CHAPTER XVII. PERFORMING MONKEYS--MONKEY EQUESTRIANS--THE "WONDERFUL CYNOCEPHALUS"--MONKEY ACTORS, ETC.

In training performing monkeys the instructor is greatly aided by that imitative faculty which is a characteristic of the whole monkey family. The intense passion a monkey has for mimicking the actions of persons is well known, and to such an excessive degree is this passion sometimes possessed that several instances are on record of their cutting their own throats while attempting to shave themselves, having observed some man performing that operation. It is this imitative instinct which is taken advantage of in preparing monkeys for public exhibition. Indeed, their instruction consists mainly in the teacher performing the act himself, for the monkey to copy. This is the case with such tricks as taking off the hat, fencing with a little tin sword, sweeping with a little broom, and the like.

During his instruction the pupil has a small leather belt around his body, to which is attached a cord several yards in length, which the trainer holds. The first thing taught is usually standing on the hind legs; this is done by holding the cord taut and the gentle application of a switch under the chin. This is not a natural position, still the animal can maintain it with comparative ease. Walking the tight rope is also easily accomplished, and furnished with a light balancing pole, he will go back and forth under the guidance of the “leading string” before mentioned. Jumping barriers or leaping through hoops held in the trainer’s hand, is taught by jerking the string and giving the monkey a slight cut with the whip. Hoops covered with tissue paper, or balloons, as they are technically called, may be substituted for the open ones after a few lessons, and add to the attractiveness of the performance.

Dressed in male or female apparel, the monkey’s naturally comical appearance is greatly hightened. Thus, one may be dressed to represent a lady of fashion, while another personates her footman, who, dressed in gorgeous livery, supports her train. This is elaborated into quite a little scene at some exhibitions. A little barouche, drawn by a team of dogs, is driven on the stage, a monkey driving while a monkey footman sits solemn and erect upon his perch behind. A monkey lady and gentleman are seated inside, she with a fan and parasol, and he with a stovepipe hat. Around the stage several times the equipage is driven, until by-and-by one of the wheels comes off and a sudden stop results. Down the footman comes, opens the carriage door, assists gentleman to hand out lady—who has fainted in gentleman’s arms just as she ought under these trying circumstances, and in a style that would do credit to any belle in a similar accident at Central Park—gets chair from side of stage for her to sit in, while gentleman fans her till she gradually recovers. Coachman meantime gets down and goes after the lost wheel, which he rolls to the vehicle and places therein; then mounting his box, drives off, for repairs it is presumed. By this time the lady has recovered, takes the arm of her escort and follows after the carriage, while the footman brings up the rear, carrying the chair.

This is apparently quite a complicated performance, but is not particularly difficult. Each performer is taught what he is to do, the most intelligent monkey being generally assigned the footman’s character. The dogs are taught to run around until the wheel comes off; this is their signal to stop. In teaching the monkeys their parts a portion only of the scene is taught at first; thus some days may be consumed in merely making the actors occupy their appointed positions properly—such slight improprieties as the footman jumping down upon the heads of the lady and gentleman, or the gentleman pulling the driver off his seat by the tail, or the lady banging her cavalier over the head with her parasol, and like exhibitions of playfulness, being checked by applications of the whip. Gradually the “business” of the scene is built up—each lesson including all performed up to that time and a little in advance; nuts, bread and an occasional bit of candy, being the rewards for success, and whip for failure therein. Each monkey knowing his name, and being called upon by name when his turn comes, he by-and-by learns the proper time to perform his assigned work without any prompting.

The equestrian performances on pony or dog-back, styled “steeple chases,” and like tricks usually exhibited, scarcely require notice here. However amusing they may be it can hardly be said that the monkey’s part of the exhibition requires much of either intelligence or training, as he is usually strapped upon his steed and cannot very well help staying there. Sometimes, however, instead of tying the monkey in the saddle, a perch is erected on the fore part of the saddle, to which he clings frantically as the dog or pony rushes around the ring. This is no great improvement upon the strap, and the only training the monkey gets is a cut from the whip whenever he permits himself to be dislodged. For a trainer to break a monkey so as to ride a horse, carry a miniature flag, and hold on by the reins, is commonly considered a remarkable achievement. Occasionally though a monkey rider has been exhibited who has really performed in a manner not merely absurd. The most notable example of this kind was a huge ape of the cynocephalus or dog face family, exhibited in the winter of 1867–8 at Lent’s New York Circus, under the title of the “Wonderful Cynocephalus.”

