SERPENT WORSHIP, ‘CHARMING,’ ETC.

IN the preceding pages it has been my endeavour to resolve some of the superstitious myths into zoological facts, and to explain by the light of science those peculiar features and manners of the Ophidia which from the earliest traditions of the human race have been regarded as supernatural.

In reviewing the general organization of these reptiles, their marvellous powers and habits, can we wonder at the impressions they have created in untutored minds? Let us picture to ourselves our earliest ancestors with their dawning intellect contemplating the instantaneous coil of a constrictor; or the almost invisible action in a flash of time with which the death-dealing stroke of the poison fang is effected. From a source which was incomprehensible, like the burning, scathing fluid from the skies, came a ‘sting,’ an agony, death! Awe-struck and filled with sacred terror were the beholders, as before them lay the paralyzed, tortured victim. Can we wonder that the slender, gliding ‘worm’ which inflicted this mortal injury should have been regarded as an evil spirit, a devil, and invested with maleficence?

Add to the two great death-dealing powers of the serpent race—constriction and venom—those other peculiarities which have here been faithfully recorded, the seeming renewal of life after the annual sleep, a mystery enhanced by the restored brilliancy and beauty of the reptile on its change of cuticle; let us picture to ourselves those wondering savages now watching the limbless creature as it glides into sight and is gone again, or as with fixed and glittering eyes it flickers that mysterious little tongue; let us imagine them crowding near to behold a serpent feeding, or to witness the still more amazing spectacle of a brood of young ones vanishing down their mother’s throat. There is enough of the mysterious in an ophidian to excite the awe and wonder of even a nineteenth-century beholder, taking each one of these surprising doings singly; but considering that any one serpent may be endowed with nearly all of these phenomenal powers, let us imagine the effect produced by them in the savage mind. To worship such an incomprehensible creature was only consistent with all we know of the influences which first awakened faith in a supernatural Being.

Consequently we find that in every country where a serpent was known, it plays its part in the mythology and religion of that country. We may examine the antiquities of any nation which has left a monument of its history and beliefs, and a serpent will be represented. Scarcely an Egyptian sculpture (in its entirety) can be found in which the serpent does not appear. The same may be said of the Hindoo monuments, their temples, buildings, and sculptured caves; also of Mexican, Japanese, Chinese, and other ancient mythologies.

Singularly, too, no other object in nature—no birds or flowers or beautiful things—have been so universally adopted in personal ornaments as the serpent idea. And in times of remote antiquity—as relics prove—personal adornments, bracelets, coronets, and rings in the form of serpents were as much in favour as at the present day. We may, indeed, affirm that the modern bracelet is but a reproduction or a restoration of those of antiquity, dating as far back as artificers in metals can be traced. Rough and rude representations of still earlier times are extant. And where the human race in its savage state had no knowledge of art, the reptile itself, or such relics of it as could be preserved, were adopted as personal decorations. Thus were the American Indians found by the early colonists, with their belts of snake skins, with the rattles of the Crotalus strung in their ears, and with necklaces and chains of snake bones and ‘rattels.’ Mackeney, Catlin, Schoolcraft, and other historians of the American Indians relate numerous instances in proof of the universal veneration and superstition with which the serpent is regarded by those savages. If they kill a rattlesnake, it is immediately skinned and distributed in small pieces among the tribe for their medicine bags, while the captor is pompously decorated with the skin. If on a journey they meet a rattlesnake in their direct path, this is taken to be a sign that they must go no farther. Some of the Indian traditions bear a remarkable resemblance to the prophetic symbols of the Hebrew faith. ‘If thou bruise its head, it shall bruise thy heel.’ This in their eyes is regarded as ‘destiny,’ and they will on no account kill one that lies in their path, lest it should cause the death of the destroyer’s relatives. The Indians are also supposed to possess the art of snake-taming to an extraordinary degree. We are assured by more than one writer that they also pet rattlesnakes, investing them with divine attributes, and sheltering them during the winter; though in this case the ‘tameness’ may be partially due to the inertness resulting from the season of the year. On returning spring they permit their Penates to issue forth again.

