed himself with -the simplicity and fire of a poet. -</p> -<p>The Century Co. counts itself fortunate in being able to offer this French classic -in this admirable translation. -</p> -<p>“It should prove an invaluable book for growing children.… It makes scientific facts -little known common property for all, and is withal a deeply interesting, charming -exposition of natural truths.”—<i>The Literary Digest.</i> -</p> -<p class="xd31e3281"><i>Illustrated. Price $2.00</i> -</p> -<div class="table"> -<table> -<tr> -<td class="cellLeft cellTop cellBottom">At All Bookstores <br>Published by -</td> -<td class="xd31e3289 cellTop cellBottom xd31e3296">THE CENTURY CO. -</td> -<td class="xd31e3290 cellRight cellTop cellBottom">353 Fourth Avenue <br>New York City</td> -</tr> -</table> -</div><p> -</p> -</div> -</div> -<div class="transcriberNote"> -<h2 class="main">Colophon</h2> -<h3 class="main">Availability</h3> -<p class="first">This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project -Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a class="seclink xd31e44" title="External link" href="https://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</p> -<p>This eBook is produced by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="seclink xd31e44" title="External link" href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>. -</p> -<p>Scans of this book are available from The Internet Archive (copy <a class="seclink xd31e44" title="External link" href="https://archive.org/details/ourhumblehelpers00fabrrich">1</a>, <a class="seclink xd31e44" title="External link" href="https://archive.org/details/ourhumblehelpers00fabr2">2</a>). -</p> -<h3 class="main">Metadata</h3> -<table class="colophonMetadata" summary="Metadata"> -<tr> -<td><b>Title:</b></td> -<td>Our Humble Helpers: Familiar Talks on the Domestic Animals</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Author:</b></td> -<td>Jean-Henri-Casimir Fabre (1823–1915)</td> -<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/51689251/" class="seclink">Info</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Translator:</b></td> -<td>Florence Constable Bicknell (1858–1941)</td> -<td><a href="https://viaf.org/viaf/205101296/" class="seclink">Info</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Language:</b></td> -<td>English</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><b>Original publication date:</b></td> -<td>1918</td> -<td></td> -</tr> -</table> -<h3 class="main">Revision History</h3> -<ul> -<li>2021-12-28 Started. -</li> -</ul> -<h3 class="main">External References</h3> -<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These links may not work -for you.</p> -<h3 class="main">Corrections</h3> -<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p> -<table class="correctionTable" summary="Overview of corrections applied to the text."> -<tr> -<th>Page</th> -<th>Source</th> -<th>Correction</th> -<th>Edit distance</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e683">25</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">!</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">?</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1123">83</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">become</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">became</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1426">128</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2188">229</a>, <a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2785">311</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Not in source</i>] -</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">“</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1494">138</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">magnificient</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">magnificent</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1506">139</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">comtrary</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">contrary</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1600">151</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Hardensburg</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Hardensburgh</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e1820">180</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">threshhold</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">threshold</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2326">247</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">said</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">paid</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2406">257</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">puled</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">pulled</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2674">296</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Valcarès</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">Vaccarès</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2724">303</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">soul-tasting</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">sour-tasting</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e2956">340</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">,</td> -<td class="width40 bottom"> -[<i>Deleted</i>] -</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="width20"><a class="pageref" href="#xd31e3238">378</a></td> -<td class="width40 bottom">umiliated</td> -<td class="width40 bottom">humiliated</td> -<td class="bottom">1</td> -</tr> -</table> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUR HUMBLE HELPERS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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