Part 5

Pliny says, “Some affirm that swans sing lamentably a little before death, but untruly, I suppose, for experience of many has shown the contrary.” But Aristotle says, “Swans are wont to sing, particularly when about to die, and mariners in African seas have observed many of them singing with a mournful voice, and expiring with the notes of their dying hymn.”

Cicero affirmed that Lucius Crassus spoke with the divine voice of a swan about to die; while Homer makes no allusion to their singing, but mentions their “flying round the springs of Cayster, clanging on sounding pinions.” Oppian asserts, “They sing at dawn before the rising of the day as if to be heard more clearly through the still air. They also sing on the sea-beach, unless prevented by the sounds of storms and boisterous weather, which would not permit them to enjoy the music of their own songs. Even in old age, when about to die, they do not forget their songs, though they are more feeble than in youth, because they cannot so well erect their necks and expand their wings. * * *

“They are invited to sing by Favonius, and as their limbs become sluggish and their members deficient in strength when death approaches, they withdraw to some place where no bird can hear them sing, and no other swans, impelled by the same cause, may interrupt their requiem.”

While on the one hand Julius Scaliger vituperates Cardan for “lauding the nonsense of the poets, and the mendacity of the Greeks about the singing of the swan,” Aldrovand cites on their behalf the testimony of one Frederico Pendasio, a celebrated professor of philosophy and a person worthy of credit, who told him that he had frequently heard swans singing melodiously while he was sailing on the Mantuan Lake; also that one George Braun had heard the swans near London “sing festal songs.”

Besides this, Mr. Rennie says, Olius Wormius professed that many of his friends and scholars had heard them singing, and proceeded to give the experience of one John Rostorph, a student in divinity, and a Norwegian by nation. “This man did, upon his credit, and with the interposition of an oath, solemnly affirm, that once in the territory of Dronten, as he was standing on the seashore early in the morning, he heard an unusual and sweet murmur, composed of the most pleasant whistlings and sounds; he knew not at first whence they came, or how they were made, for he saw no man near to produce them; but looking round about him, and climbing to the top of a certain promontory, he there espied an infinite number of swans gathered together in a bay, and making the most delightful harmony—a sweeter in all his life-time he had never heard.”

To this testimony Goldsmith appends his personal opinion in the following words: “Thus it appears that our modern authorities in favour of the singing of swans are rather suspicious, since they are reduced to this Mr. George Braun and John Rostorph, the native of a country remarkable for ignorance and credulity.” Goldsmith’s own belief was that the ancients had some mythological meaning in ascribing melody to the swan, “and as for the moderns, they scarcely deserve our regard. The swan must, therefore, be content with that share of fame that it possesses on the score of its beauty, since the melody of its voice, without better testimony, will scarcely be admitted by even the credulous.”

This better testimony is furnished by Charles de Kay, who says that modern bird-lovers have heard the swans of Russia singing their own dirge in the North, when, having lingered too long before migration, reduced in strength by lack of food, and frozen fast to the ice where they have rested over night, they clang their lives out, even as the ancients said.

Inasmuch as we have record of the Singing, or Whistling Swan from Egypt to Alaska and the Aleutian Isles, with testimony of modern scientists as well as ancient poets in proof of the vocality of this, the largest of singing birds, the question becomes one of quality of song rather than of the actuality of the song itself. M. Montbeillard’s opinion of the whistler’s vocal exertions is thus expressed: “The bursts of its voice form a sort of modulated song, yet the shrill and scarcely diversified notes of its loud clarion sounds differ widely from the tender melody, the sweet, brilliant variety of our birds of song.” And M. Morin even composed a memoir, entitled “Why swans that sang so well in ancient times now sing so badly.” It is probable that the ancients, with due consideration for the difference in size between the swan and all other songsters, may have also given consideration in the same ratio to the theory of the enchantment that distance lends; and it is more than probable that all of this confusion of testimony resulted from confusion of species; for, as Charles de Kay explains, observations of the Mute Swan caused people to assign the song of the dying swan to the most fabulous of fables; while Hearne, who observed the Trumpeter, makes the following vigorous statement: “I have heard them in serene evenings, after sunset, make a noise not very unlike that of a French horn, but entirely divested of every note that constituted melody, and have often been sorry that it did not forebode their death.”

Aldrovand, referring to the structure of the organs of voice as countenancing the poetical creed of the singing swan, says, “For when we observe the great variety of modulations which can be produced from a military trumpet, and, going upon the axiom that Nature does nothing in vain, compare the form of such a trumpet with the more ingenious mechanism of a swan’s windpipe, we cannot but conclude that this instrument is at least capable of producing the sounds which have been described by the ancient authors.”