The ancient temples of Mexico were richly embellished with carvings of serpents. One of them represents a serpent idol of not less than seventy feet long, in the act of swallowing a human being. Also, there is the ‘God of the Air,’ a feathered rattlesnake; and an edifice known as the ‘Wall of Serpents,’ from the numerous reptilian forms crowded upon it. But it is not necessary to enumerate antiquities, with most of which the reader must be already acquainted, the object here being rather to endeavour to account for those other attributes which have grown out of serpent worship, such as ‘fascinating,’ taming, ‘charming,’ ‘dancing to music,’ etc.

Not that serpent worship is extinct by any means. In India it is still so strong as to amount to a fatality; for the high annual death-rate from snake bites there is not half so much because the natives can’t be cured, as because they won’t be cured of what they regard as a just punishment from their deity. This we shall have occasion to show further on. That serpent superstitions are still rampant among the low-caste Hindoos, is borne out by all modern writers on the native faiths or customs. A. K. Forbes in his Hindoo Annals, or RÂs Mala, tells us that cobras are looked upon as guardian angels. One cobra ‘guarded’ a cave in which treasures were deposited; another cobra ‘guarded’ a garden; and very good guards we should say they were, as few persons would venture too near to such an ‘angel.’ One of the supposed ‘Divinities’ is the Poorwug Dev, or spirit personified by a snake, which is not allowed to be killed or injured; and if it bite a person, that individual is supposed to be justly punished for some fault. Fatalism forbids any attempt to cure that unhappy victim, and he swells the annual death-rate. Due honours are paid to these ‘guardian angels’ found in most hamlets. Periodical festivals are held to them: their retreats are then garlanded with flowers, and, as already stated, eggs and milk are placed as propitiatory offerings. One of the Bengalese traditions is, that a male infant auspiciously shaded by a cobra will come to the throne.

And is the reptile which brings such distinction and honour into a family to be ruthlessly destroyed? ‘No Hindoo will willingly kill a cobra,’ Colonel Meadows Taylor tells us, in his People of India. Should one be killed accidentally within the precincts of a guarded village, a piece of copper money is put into its mouth, and the body is burned with offerings to avert the anticipated evil. The najas, or hooded snakes, from their habit of erecting themselves on the approach of persons, are those especially regarded as guardians. It was the same in Egypt. In the najas are also supposed to dwell the spirits of highly-favoured persons, or those whose lives had been of remarkable purity and goodness,—another motive for their being protected. It is still the same in many parts of Africa, where the natives think ill luck follows the death of a python.

