It is a long time since naturalists and philosophers maintained the doctrine that animals, being controlled by instinct, were quite incapable of comprehending new ideas, and of acquiring and memorizing novel things which they have been taught to do by man.

Many reflective men now believe that the mind of an animal differs from the human intellect only in degree. The extent of this difference, however, remains a question, and one on which close observation of domestic animals, and more particularly of wild animals trained for public amusement, is calculated to throw a great deal of light.

Through a study of wild animals in their native haunts there may be learned what progress each has made in adapting itself to the natural conditions of its life; but the study of trained animals, placed under new conditions and influences, will show whether these are capable of further or, at any rate, divergent advancement intellectually, and give some hint of the probable limit of this progress. It may then be seen to what extent the animal trainer has gone in his development of brute intellect, and that that development has come about under conditions not entirely dissimilar to those observed in the advancement of the intellect of the higher species of animals.

It should be noted, first, that “taming” and “training” are two different words expressing two distinct ideas. “Taming” is merely inducing an animal to abandon its natural fierce disposition so far as to come under human control and be more or less sociable with man. It is a matter in which animals differ very widely, not only as between classes, but as between individuals of the same species.

Moreover, tameness seems to be a matter of the disposition rather than of the intellect, and, perhaps, pertains to a lower rather than to a higher grade of intelligence, for it is noticeable that some of the animals most apt in the school of the trainer abandon only slightly, if at all, their native savagery. On the other hand, some animals thoroughly domesticated seem quite incapable of any degree of education, though this may be from the fact that no one has tried it in a continuous or systematic way.

It would be hazardous to say that any animal organism is too low to manifest, had we eyes to see it, some intelligence superior to instinct. It is said that even fishes can be taught simple actions, although personally I have had no proof of it. Serpents can also be taught a little, though performing snakes are usually simply submitting to be put through certain motions in the hands of their keepers. But from birds up to elephants, the most intelligent of all animals, there is not one species, it may safely be said, which is not more or less amenable to the training of man.

It is a delusion to think that a wild animal is ever really “tamed.” He acquires, through passiveness and receptivity, an amenity to man’s control, and for the time being drops his ferocity. This is partly because of the inducements which are placed in his way. He has all that an animal can want,—food, cleanliness, indolence, proper exercise, even affection,—everything but freedom, but he only bows to man’s will because man, through the exercise of his intelligence, takes advantage of the animal’s ignorance. Every animal trainer thoroughly understands what the public does not know—that the trained animal is a product of science; but the tamed animal is a chimera of the optimistic imagination, a forecast of the millennium.

The first principle that is taught a trainer is: “Never let an animal know his power.” The moment he realizes that, he is likely to use his terrible teeth, or still more terrible claws, for I always try to impress upon the trainers that each animal is, as it were, possessed of five mouths, as he can do as much, if not more, damage with each of his four feet as with his mouth.

The very moment an animal realizes his power, his training is at an end. He grows insolent, and in nine cases out of ten proceeds to wreak his vengeance on the trainer for what he concludes are past outrages; his fear has gone, and with his knowledge comes power, and his animal ferocity, long slumbering and awaiting an opening, breaks out with redoubled vigor. The only thing to be done is for the trainer to get out as soon as possible, and let that particular animal lead a solitary life for the remainder of his days.

This is one of the reasons that everything is done to further the animal’s increased respect for mankind. If he makes a scratch on a trainer, the man does not resent it in any way, for he does not wish the animal to know that he is capable of inflicting injury. Should the animal become aware in the slightest degree that what has been done is an evidence of any superior ability, he might naturally presume upon it and proceed to hurt the trainer in some other manner.

Many animals do, of course, inflict injuries upon the trainers fairly often, but it is a most unwise trainer who ever makes the slightest sign of pain or annoyance. Trainers have been known to give a flick of the whip, or some other punishment, but the result is always the same. Either the animal promptly retorts in some real injury, or indulges in a fit of the sulks which he is slow to forget. The blow he, as a rule, never forgets.