Monsieur Olivier, a French circus manager, had taken a troupe to India on speculation a short time previous to the Sepoy mutiny, on the breaking out of which his company disbanded, many joining the English troops. The manager then wandered in search of an opening for professional speculation, and while so doing attempted the training of several varieties of the monkey tribe. His success was by no means encouraging until, after years of failure, he came across the individual who is the subject of this sketch. The Cynocephalus was captured in Zanzibar, on the east cost of Africa, and from the first exhibited unusual intelligence, and after many months of patient training he was prepared to shine among equestrian stars. His dÉbÛt was made at the Cirque Napoleon, where he immediately achieved celebrity. His performances afterward repeated in New York were equally successful, and a brilliant career was anticipated for him. Preparations had been made for his exhibition throughout the country, with the circus to which he was attached, but a week or two previous to starting on the summer tour the Cynocephalus was attacked with inflammation of the bowels, and though he rallied, and hopes were entertained of his recovery, he died some days before the time appointed for the start.

Of his achievements in the ring it is only necessary to say that he went through all the feats usually displayed by a circus-rider, jumping upon the horse, standing on one leg, then holding the other in his hand, then standing on his head, following this by somersaults, and finishing off with the customary vaulting through balloons and over banners. There was all the while a gravity of demeanor and seriousness of countenance contrasting favorably with the self-satisfied smirks and meaningless grins of his human compeers.

As regards his tuition, each act had been taught separately, the ape with a cord attached to a collar around his neck and the other end held by his master, being placed in the required position, the horse was then started, and in each instance where the ape quitted his position before the horse was stopped, a cut from the whip was administered; every time the ape retained the position till the horse had gone a certain number of times around the circle, he was rewarded with a sweetmeat. Each time a change of position was to be made, which was always after a particular number of “rounds,” the horse was stopped and the ape made to take the new posture. These attitudes followed one another in regular sequence, and soon a mere change in the music was substituted for the stoppage each time the horse had been around the customary number of times. A hint from the whip was sufficient to remind the ape that he was to make a change. The banner and balloon tricks were readily taught by making him first leap them, when offered, while the horse was standing still, and afterward when in motion. The system of reward or punishment for success or failure was always kept up, and in his public performances a close observer would have noticed at any failure a frightened look from the ape and a sly cut of the whip, while after each successful feat a little sweetmeat was received from the pocket of the ring-master.

A very popular scene at exhibitions of performing animals is that in which a number of monkeys are seated around a table, spread for a feast. Two or three monkeys personate waiters and bring in, first candles, and then in succession the various courses, really consisting of things suited to monkey stomachs, but considered by theatrical license to be the customary viands of a grand feast. Bottles of water-wine conclude the repast. This is actually one of the simplest things for the trainer to accomplish. The guests being tied in their high chairs, their little bibs pinned around their necks, the only farther trouble with them is to keep them from fighting or stealing each other’s rations. The waiters bringing in the things, especially the lighted candles, look very pretty and very intelligent. This part is taught by having two strings attached to the monkey. The end of one of these strings is held by the trainer, the end of the other by an assistant off the stage. The assistant places an article in the monkey’s paw and slacks up his line, while the trainer hauls in on his, and by this very simple arrangement, first one and then the other hauling, the monkey learns to make the passage to and from the stage. Should he drop his load before reaching the person to whom he is traveling, a long whip-lash reminds him of his mistake, and the article is replaced in his hand, or he kept by it until he picks it up. It doesn’t take long to teach him that when he is given an article by one of his “workers” he is to take it to the other, and then the strings may be dispensed with, though a fine but strong twine is sometimes used even in public exhibitions, and we recall one occasion at a New York theater where the waiter got the twine entangled in some impediment and was held midway till released by the exhibitor. Though the twine could not be seen by the audience, the cause of the difficulty was too obvious to be mistaken, and some rather sarcastic applause was bestowed. On another occasion, in a neighboring city, we witnessed a squabble among the monkey guests, a general clawing and biting, ending with the upsetting of the chairs and the scampering off of the monkeys with chairs “hitched on behind.”

The “drill exercise,” performed with a little musket, which the monkey fires off at the close, is a common but always popular exhibition. Any one who has seen a green recruit “put through” by the drill-sergeant can form a pretty correct idea of the method of training pursued in the case of the monkey. The instructor takes the required positions himself, using his whip in lieu of a musket, giving the word of command as he does so. Until the monkey understands these orders the trainer places his musket in the right position for him whenever he fails to do it himself. In case of willful disobedience or obstinacy, the whip is restored to its primary use, while good conduct is rewarded with equal promptness.

Sham fights are sometimes arranged for a number of monkeys. In this performance each monkey is taught his particular part, and rehearses it with the trainer till thoroughly familiar with it; then each monkey rehearses with the one with whom he is to act, until, as all become perfect in their parts, the whole act together. In rehearsing the monkeys perform each action at the word of command, being called by name. The mimicry natural in monkeys has here to be checked, otherwise the performance would be thrown into confusion by each copying the other’s acts. The monkeys are, therefore, punished for any movement without orders, or for responding when another’s name is called.