In works where medical statistics are given, such as Fayrer’s Thanatophidia, we learn the fatal results of these superstitions. When the natives find a cobra in their houses, as is not unfrequently the case, says Fayrer, ‘they will conciliate it, feed and protect it, as though to injure it were to invoke misfortune on the house and family. Even should the death of some relative, bitten by accident, occur, the serpent is not killed, but caught and deferentially deported to the field or jungle, where it is set free.’ No one can peruse the above without seeing how largely the percentage of deaths is traceable to native superstition. Fayrer also shows us the fatal consequences of the confidence placed in the snake ‘charmers,’ who are considered to be especially favoured by their deities, and endowed with curative powers. Much interesting reading, apart from medical science, will be found in the Thanatophidia on the Hindoo faith in the mÜntras or spells and incantations used by the charmers in cases of snake-bite. Out of some ninety such cases selected by Fayrer from returns sent in by medical officers in the Bengal Presidency, nearly half proved that either no remedies at all were tried, or that recourse was had to native nostrums or mÜntras. Briefly to enumerate a few of the reports: ‘Boy bitten by keautiah, charms and incantations; died in half an hour.’ ‘Man keeping a krait (Bungarus) for “Poojah” (worship) was bitten, and died in seven hours, notwithstanding native nostrums.’ A woman bitten died in three hours ‘in spite of incantations’! ‘A man bitten while asleep had “leaves to smell,” but nevertheless died in three hours!’ ‘Woman bitten at night, got up and had mÜntras (chantings) to expel the poison. She died four hours after the bite notwithstanding; and her infant at the breast died two hours after partaking the maternal nutriment.’ And many similar cases. What wonder, then, with this miserable fatalism prevailing over that vast and densely-populated country, that death by snake-bites should amount to many thousands annually? One more case must be recorded to show how deeply rooted the faith. A tall, strong young man was bitten in the hand, while sleeping out of doors. No medicine was given, but incantations were muttered over him. In an hour he was a corpse: yet the village where this happened continues to do Poojah (adoration) to the cause of the evil. By far the largest percentage of deaths is attributable to the cobra, though this is not a proof that its numbers predominate so much above other snakes, as of the religious veneration in which it is everywhere held. It is found all over the peninsula, even as high as 8000 feet on the sunny slopes of the Himalayas. The names of castes, NÂg, NÂgo, NÂgojee, NÂgowa, etc., found among all classes of Hindoos, have all reference to the NÂg or NÂja deities, says Colonel Meadows Taylor. To this author, as well as to Forbes, Ferguson,[133] Fayrer, and Miss Frere,[134] the reader is referred in verification of the above. If further to pursue the subject of snake worship, The Serpent Myths of Ancient Egypt, by W. R. Cooper, 1873; The Serpent Symbol, by Squires, 1851; Sun and Serpent Worship, by J. S. PhenÉ; and The Native Races of the Pacific States of North America, by H. H. Bancroft, are some of the many books that afford interesting matter. These latter, however, allude more particularly to ancient nations. Among many living and semi-barbarous tribes serpent superstitions exist, though, perhaps, more strongly in West Africa than elsewhere, excepting India at the present time. In Africa, not the venomous so much as the large constricting snakes are the objects of care and veneration. In Dahomey and the Dahomeans, F. E. Forbes relates some amusing instances of the sacred devotion of the Fetish women, or guardians and slaves of the python deities at Whydah. A Fetish house or temple devoted to the snakes was built round a large cotton-tree, and in this a number of pythons were permitted to roam about at their pleasure. When they ventured beyond the precincts, their Fetish attendants went in search of them, and by gentle persuasions (probably in the form of poultry or other dietetic arguments) induced them to go home: while all who met them bowed down and kissed the dust of their path. Morning and evening the devotees prostrated themselves before the sacred abode of these ophidian deities, either to worship the invisible god Seh, or his representatives in serpentine form.

From frequent and gentle handling, snakes thus protected naturally grow tame. The Fetish attendants become skilled in managing their reptile gods, and are not slow in investing themselves with especial powers for their office. And to this may the origin of the so-called ‘charmers’ be traced; for ‘snake charming,’ like snake worship, dates back to the very earliest ages. With a more intimate knowledge of the reptilian class which modern zoology has brought about, comes happily a clearer insight into the tricks of the snakemen, jugglers, and charmers of Egypt and the East. Snake-taming to-day is not confined to Saadees and Samp Wallahs; it is not even confined to non-venomous snakes, of which pythons have always proved very amenable pets. Mr. Mann’s tame pythons (see ‘Introduction’) were popular performers at the time they were introduced in Chancery, and his pet constrictor, ‘Cleo,’ was honoured with an obituary notice from the pen of Mr. Frank Buckland, in Land and Water, after she died ‘of grief,’ as was said, at the illness of her master.[135] The amiable ‘Cleo’ (or Cleopatra) was the ‘constant companion’ of Mr. and Mrs. Mann for several years, and they soon learned her wishes when she ‘asked’ for either food, drink, or fresh air. ‘A short time before her death she contracted a friendship for a young kitten,’ was always ‘fond of children,’ who displayed no fear of that sociable ophidian. But she was shy of strangers; and this I myself realized on paying my respects to her; for not until she was fully convinced that I had no evil intentions, and not without much coaxing and persuasion on the part of her guardians, could Cleo be induced to approach me.

