Concerning Animals and Other Matters | Page 7

pair of its limbs for a
flying-machine. The apparatus is made of feathers--a new invention,
unknown to amphibian or saurian, whence obtained nobody can
say--and these are grafted into the transformed frame of the old limbs.
The bargain was worth making, for the winged bird at once soared
away in all senses from the creeping things of earth, and became a
more ethereal being; "like a blown flame, it rests upon the air, subdues
it, surpasses it, outraces it; it is the air, conscious of itself, conquering
itself, ruling itself." But the price was heavy. The bird must get through
life with one pair of feet and its mouth. But this was all the bodily
furniture of Charles François Felu, who, without arms, became a
famous artist.

A friend of mine, standing behind him in a salon and watching him at
work, saw him lay down his brush and, raising his foot to his head, take
off his hat and scratch his crown with his great toe. My friend was
nearly hypnotised by the sight, yet it scarcely strikes us as a wonder
when a parrot, standing on one foot, takes its meals with the other. It is
a wonder, and stamps the parrot as a bird of talent. A mine of hidden
possibilities is in us all, but those who dig resolutely into it and bring
out treasure are few.
And let us note that the art of standing began with birds. Frogs sit, and,
as far as I know, every reptile, be it lizard, crocodile, alligator, or
tortoise, lays its body on the ground when not actually carrying it. And
these have each four fat legs. Contrast the flamingo, which, having only
two, and those like willow wands, tucks up one of them and sleeps
poised high on the other, like a tulip on its stem.
Note also that one toe has been altogether discarded by birds as
superfluous. The germ, or bud, must be there, for the Dorking fowl has
produced a fifth toe under some influence of the poultry-yard, but no
natural bird has more than four. Except in swifts, which never perch,
but cling to rocks and walls, one is turned backwards, and, by a
cunning contrivance, the act of bending the leg draws them all
automatically together. So a hen closes its toes at every step it takes, as
if it grasped something, and, of course, when it settles down on its roost,
they grasp that tight and hold it fast till morning. But to birds that do
not perch this mechanism is only an encumbrance, so many of them,
like the plovers, abolish the hind toe entirely, and the prince of all
two-legged runners, the ostrich, has got rid of one of the front toes also,
retaining only two.
[Illustration: THESE BEASTS ARE ALL CLODHOPPERS, AND
THEIR FEET ARE HOBNAILED BOOTS.]
To a man who thinks, it is very interesting to observe that beasts have
been led along gradually in the very same direction. All the common
beasts, such as cats, dogs, rats, stoats, and so on, have five ordinary
toes. On the hind feet there may be only four. But as soon as we come
to those that feed on grass and leaves, standing or walking all the while,

we find that the feet are shod with hoofs instead of being tipped with
claws. First the five toes, though clubbed together, have each a separate
hoof, as in the elephant; then the hippopotamus follows with four toes,
and the rhinoceros with practically three. These beasts are all
clodhoppers, and their feet are hobnailed boots. The more active deer
and all cattle keep only two toes for practical purposes, though stumps
of two more remain. Finally, the horse gathers all its foot into one boot,
and becomes the champion runner of the world.
It is not without significance that this degeneracy of the feet goes with
a decline in the brain, whether as cause or effect I will not pretend to
know. These hoofed beasts have shallow natures and live shallow lives.
They eat what is spread by Nature before their noses, have no homes,
and do nothing but feed and fight with each other. The elephant is a
notable exception, but then the nose of the elephant, becoming a hand,
has redeemed its mind. As for the horse, whatever its admirers may say,
it is just a great ass. There is a lesson in all this: "from him that hath not
shall be taken even that which he hath."
There is another dull beast which, from the point of view of the mere
systematist, seems as far removed from those that wear hoofs as it
could be, but the philosopher, considering the point at which it has
arrived, rather than the route by which