To be trained successfully, monkeys must be taken when young, and the degree of docility and intelligence varies greatly with different species. The entellus monkey, a slender and graceful native of the Indian Archipelago, whose light fur makes a strong contrast with its black face and extremities, exhibits great gentleness and playfulness when young, but these traits change, as it becomes older, to distrust and listless apathy, and, finally, it becomes as mischievous as others who have never displayed any particular indications of good temper.

Some varieties seem to possess the ability to actually plan and carry out quite complicated operations, which, in a state of nature, are as remarkable as any of their performances in captivity. The mottled baboons display this in their robberies of the orchards of their native country. A part enter the enclosure, while one is set to watch, and the remainder of the party form a line outside the fence, reaching from their companions within to their rendezvous in the neighboring woods. The plunderers in the orchard throw the fruit to the first member of this line, who throws it to the next, and so it is passed along until it reaches headquarters, where it is safely concealed. All the time this is being done the utmost silence is maintained, and their sentinel keeps a sharp lookout. Should any one approach he gives a loud cry, at which signal the whole company scamper off, though always taking a load of fruit in their retreat, if possible, in their mouths, under their arms, and in their hands. If hotly pursued this is dropped piecemeal, but only when absolutely necessary to enable them to escape.

As the disposition varies with different species, so also must the system of training. While one will require considerable severity, another can be made to perform only by being well treated and liberally rewarded. Once at the old Broadway theater, in New York, a very celebrated monkey stopped in the middle of a tight-rope performance and refused to continue. His master threatened, scolded, and finally flogged him very thoroughly, but he only jabbered and howled, and could not be made to finish his performance; his master ending by taking him in his arms and carrying him off the stage.

Many monkeys have a great liking for strong drink, and this weakness is frequently taken advantage of by other trainers to induce them to perform; a bribe of a little liquor often proving a more powerful incentive than anything else. A mandril, who, at one time, created considerable excitement in London, where he was exhibited under the title of “Happy Jerry,” was a remarkable example of monkey devotedness to the rosy god. Gin and water was his besetting weakness, and to obtain it he would make any sacrifice or perform anything within the bounds of possibility. In some instances sugar brandy-drops are used in public exhibitions as rewards, though this is done sparingly.

Besides these weaknesses of appetite, to which their trainers appeal, monkeys have a fondness for petting. Jardine mentions one of the shooloch species who was particularly pleased with caresses. He would lie down and allow his head to be combed and the long hair of his arms to be brushed, and seemed delighted with the tickling sensation produced by the brush on his belly and legs. Turning from side to side, he would first hold out one limb and then the other.

It is rare that any of the monkey tribe have been made available for any really useful purpose. Occasionally, we believe, they have been made to turn spits, and one case is recorded of a monkey on shipboard who was taught to wash dishes and perform several other of the minor duties of the culinary department, under the supervision of the cook. Among the Kaffirs of Africa a particular species of baboon, the chacma, is trained for a somewhat novel purpose. These chacmas will eat anything a man will, and torment the natives grievously by pillaging their gardens. The tables are, however, in some cases turned, and the chacmas made to provide food for the Kaffirs instead of deriving it from them.

The ordinary food of the chacma is a plant called babiana, from the use which the baboons make of it. It is a subterranean root, which has the property of being always full of watery juice in the driest weather, so that it is of incalculable value to travelers who have not a large supply of water with them, or who find that the regular fountains are dried up. Many Kaffirs have tame chacmas which they have captured when very young, and which have scarcely seen any of their own kind. These animals are very useful to the Kaffirs, for if they come upon a plant or a fruit which they do not know they offer it to the baboon, and if he eats it they know that it is suitable for human consumption.

On their journeys the same animal is very useful in discovering water, or, at all events, the babiana roots, which supply a modicum of moisture to the system, and serve to support life until water is reached. Under these circumstances, the baboon takes the lead of the party, being attached to a long rope, and allowed to run about as he likes. When he comes to a root of babiana he is held back until the precious vegetable can be taken entire out of the ground, but, in order to stimulate the animal to farther exertions, he is allowed to eat a root now and then.

The search for water is conducted in a similar manner. The wretched baboon is intentionally kept without drink until he is half mad with thirst, and he is then led by a cord as before mentioned. He proceeds with great caution, standing occasionally on his hind legs to sniff the breeze, and looking at and smelling every tuft of grass. By what signs the animal is guided no one can even conjecture; but if water is in the neighborhood the baboon is sure to find it. So, although this animal is an inveterate foe of the field and garden, he is not without his uses to man when his energies are rightly directed.