Several of the constricting snakes at the Zoological Gardens of even larger size than Cleo are exceedingly tame, permitting themselves to be handled. One of them, a temporary inmate during the winter of 1881-82, was introduced to the public by Dr. Stradling through the columns of Land and Water, April 3, 1880, as ‘Totsey,’ together with her brother ‘Snap,’ the latter named ‘from a trifling infirmity of temper when young.’ These two were the offspring of the Panama boa who gave birth to 20 live young at the Gardens, June 30, 1877. Of these twenty, Mr. Sclater notified, at one of the Zoological Society’s meetings in the following November, that all but one were still alive. Of the two which became the property of Dr. Stradling and were tamed by him, he wrote, ‘Any one can handle them with impunity;’ and that they recognised him among others in the dark, permitting him only to touch them at such a time. ‘Lolo’ and ‘Menina’ are the pretty names of two other tame constrictors belonging to this ophiophilist, and whose amiable and interesting manners were recorded in the above journal. Of ‘Totsey’ the Dr. writes, ‘She is the most gentle and affectionate snake I ever had.’ As this same Miss Ophidia happened to be an inmate at the Gardens in January 1882, when the pair of illustrations (p. 205) were in preparation, she adorns that page; though in truth it was one of her brothers or sisters, then rather smaller, that really did hang thus on the branch as I sketched it at the time, September 24, 1880.

That some of the most venomous serpents are also capable of being tamed we have many proofs. They use their fangs in self-defence, actuated by fear or hunger; and where no fear exists, a serpent would not deliberately crawl about, expending its precious and only protective power, venom, on any object it met with. Would a cobra or a crotalus in its native woods approach any living thing it saw and indiscriminately strike it with its poison fangs? No. Its primary impulse would be to escape. It strikes only under provocation or hunger. Therefore if a venomous snake in captivity become so familiar with your presence as to cease to fear you, it would also abstain from biting you. Not that one would recommend Jararacas or cobras for pets, notwithstanding the assurance of some residents in India that the latter are capital guards to a dwelling, and in some are even encouraged instead of dogs, as the less liable to bite of the two! Miss Frere, in her interesting reminiscences of India, Old Deccan Days, gives instances of children playing with the cobra without injury. She mentions a Brahman boy who could without any other music than his own voice attract and handle with impunity any venomous serpents that might be within hearing. They would come out of a thicket or a dry stone wall—their favourite refuge. Such instances are sufficiently rare to be regarded as miraculous, adds the authoress, still they do occur. ‘How much is due to gentleness of touch and fearlessness, how much to any personal peculiarity which pleases the senses of the snake, it is difficult to say.’ The boy above alluded to was believed to be the incarnation of some divinity, and the magistrate took note of his proceedings.

But at last, through some inadvertency, he got bitten; when he died, notwithstanding the divinity he was supposed to enshrine, notwithstanding the spells and mÜntras which might be pronounced over him.

The cobra is supposed to have originally had seven heads, as we see represented on Hindoo temples. The ‘hood’ is believed to be the remains of these seven heads; and the Gokurrah, whose pattern of the double ocellus had gained it the name of the ‘spectacled cobra,’ is held in the highest esteem of all from the two spots being considered the footprints of the god Krishna. These are the especial favourites of the professional snake charmers.

When it is borne in mind that snakes have been tamed by persons of only slight experience, we can easily comprehend that with a life’s practice, and with inherited facilities, the Oriental jugglers must acquire peculiar expertness in dealing with their ‘charmed’ specimens. Originally, no doubt, the office of the professed snake tamer was connected with the sacred rites of serpent-worshipping communities, but has now greatly degenerated into the trade of jugglers and tricksters. That some of these do acquire extraordinary skill in dealing with their dangerous captives cannot be denied. Profound faith is placed in their performances by the natives, who attribute to them supernatural agency. From being close observers of reptile character, they know how far to venture on familiarities. They thoroughly understand the movements of the sluggish and timid serpents with which they are toying; and while keeping up a perpetual gabble to divert the attention of the spectators, aggravated by the tum-tumming and so-called ‘music’ to which the snakes are supposed to ‘dance,’ they themselves keep just beyond striking reach, and provoke the snake to follow the waving motion of their hands. The true object or impulse of the snake is to bite the irritating cause, the pretended motive is ‘dancing.’ To follow the movement of the object which provokes them is instinctive, music or not; and without any din and cackle and jargon, the cobras would do this all the same. Long practice and an intimate acquaintance have given the jugglers confidence and dexterity, while on the part of the snake fear is the chief characteristic. Even the tamest cobra is only watching the opportunity to escape, and the moment the juggler ceases his performance, down it drops, and makes for its basket. Should the performance not be ended, the snakes are called to attention by being sharply pulled back by their tail, when up they rise with hood expanded, and with just enough of power and spirit left in them to recommence the ‘dance,’ more truly to make one more futile attempt to strike their tyrannical masters. It is only a repetition of the same kind of ‘obedience’ and ‘intelligence’ that was accredited to that first rattlesnake ever exhibited in England.

