Читать книгу: «Birds and all Nature, Vol. IV, No. 3, September 1898», страница 4

THE DOVES OF VENICE

VENICE, the pride of Italy of old, aside from its other numerous curiosities and antiquities, has one which is a novelty indeed. Its Doves on the San Marco Place are a source of wonder and amusement to every lover of animal life. Their most striking peculiarity is that they fear no mortal man, be he stranger or not. They come in countless numbers, and, when not perched on the far-famed bell tower, are found on the flags of San Marco Square. They are often misnamed Pigeons, but as a matter of fact they are Doves of the highest order. They differ, however, from our wild Doves in that they are fully three times as large, and twice as large as our best domestic Pigeon. Their plumage is of a soft mouse color relieved by pure white, and occasionally one of pure white is found, but these are rare. Hold out to them a handful of crumbs and without fear they will come, perch on your hand or shoulder and eat with thankful coos. To strangers this is indeed a pleasing sight, and demonstrates the lack of fear of animals when they are treated humanely, for none would dare to injure the doves of San Marco. He would probably forfeit his life were he to injure one intentionally. And what beggars these Doves of San Marco are! They will crowd around, and push and coo with their soft soothing voices, until you can withstand them no longer, and invest a few centimes in bread for their benefit. Their bread, by the way, is sold by an Italian, who must certainly be in collusion with the Doves, for whenever a stranger makes his appearance, both Doves and bread vender are at hand to beg.

The most remarkable fact in connection with these Doves is that they will collect in no other place in large numbers than San Marco Square, and in particular at the vestibule of San Marco Church. True, they are found perched on buildings throughout the entire city, and occasionally we will find a few in various streets picking refuse, but they never appear in great numbers outside of San Marco Square. The ancient bell tower, which is situated on the west side of the place, is a favorite roosting place for them, and on this perch they patiently wait for a foreigner, and proceed to bleed him after approved Italian fashion.

There are several legends connected with the Doves of Venice, each of which attempts to explain the peculiar veneration of the Venetian and the extreme liberty allowed these harbingers of peace. The one which struck me as being the most appropriate is as follows:

Centuries ago Venice was a free city, having her own government, navy, and army, and in a manner was considered quite a power on land and sea. The city was ruled by a Senate consisting of ten men, who were called Doges, who had absolute power, which they used very often in a despotic and cruel manner, especially where political prisoners were concerned. On account of the riches the city contained, and also its values as a port, Venice was coveted by Italy and neighboring nations, and, as a consequence, was often called upon to defend itself with rather indifferent success. In fact, Venice was conquered so often, first by one and then another, that Venetians were seldom certain of how they stood. They knew not whether they were slave or victor. It was during one of these sieges that the incident of the Doves occurred. The city had been besieged for a long time by Italians, and matters were coming to such a pass that a surrender was absolutely necessary on account of lack of food. In fact, the Doges had issued a decree that on the morrow the city should surrender unconditionally.

All was gloom and sorrow, and the populace stood around in groups on the San Marco discussing the situation and bewailing their fate, when lo! in the eastern sky there appeared a dense cloud rushing upon the city with the speed of the wind. At first consternation reigned supreme, and men asked each other: "What new calamity is this?" As the cloud swiftly approached it was seen to be a vast number of Doves, which, after hovering over the San Marco Place for a moment, gracefully settled down upon the flagstones and approached the men without fear. Then there arose a queer cry, "The Doves! The Doves of San Marco!" It appears that some years before this a sage had predicted stormy times for Venice, with much suffering and strife, but, when all seemed lost, there would appear a multitude of Doves, who would bring Venice peace and happiness. And so it came to pass that the next day, instead of attacking, the besiegers left, and Venice was free again. The prophet also stated that, so long as the Doves remained at Venice prosperity would reign supreme, but that there would come a day when the Doves would leave just as they had come, and Venice would pass into oblivion. That is why Venetians take such good care of their Doves.

You will not find this legend in any history, but I give it just as it was told me by a guide, who seemed well versed in hair-raising legends. Possibly they were manufactured to order by this energetic gentleman, but they sounded well nevertheless. Even to this day the old men of Venice fear that some morning they will awake and find their Doves gone.

There in the shadow of the famous bell-tower, with the stately San Marco church on one side and the palace of the cruel and murderous Doges on the other, we daily find our pretty Doves coaxing for bread. Often you will find them peering down into the dark passage-way in the palace, which leads to the dungeons underneath the Grand Canal. What a boon a sight of these messengers of peace would have been to the doomed inmates of these murder-reeking caves. But happily they are now deserted, and are used only as a source of revenue, which is paid by the inquisitive tourist.

Venice still remains as of old. She never changes, and the Doves of San Marco will still remain. May we hope, with the sages of Venice, that they may remain forever. —Lebert, in Cincinnati Commercial Gazette.

BUTTERFLIES

IT may appear strange, if not altogether inappropriate to the season, that "the fair fragile things which are the resurrection of the ugly, creeping caterpillars" should be almost as numerous in October as in the balmy month of July. Yet it is true, and early October, in some parts of the country, is said to be perhaps the best time of the year for the investigating student and observer of Butterflies. While not quite so numerous, perhaps, many of the species are in more perfect condition, and the variety is still intact. Many of them come and remain until frost, and the largest Butterfly we have, the Archippus, does not appear until the middle of July, but after that is constantly with us, floating and circling on the wing, until October. How these delicate creatures can endure even the chill of autumn days is one of the mysteries.

Very curious and interesting are the Skippers, says Current Literature. They are very small insects, but their bodies are robust, and they fly with great rapidity, not moving in graceful, wavy lines as the true Butterflies do, but skipping about with sudden, jerky motions. Their flight is very short, and almost always near the ground. They can never be mistaken, as their peculiar motion renders their identification easy. They are seen at their best in August and September. All June and July Butterflies are August and September Butterflies, not so numerous in some instances, perhaps, but still plentiful, and vying with the rich hues of the changing autumnal foliage.

The "little wood brownies," or Quakers, are exceedingly interesting. Their colors are not brilliant, but plain, and they seek the quiet and retirement of the woods, where they flit about in graceful circles over the shady beds of ferns and woodland grasses.

Many varieties of the Vanessa are often seen flying about in May, but they are far more numerous and perfect in July, August, and September. A beautiful Azure-blue Butterfly, when it is fluttering over flowers in the sunshine, looks like a tiny speck of bright blue satin. Several other small Butterflies which appear at the same time are readily distinguished by the peculiar manner in which their hind wings are tailed. Their color is a dull brown of various shades, marked in some of the varieties with specks of white or blue.

"Their presence in the gardens and meadows," says a recent writer, "and in the fields and along the river-banks, adds another element of gladness which we are quick to recognize, and even the plodding wayfarer who has not the honor of a single intimate acquaintance among them might, perhaps, be the first to miss their circlings about his path. As roses belong to June, and chrysanthemums to November, so Butterflies seem to be a joyous part of July. It is their gala-day, and they are everywhere, darting and circling and sailing, dropping to investigate flowers and overripe fruit, and rising on buoyant wings high into the upper air, bright, joyous, airy, ephemeral. But July can only claim the larger part of their allegiance, for they are wanderers into all the other months, and even occasionally brave the winter with torn and faded wings."