Not long ago, Herman Weedon went to greet his favorite bear, Doc, in the early morning. It is his custom to put his face close to the bear for a morning kiss or caress, to which the bear responds affectionately. In this case, Herman was outside the cage, and the bear, wishing to get his face closer, put out one paw to draw it nearer. The long claws tore the flesh of the trainer’s face, and injured his eye so badly that it was feared he would lose his sight. But no punishment was given to the animal, neither was he allowed to know what he had done or to what extent his terrible claws had hurt the trainer. The animal had intended no harm, and it would have been most unwise to let him know how easily he could hurt, so no notice whatever was taken of the matter.

There are many slight attacks made by animals such as that in which Young Wallace tore my leg. This was simply an accident, and not intentional on the part of the animal, therefore it did not go against his character. No performer is put on the list of bad animals unless he makes a direct and full attack. Striking at the trainer with the paws may amount to very little; it may be purely accidental. It is the spring that counts. Every trainer expects to be clawed somewhat, and there is no successful trainer who has remained in the business long enough to entitle him to the name of trainer, and does not bear many marks of scratches and tears somewhere on his body.

My own body and limbs are elaborately tattooed with testimonials from my feline friends of many years past, for from my earliest boyhood I have been in intimate contact with the carnivora in the menagerie. All this is a matter of course.

The beast that springs, however, must either be cowed into submission quickly, or the trainer must escape from the cage as soon as possible. If the animal really means business, it is the man’s part and duty to get out, for no man can stand against the strength of a lion, the cautious spring of a tiger, or the tremendous power and terrible agility of a leopard or jaguar.

Supposing a man gets fairly cornered, the best defense against a charging lion or tiger is to strike the animal on the nose, hitting up from under; but this is by no means an easy thing to do, as the animal will spring and dodge with a degree of skill that would do credit to a master of the prize ring. Meantime, however, the man can have been edging into a position that will give him an opportunity to escape.

The felines—lions, tigers, jaguars, and leopards—jump for the throat. That is the objective point against which all carnivora make their most decided attack. It is in this way that they hunt their jungle prey, and they carry the practices of the jungle into their association with human beings. An agile man,—and no man should be allowed to become an animal trainer if he is not agile,—when he sees that the animal is going to leap, can avoid the onset and get in a blow that will not injure the animal, but will send him cringing to the other end of the cage.

It is when knocked down that the great danger comes to the trainer. On his feet he is the master, but for prostrate humanity an animal has no respect whatever. On his feet there is always a chance of controlling the animals; but when down his power is gone. The minute his body touches the floor the man ceases to be master. If knocked down, the man’s only chance is to struggle to the bars and raise himself, for back on his feet he may stem the tide of onslaught. A stick, a whip, a chair, perseverance, and aggressive pluck will then be his weapons of subjugation.

Some animals train easily; others learn their lessons with great diffidence and some reluctance. What one lion may learn in a week may take another a month; what one tiger may do in two lessons may take another one several months even to imitate feebly. One may as well try to give a hard and set rule for the rearing of a child, taking it through nursing, kindergarten, the primary grade, the high school and into college, without allowing the slightest leeway for the personal equation, as to say what is necessary for the training of an animal in general. Each is a study, alone and complete in itself, and each animal has its distinct individuality.

One of the greatest factors in training is to secure prompt obedience from the animals, not only at the beginning, but always. When once an animal is taught to go to a certain place, the next thing is to make him clearly understand that he is to stay there until he has his cue to come down again. This is important in more ways than one.

In the first place, the fact of their staying on their pedestals means everything to the trainer—probably his life. When once the animals have been made to know that they must not get down until told, the trainer is safe. Very few, if any, beasts will spring from a pedestal. It is an awkward place to spring from, for one thing, and there is not room to give enough impetus, for another. But when an animal is on the ground, there is never any knowing what he may take into his head to do next.

There is absolutely no danger to the woman trainer, La Belle Selica, no matter how much she dances and pirouettes in front of and around her lions, as long as they keep on their pedestals. It is when one gets down that the danger threatens. Then there is not only the probability that the lion will spring, but there is also the chance, and a very great one, that all the other lions will also get down, for what one animal does another generally does too. This trainer was attacked at one time in this very manner.