That showman (introduced p. 285) had become well acquainted with crotalus idiosyncracies, and knew how to turn them to account before an ignorant crowd.

Those who have to deal with venomous serpents tell us, that with caution and expertness they are not difficult to handle; and this is verified by all who describe the performances of Oriental snake-charmers. Not only cobras with fangs extracted, or mouths sewn up, or composition ‘cerastes’ with artificial horns fastened on to the heads of harmless snakes, but those with perfect fangs and well-filled poison glands, are handled with equal facility. By pressing down the snake’s head gently with a stick and then seizing it firmly close behind the head, so close that it has no power to turn it, you fetter its movements. Or to snatch up a venomous snake by its tail and quickly support it festooned on a stick which you draw gently towards the head, and then secure that as above, is another method adopted; or, again, to seize the tail and pass the hand swiftly along the body till the head is reached, and then grasp the neck. These are among the various ways of handling poisonous serpents, according to the purposes required of them. Every movement must be carefully watched, however, and the head not released until the entire snake is free to be returned straight into its cage. Even wild and vicious cobras are thus fearlessly dealt with by experts; and those which are in process of taming are put through a daily training. They are made comfortable in a basket, conciliated with food and milk, soothed by softly stroking them with a brush and by kind and gentle handling.

I once stood by and looked on while the keeper unpacked a box of cobras. He took each one out by its tail, and dropped it into another box with such expedition that the fearful reptile had not time to turn and bite him. Not that he ventured to lower his hand into the midst of the writhing angry tangle of snakes, but first, at a respectful distance (the writer still more deferentially contemplating the transfer from afar), he, with a long-handled hook, contrived to draw out a snake tail first, and getting the tip over the edge of the box, this he seized, thus, one after the other, shifting eight of the dozen cobras. Both boxes had lids, of course—glass slides, which were cautiously but quickly drawn aside, and as sharply closed again.[136] These deadly reptiles, after being some weeks, perhaps months, in a small close box, were not, as may be supposed, in a very lively condition, but sufficiently so to erect themselves and hiss like a flock of geese, striking at the lid and the glass, and doing their best to alarm the manipulator, and also to suspend the breath of my awe-struck self. Calmly and safely, however, Holland concluded his task.

By pressing down the head with a stick, or seizing it quickly by the tail, American Indians similarly manage the rattlesnakes. Not they alone, however, are skilled in taming these deadly reptiles. Here, at home in England, domesticated Crotali are not unknown. Dr. Stradling thinks they may be rendered as harmless as non-venomous kinds, by a gradual training; and has succeeded in so far taming one that he felt safe in offering it as a gift to even an unskilled non-charmer. ‘I have a very nice tame rattlesnake between four and five feet long, in good condition and feeding well, which I shall be delighted to send you,’ he wrote me, August 1881. ‘It has got so tame that you might handle it without fear at any time you wished to investigate any part of it.’ It is perhaps superfluous to add that this amiable and exemplary reptile was gratefully declined.

The reader’s devoted servant had not undergone a course of prophylactics as the Doctor had. He is both an expert and to a certain extent venom-proof at the same time; but for all that the snake was, as he affirmed, tame enough to be handled with impunity by those who might have sufficient courage to venture. That interesting and accommodating rattlesnake is no more, but was even more honoured in death than in life. A true martyr to science, it was sacrificed that its friend and teacher might prosecute his experiments, and also swallow some of the contents of its poison gland, in order to convince two or three challenging sceptics that he could do this with impunity.[137]