In distinguishing between the Whistling and Tame or Mute Swans, Bingley describes this strange form of windpipe, “Which falls into the chest, then turns back like a trumpet, and afterwards makes a second bend to join the lungs. The curve being inside the neck of the Whistler or Hooper, instead of being an external adornment, as in the case of the graceful Mute, in whom

‘Behold! The mantling spirit of reserve Fashions his neck into a goodly curve, An arch thrown back between luxuriant wings Of whitest garniture, like fir-tree boughs, To which, on some unruffled morning, clings A dusky weight of winter’s purest snows——’

while with the Musical Swan the gift of voice is balanced by a corresponding detraction from personal appearance; for the straight neck and smaller stature impart, we are told (alas!), a certain goose-like suggestion.”

This aesthetic obstacle is, however, successfully surmounted by the fact that their songs are uttered mostly at night, when flying far overhead in the darkness; but there is no help for the statement of Albertus Magnus, which must needs be taken for better or for worse, that “When swans fight, they hiss and emit a sort of bombilation, not unlike the braying of an ass, but not so much prolonged.”

The Abbe Arnaud, whose observations were said to be very minute, completes the list of odious comparisons as follows: “One can hardly say that the swans of Chantilly sing; they cry, but their cries are truly and constantly modulated; their voice is not sweet; on the contrary, it is shrill, piercing, and rather disagreeable. I could compare it to nothing better than the sound of a clarionet winded by a person unacquainted with the instrument.”

Proceeding then to depict the manner of their dual concerts, he continues: “The swan, with his wings expanded, his neck stretched and his head erect, comes to place himself opposite to his mate, and utters a cry to which she replies by another which is lower by half a tone. The voice of the male passes from A to B flat; that of the female from G sharp to A. The first note is short and transient, and has the effect which our musicians call sensible, so that it is not detached from the second, but seems to slip into it. This dialogue is subjected to a constant and regular rhythm, with the measure of two times. Observe that, fortunately for the ear, they do not both sing at once!”

Nuttall is likewise arrayed with the witnesses for quantity rather than quality of sound. Of the dying song, he says, “These doleful strains were heard at the dawn of day or when the winds and waves were still, and, like the syrinx of Pan, were in all probability nothing more than the murmurs and sighs of the wind through the marshes and forests graced and frequented by these elegant aquatic birds.” Speaking of the natives of Iceland comparing their notes, “very flatteringly,” to those of a violin, he suggests that “allowance be made for this predilection, when it is remembered that they hear this cheerful clarion at the close of a long and gloomy winter, and when, at the return of the swan, they listen to the harbinger of approaching summer; every note must be, therefore, melodious, which presages the speedy thaw and return of life and verdure to that gelid coast.” He adds that “it emits its notes only when flying or calling on its companions—the sound being very loud and shrill, but by no means disagreeable when heard high in the air and modulated by the winds.”

Of the “Peaceful Monarch of the Lake,” Thomas Bewick wrote: “Much has been said, in ancient times, of the singing of the Swan, and many beautiful and poetical descriptions have been given of its dying song. ‘No fiction of natural history, no fable of antiquity, was ever more celebrated, oftener repeated, or better received; it occupied the soft and lively imagination of the Greeks; poets, orators, and even philosophers, adopted it as a truth too pleasing to be doubted.’ ‘The dull, insipid truth,’ however, is very different from such amiable and affecting fables, for the voice of the swan, singly, is shrill, piercing and harsh, not unlike the sound of a clarionet when blown by a novice in music. It is, however, asserted by those who have heard the united and varied voices of a numerous assemblage of them, that they produce a more harmonious effect, particularly when softened by the murmur of the waters.”

To Cassell the voice of the swan “is low, soft and musical, and when heard from multitudes congregated together has a very pleasing effect.” Shakespeare repeatedly alludes to the music of the swan with manifest confidence in its melody; Pallas, the ornithologist, likens their notes to silver bells; and Olaffson says that in the long Polar night it is delightful to hear a flock passing overhead, the mixture of sounds resembling trumpets and violins.

So now, though we no longer know that the soul of the poet returns to float, the embodiment of rhythmic grace, before our mortal eyes as in the years so long gone by, there yet remains to us the splendid imagery of that stately form in spotless plumage against the setting of the darkening sea, the wonder of that solemn requiem, and the prophecy and the mystery of the shadowy orchestra passing onward in the depths of the midnight sky.

Juliette A. Owen.

Description of Plate—A, flowering twig; 1, portion of spike; 2, ovary with stamens; 3, stamens; 4, young fruit; 5, 6, portions of spike (colors are wrong, 5 should be red and 6 should be green); 7, 8, fruit.

PEPPER. (_Piper nigrum_ L.)

The pepperer formed an important member of the community in England during the Middle Ages, when a large proportion of food consumed was salted meat, and pepper was in high request as a seasoner.—S. Dowell, Taxes in England, IV. 35.