She had entered the arena, got all four lions up on their pedestals, and was half way through her dance, when one lioness got slowly and indifferently down and settled herself comfortably on the floor. This would not do; so, still going on with her dancing, the trainer ordered the lioness up again. Not feeling inclined to get up, the lioness growled a little, in return for which La Belle Selica flicked her with a small whip that she carried in her hand. Unfortunately, at this moment another lion got down, and the trainer not only had the lioness to tackle, but had also to keep a sharp lookout for the other lion.

She gave another flick with her whip, but at another growl from the lioness the second lion sprang forward and knocked the trainer down. In a wonderful manner she was up again in a moment, and the lion’s attention being attracted from outside the arena by two of the trainers, La Belle Selica was able to get out without much injury. By the time she reached the door both the other lions had also got down, and it is doubtful whether she would not have lost her life had she not been very quick. The curious thing was that at her next performance the lions seemed to have forgotten all about the incident, and were perfectly obedient, none seeming to have any wish to get down at all.

One of the most dangerous moments in the whole of Captain Bonavita’s performance is when he first enters and has to get all twenty-seven lions up on the pedestals. Dozens of things may happen before he gets them there. A lion may be in a playful mood and catch him by the leg, throwing him down; one of them may get in his way and trip him up; he may get a blow from one of the many hard, ropy tails, or a pat from one of the huge paws. One or two lions may suddenly consider that this would be a good time to spring on him; a couple of them may have a romp together, and so knock against him; and, what is far more serious, one or two may begin a quarrel which may end in a free fight, in which all the others would be only too ready to join.

All these things may happen before he is able to get them on the pedestals; but, when once there, the force of habit and obedience has become so strong, and the personal influence of this trainer is so powerful, that it is an exceedingly rare thing for even one of the twenty-seven to once get down. Occasionally this will happen, but a steady look from Bonavita, a motion from his whip, and the lion gets slowly up from the floor, ascends the pedestal, and puts on an indifferent air, as though he had been there all the time.

Absolute obedience from the animals is one of the great foundations of training. Without it, there would be no performing animals, and no trainer. I have seen trainers spend hours, and sometimes a whole day, insisting on an animal doing some little thing which he is reluctant to do. The thing itself, perhaps, is not very important; it may not be used in the performance at all, but it is a matter of obedience, and it must be insisted upon, no matter at what trouble or cost.

Richard De Kenzo, one of the most daring trainers, nearly lost his life at one time because he had not insisted on an animal promptly obeying him. De Kenzo prefers to train only the more savage and treacherous beasts, but in this case he had concluded that the animal was not feeling very well, and it is a strict rule that no animal who is the least sick is ever allowed to perform or be trained. For this reason, then, the animal was let off; but the next time he absolutely refused to do what was wanted of him, and the fact of trying to make him do so brought about an attack which might have ended very seriously. As it was, De Kenzo got off with a badly torn hand and arm, and was ill for several weeks. Much has been said, and much more doubtless imagined, by the casual observer about the control which a trainer has over his charges by reason of some magnetic power in his eye. No greater fallacy ever existed. A study of Bonavita’s performance would satisfy any one as to that question. He has twenty-seven lions in the arena at one time, and is constantly turning his back on most of them, walking about among them, and singling out, from time to time, here and there, some one for special acts and tricks. He would require twenty-seven pairs of eyes to control his act if the eye supposition were correct.

It is not the eye,—though that may express the qualities of resoluteness, of wariness, and of patience,—it is the brain that controls a score and more of beasts like that. In association with animals of the feline species, there is an ever present element of danger, no matter how well trained they may be. Every time a trainer turns his back in a cage he risks his life: not a great risk, to be sure, but there is always a chance of death in a stroke. Yet it is impossible to keep the eye on half a dozen animals at once, let alone twenty-seven, and the man must trust to the good temper of his subjects and his own control and good fortune.

Many animals—this is true especially of lions—leap at the bars of a cage in a frenzy of rage the moment a trainer leaves them, as though furious that they had let him out alive, yet the next time he enters they are none the less completely under his dominion. So excellent is the effect of this fury on the thrill-demanding public, that some lions have been trained to do this very trick. But it is an extremely dangerous one, and one which no sensible trainer would dream of teaching his animals.