As in all other trades, there are various grades among the Oriental snake-tamers. The legitimate ‘charmer’ of India—the Samp Wallah—prides himself on being a descendant of the prophet, and the secret of his art is cherished as an heirloom in his family. This also is the case in Arabia and Egypt, where the astonishing feats which, without any doubt, are performed by professional ‘snake men,’ are attributed to special and secret powers, jealously guarded from age to age. It may be possible that, like the Psylli of old, they may have recourse to some drug which renders their person repugnant to the serpent, and thus provides immunity from a bite. Not yet altogether discarded, either, is the ancient belief that in the body of the viper itself is found a specific for its poison. Since the days of Æsculapius, decoctions of vipers and recipes enough to form an Ophidian cookery-book and pharmacopeia combined, have found favour not only among the ‘faculty’ of classic days, but among all our ancestral dames. We are told that vipers abound in volatile salts that are cures for many ills. Certain it is that ‘viper wine,’ viper broth, viperine salts, the powder of dried vipers, preparations from the dejecta, the oil, and even the slough have all enjoyed a high reputation, and I believe are—some of these at any rate—still in vogue in secluded districts where the refinements of medical science have not yet replaced them. It is remarkable, too, that for skin affections their virtues chiefly commend themselves. The ancient belief that to devour vipers proved a specific for their bite, has to the present day prevailed among the snake-charmers of Egypt, who—whether or not from this practice—are said so to assimilate their bodies that the venom does not harm them. The Bushmen of South Africa, it is asserted, swallow poison to render themselves proof against its effects; and history records many other tribes who have had such confidence in their own and an inherited immunity, that they hesitated not in exposing their infants to deadly serpents. The Persian word Bezoar, a popular drug, means counter-poison; in allusion to the immunity from poison which persons who feed on venomous snakes are believed to enjoy.

Though much discredit has been thrown on these so-called ‘immunities,’ and though it is so very difficult to know what to believe where a serpent is concerned, the possibility does appear to be borne out by some authentic writers of our own time. The late John Keast Lord, when in Egypt, had frequent opportunities of observing the tricks of the jugglers; and not only he, but, as he assures us, many intelligent and educated Europeans, fully believed that some secret power was practised by the ‘high-caste’ charmers, who really did exhibit astonishing feats with their snakes. Of these, the habit of devouring the reptiles alive can here admit only of bare allusion.[138]

In Dahomey and the Dahomeans, F. E. Forbes tells of the natives walking fearlessly bare legged in the grass where snakes abound, and that on one occasion on alluding to the danger, a boy said to him: ‘No fear; if my father is bitten, he knows of an herb that will cure him.’

Another recent authority whom we are bound to respect is Schliemann. In his work Troy and its Remains, published in 1875, he writes (p. 117): ‘We still find poisonous snakes among the stones as far down as from thirty-three to thirty-six feet, and I have hitherto been astonished to see my workmen take hold of the reptiles with their hands and play with them: nay, yesterday I saw one of the men bitten twice by a viper, without seeming to trouble himself about it. When I expressed my horror, he laughed, and said that he and all his comrades knew there were a great many snakes in this hill, and they had therefore all drunk a decoction of the snake-weed, which grows in the district, and which renders the bite harmless. Of course I ordered a decoction to be brought to me, so that I also may be safe from these bites. I should, however, like to know whether this decoction would be a safeguard against the fatal effects of the bite of the hooded cobra, of which in India I have seen a man die within half an hour. If it were so, it would be a good speculation to cultivate snake-weed in India.’

A correspondent in Land and Water, signed ‘R. C.,’ quoting Schliemann, inquired the name of this snake-weed, but without eliciting information. Most of the countries in which snakes abound would seem to rejoice in ‘snake-weeds’ and ‘snake-roots.’ ‘It has pleased nature that there should be nothing without its antidote,’ said Pliny; and though ‘the faculty’ tell us that no antidote for snake venom has as yet been discovered, it nevertheless appears to be certain that the Arabs, the Nubians, Egyptians, and other nations seek to procure immunity from snake-bite by the use of certain plants, of which the Aristolochias seem to be most frequent. The juice or a decoction is drunk, the root chewed, and an infusion used for washing the skin. The South American Indians are said to be able thus to protect themselves; and we have the high authority of Humboldt in support of the theory that the famous huaco, and other poisonous plants with which they inoculate themselves, may impart an odour to their bodies which is repugnant to the snakes.