The plants yielding the black and white pepper of the market are climbing or trailing shrubs. The stem attains a length of from 15 to 25 feet. The climbing portions cling to the support (usually large trees) by means of aerial roots similar to the ivy. The leaves are entire, simple, alternate, without stipules. The flowers are very insignificant in appearance, sessile upon a long, slender, pendulous spadix. They are mostly unisexual, either monoecious or dioecious, that is the staminate (male) flowers and pistillate (female) flowers are separate, either upon different branches of the same plant (monoecious) or upon different plants (dioecious). The fruit is berry-like, with a thin, fleshy pericarp enclosing a single seed. The young fruit is grass-green, then changes to red and finally to yellowish when ripe. In southern India the flowers mature in May and June and the seeds ripen five or six months later.

Piper nigrum is a native of southern India, growing abundantly along the Malabar coast. It thrives best in rich soil in the shade of trees to which it clings. It also grows in Ceylon, Singapore, Penang, Borneo, Luzon, Java, Sumatra and the Philippines. It is cultivated in all of the countries named, especially in southwestern India. Attempts at its cultivation have been made in the West Indies.

In India the natives simplify the cultivation of pepper by tying the wild-growing vines to a height of six feet to neighboring trees and clearing away the under-wood, leaving just enough trees to provide shade. The roots are covered with heaps of leaves and the shoots are trimmed or clipped twice a year. In localities where the pepper does not grow wild, well drained but not very dry soil not liable to inundations is selected. During the rainy season or during the dry season in February cuttings are planted about a foot from the trees which are to serve as support. The plants are manured and frequently watered during the dry season. They begin to yield about the fourth or fifth year and continue to yield for eight or nine years. The methods of cultivation differ somewhat in different countries. The harvest begins as soon as one or two berries of the base of the spike begin to turn red, which is before the fruit is mature. Two crops are collected each year, the principal one in December and January, the second in July and August. The spikes are collected in bags or baskets and dried in the sun on mats or on the ground. Ripe berries lose in pungency and also fall off and are lost.

Pepper is of extreme antiquity. It received mention in the epic poems of the ancient Hindoos. Theophrastus differentiated between round and long pepper, the latter undoubtedly P. longum. Dioscorides and Plinius mention long, white and black pepper and dwell upon the medicinal virtues of spices. Tribute has been levied in pepper. In 408, Alaric the daring ruler of the barbaric Visigoths, compelled the conquered and greatly humiliated Romans to pay as part of the ransom 3,000 pounds of pepper. During the Dark and Middle Ages pepper was a very costly article, as is evidenced by the fact that it was frequently found among royal presents. The pepper-corn rents, which prevailed during the Middle Ages, consisted in supplying a certain quantity of pepper at stated times, usually one pound each month. The high price of pepper was the prime motive to induce the Portuguese to seek a sea-route to India, the land of pepper. The route via the Cape of Good Hope led to a considerable reduction in price. About this time, also, began the extensive cultivation of pepper in the Malay peninsula.

The black pepper is the unripe, dried fruit of the pepper plant. The white pepper consists of the ripened fruits from which the pulpy pericarp has been removed. It is not nearly as pungent as the black pepper, but it has a more delicate aroma. Occasionally the dried black pepper is “decorticated” by blowing, thus giving the “corns” a smooth appearance resembling the white pepper. This is a very absurd proceeding, as by this process the most spicy portions are removed. The quality of the pepper is almost proportionate to the weight of the corns; the lighter the poorer the quality. After the fruits are dried they should be carefully winnowed to remove light grains and all refuse. Very frequently these winnowings are ground and placed on the market. Adulteration of pepper is quite common, especially when ground. A wise plan is never to purchase ground spices. Buy them whole and grind them at home or have them ground before your eyes. Good whole peppers should sink in water and should not crumble between the fingers.

There are several commercial varieties of pepper, as Malabar, Penang, Batavia, etc., differing considerable in quality.

The pungent taste of pepper is due to a resin and the odor is due to an ethereal oil. Besides these there is present an alkaloid known as piperin.

The chief use of pepper is that of a spice, added principally to meats, but also to other food substances. Its use is, however, less now than it was during the latter part of the Middle Ages. So extensive was the dealing in pepper that the English grocers of the time were known as pepperers. It was very liberally used with all meats, especially chopped or sausage meats. It was used as snuff or added to snuff tobacco to increase its effectiveness. It is still highly prized as an aid to digestion. Applied externally it is used as a counterirritant in skin diseases. Italian physicians recommend it highly in malarial diseases.

Albert Schneider.

MARCH.

March, thou bully grim and gruff, Ever grumbling, hoarse, and rough! Always howling at the door Of the rich man or the poor; Screaming words that do not reach— Words unlike our human speech. Down the hollow chimney-bore, Hark the raging tyrant’s roar! Beat not with thy sleety flail, Or the keen lash of thy hail, Infant Spring, that tender child, Frightened when thou even smiled. Cruel March, Sir! —Walter Thornbury.

Transcriber’s Notes

--Created an eBook cover from elements within the issue.

--Reconstructed the Table of Contents (originally on each issue’s cover).

--Retained copyright notice on the original book (this eBook is public-domain in the country of publication.)

--Silently corrected a few palpable typos.