It would be well to obtain definite information as to what the ‘snake-weed’ of Schliemann was, botanically. It is also important to ascertain the species of ‘viper’ that is there so abundant; then there would be a basis for investigation. The testimony of a traveller like Schliemann is not to be disregarded. Besides him, Livingstone, P. H. Gosse, and others have affirmed the same thing, viz. the existence of antidotal plants, but which, in the hands of science, seem never to disclose their virtues!

As a part of the present subject comes a serpent’s supposed love of ‘music,’ and on this head again the evidence is contradictory. Setting aside the idea of ‘music,’ in the way of melody or harmony, we may be able to arrive at a clue to the undeniable fact that snakes do exhibit some consciousness of noise. ‘Music,’ properly so called, is certainly very far removed from the gourd-rapping and tum-tumming of the Oriental jugglers; yet the snakes display a consciousness of these uncouth sounds. Mr. Mann affirmed that Cleo and his other pet boas manifested undoubted feeling—let us call it consciousness—when the piano was being played. Dr. Arthur Stradling, on the contrary, tells us that his own snakes ‘are almost always within hearing of a piano, and never show the slightest emotion at the sound.’[139] His observations, I believe, refer chiefly to his life at sea, where his cabin did duty as concert-room, menagerie, and all else combined, and where, apart from piano, there would be ceaseless noise and jarring; or even if on shore, the ‘always’ would rather support my own theory or speculation as to any feasible solution of the fact that serpents are affected by noise, not ‘music.’ And my idea is, that it is the jarring or vibration through solids, and not the mere sound, that thus affects the snakes. Since first venturing to express this idea in the Dublin University Magazine, Jan. 1876, I have continued to observe the effect on snakes of what we may call disturbing noises. At the Gardens, where they become accustomed to noises of all kinds, it is less easy to arouse them; but when the place is unusually quiet, the experiment may be tried. The ‘snake men’ of the East, whose trade is to hunt out snakes by means of sound, effect this by rapping on the wall or ceiling, or by making loud, clucking noises with their tongue as much as by their so-called ‘music;’ and Pliny,—if we may cite Pliny to suit our purpose and discard him otherwise,—or whoever he quotes, affirms that snakes are more easily aroused by the sound of footsteps than by the sight of the approaching person. A custom is prevalent in Ceylon, we are told, of using a jingling stick in the dark to strike the ground in order to frighten snakes out of the path. The jingling ‘music’ here is disturbing, not alluring, but as regards the knocking it proves sensitiveness to vibration conveyed by the ground. The American Indians are experts in the way of ascertaining sounds as conveyed by the ground. They throw themselves prone upon the earth, pressing their ear close to it, and are able to decide with great accuracy the direction, the distance, and the nature of a far-off sound. May we not conclude, then, that the perception of sound to a serpent is through solids, a feeling more than a hearing of noises? The creature, always prone to the ground or other solids, and with an internal aural apparatus, must be peculiarly sensitive to vibrations thus conveyed.

‘Lizzie,’ the heroine of chap. xxvi., was proved to be sensitive to disturbing noises, and her ophidian relatives are probably similarly affected. As to tune, any sharp sound will answer; and as to time, it is not the ‘music,’ but, as we have already hinted, the waving hand or knee, or bright colours used by the charmers, to which the movements of the serpents respond. This also is a subject quite worth scientific investigation.

A word in conclusion about the ‘fascination of the serpent’s eye,’ a fable of so remote a date that it is as hard as any to eradicate. Even scientific observers admit that there is a something that attracts the eyes of birds or small mammals such as squirrels, timid creatures which often stare fixedly at ourselves as much as at a snake. Dr. A. Smith says: ‘Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless true that birds and even quadrupeds are, under certain circumstances, unable to retire from the presence of their enemies, and what is even more extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to advance from a situation of actual safety into one of danger.[140] He has seen birds collect round the African tree snakes, particularly the Boomslange (described p. 407), and fly to and fro, shrieking, until one of them almost touches its lips.’ Exactly so. We are not told as much, but every one who knows anything of snake life will feel quite sure that those tree snakes were making good use of their delicate tongues in order to ascertain all they could about those enticing shriekers; and that the birds were equally desirous of knowing what dainty in the shape of worm or flitting creature that tongue might be. In the case of the rattlesnake the ‘fascinated’ birds are probably enticed by the insect they think they hear, as well as that they think they see, in the supposed worm wriggling so temptingly and vanishing so strangely. The snake remains rigidly still the while, the only moving thing being that investigating tongue.

My observations at the Zoological Gardens first led me to this conclusion. On the feeding days several years ago, when watching to detect the ‘fascination’ one had been led to expect, I noticed that the birds—even the sparrows and finches—were attracted by the tongue of the snake, and would stop when hopping about the cage and look intently and curiously on the vibrating tongue. Some would venture on a closer inspection, and remain gazing, or would even peck at it, until a movement of the snake told them that the motionless object from which that wriggling thing protruded was a living animal. Then they might hop away indifferently, happily unconscious that what they had perched on as a branch or a log was animated with a hungering after themselves.

Any further ‘spell,’ or ‘fascination,’ or attraction might be attributed to a soporific or paralytic rather than a pleasurable influence; and arising from the noxious breath of a venomous serpent, or the fixity of its eyes, never blinking. Horses, dogs, and other animals have an intuitive perception of the vicinity of a snake, and refuse to advance; is it therefore reasonable to conclude that the lesser animals are not similarly affected? It is serpent nature to wait motionless for its prey. Any creature coming unexpectedly upon that rigid object, with its fixed, glittering eyes, would, actuated by mingled alarm and curiosity, stop to make itself acquainted with the extraordinary sight, the only life or motion in which would be the tongue suddenly and silently appearing and disappearing. A bird might be beguiled within striking distance, or might stop spell-bound. We ourselves are sometimes impelled to approach an unaccountable yet terrifying object. Fear has also a paralyzing effect, and we remain motionless, breathless, with eyes as fixed as a serpent’s.

Observation of nature and an inquiry into causes will often present very commonplace reasons for what appears to savour of the marvellous. A snake has just made a meal of some fledgelings. The mother bird has witnessed her offspring vanishing by degrees, and she frantically hovers over the reptile, fluttering to and fro, and probably uttering cries of distress or of enticement, in the hope of her young ones’ return. Birds have been observed thus endeavouring to rescue a half-swallowed fledgeling. The naturalist at once comprehends the reason; the poet thinks the birds are ‘fascinated.’

I am not aware that any other ophiologist than Dr. Stradling, in discussing the ‘fascination’ idea, has attributed to the tongue of a snake an allurement in the shape of a prospective meal. In one of his papers to Land and Water (April 2, 1881) he described a hen that had been put into the cage for his anaconda’s dinner, making ‘a determined dab at the snake’s tongue, sometimes two or three dabs in quick succession,’ every time the quivering black line caught her eye. ‘Now why does she do that?’ he asks. ‘Certainly from no animosity towards the snake, in whose presence she has not the slightest consciousness of danger, as she was otherwise engaged in pecking up the maize that was in the cage. My own idea is that she mistakes the tongue for a wriggling worm,’ adds the observer in almost the very words I had used more than six years previously,[141] long before we had exchanged a word on the subject or were even acquainted. He further described in the same issue of Land and Water, and also in the Field (June 3, 1882), how a scarlet tanager in Costa Rica had been attracted out of a tree down close to a snake by its quivering tongue, the only moving thing about it. Dr. Stradling had seen a frog similarly snapping at the tongue of a snake, and thinks that one of the chief uses of the mysterious little organ is to attract insectivorous animals. My own observations prove the tongue to be a successful lure, which may go a good way towards explaining ‘fascination;’ but whether an intentional lure, any more than an intentional intimidation, as discussed in chap. v., I hesitate to affirm.

‘Fascination,’ then, may be sometimes imputed to curiosity, sometimes to an anticipated morsel. It may partake of fear, or it may be an involuntary approach; it may be the struggles of a poisoned creature unable to get away, or the maternal anxieties of a bird or small mammal whose offspring has fallen a victim to the snake. Divesting it of all poetry or magic, it will admit of several matter-of-fact, albeit sometimes tragic explanations.