Felis Leo. Linn.—Var. Bengalensis.

First in majesty as in might, the monarch of the brute creation asserts an undisputed claim to occupy the foremost place in our delineation of the inhabitants of this Royal Menagerie. Who is there to whom his stately mien, his unequalled strength, his tremendous powers of destruction, combined with the ideas generally entertained of his dauntless courage, his grateful affection, and his merciful forbearance, are not familiar “as household words?” When we speak of a Lion, we call up to our imaginations the splendid picture of might unmingled with ferocity, of courage undebased by guile, of dignity tempered with grace and ennobled by generosity;[2] in a word, of all that combination of brilliant qualities, the imputation of which, by writers of all ages, has placed him by universal consent above other beasts, and invested him with regal attributes.

Such, indeed, is the outline which we have been taught to frame to ourselves of this noble animal; and beautifully has this imaginary sketch, for such in a great measure it will be found on closer examination, been filled up by the magic pencil of Buffon, who, in this, as in too many other instances, suffered himself to be borne along by the strong tide of popular opinion. Yielding to the current, instead of boldly stemming it, he has added the weighty sanction of his authority to those erroneous notions which were already consecrated by their antiquity, and has produced a history of the Lion, which, however true in its main facts, and however eloquent in its details, is, to say the least, highly exaggerated and delusive in its colouring. The Lion of Buffon is, in fact, the Lion of popular prejudice; it is not the Lion, such as he appears to the calm observer, nor such as he is delineated in the authentic accounts of those naturalists and travellers who have had the best means of observing his habits, and recording the facts of which they have been themselves eye witnesses.

The Lion, like all the other cats (the genus to which, in a natural arrangement, he obviously belongs) is armed in each jaw with six strong and exceedingly sharp cutting-teeth, with two formidable canine, and with six others, three on each side, occupying the places of the molar or grinding-teeth, but terminating in sharp protuberances to assist in the laceration of the animal food, which is the proper nutriment of his tribe. Besides[3] these, he has, on each side of the upper jaw, a small tooth, or rather tubercle, placed immediately behind the rest. His tongue is covered with innumerable rough and elevated papill?, the points of which are directed backwards: these also assist in comminuting his food, and not unfrequently leave their traces on the hand which has been offered him to lick. His claws, five in number on the fore feet, and four on the hind, are of great length, extremely hard, and much curved; they are retractile within a sheath enclosed in the skin which covers the extremity of his paws; and as they are only exposed when he has occasion to make use of them, they thus preserve the sharpness of their edge and the acuteness of their point unimpaired. In all these particulars the Lion essentially agrees with the rest of the cats; and it is these which constitute what naturalists have termed their generic character; in other words, they are the points of agreement which are common to the whole group or genus, and form the most prominent and striking characteristics, by which they may be at once connected together and separated from all other animals.

The Lion is distinguished from other cats by the uniformity of his colour, which is pale tawny above, becoming somewhat lighter beneath, and never, except in his young state, exhibiting the least appearance of spots or stripes: by the long and flowing mane of the adult male, which, originating nearly as far forward as the root of his nose, extends backwards over his shoulders, and descends in graceful undulations on each side of his neck and face; and by the tuft of long and blackish hairs which terminates his powerful tail. These constitute what is termed his specific character, or that which[4] is peculiar to the species or race; connecting the individuals together by marks common to them all, and at the same time separating them from the other animals of the same group or genus.

In his moral and intellectual faculties, as well as in his external and physical characters, the Lion exhibits a close agreement with the strikingly distinct and well marked group to which he belongs, and of which he is unquestionably the first in rank and importance: and perhaps the most effectual means of guarding against the general prejudice, which has delighted in exalting him at the expense of his fellow beasts, will be found in the recollection that, both physically and morally, he is neither more nor less than a cat, of immense size and corresponding power it is true, but not on that account the less endowed with all the guileful and vindictive passions of that faithless tribe. His courage is proverbial: this, however, is not derived from any peculiar nobility of soul, but arises from the blind confidence inspired by a consciousness of his own superior powers, with which he is well aware that none of the inferior animals can successfully compete. Placed in the midst of arid deserts, where the fleet but timid antelope, and the cunning but powerless monkey fall his easy and unresisting prey; or roaming through the dense forests and scarcely penetrable jungles, where the elephant and the buffalo find in their unwieldy bulk and massive strength no adequate protection against the impetuous agility and fierce determination of his attacks, he sways an almost undisputed sceptre, and stalks boldly forth in fearless majesty. But change the scene, and view him in the neighbourhood of populous towns, or even[5] near the habitations of uncultivated savages, and it will then be seen that he recognises his master, and crouches to the power of a superior being. Here he no longer shows himself openly in the proud consciousness of his native dignity, but skulks in the deepest recesses of the forest, cautiously watches his opportunities, and lies in treacherous ambush for the approach of his unwary prey. It is this innate feeling of his incapacity openly to resist the power of man, that renders him so docile in captivity, and gives him that air of mild tranquillity, which, together with the dignified majesty of his deportment, has unquestionably contributed not a little towards the general impression of his amiable qualities.

His forbearance and generosity, if the facts be carefully investigated, will be found to resolve themselves into no more than this: that in his wild state he destroys only to satiate his hunger or revenge, and never, like the “gaunt wolves,” and “sullen tigers,” of whom the poet has composed his train, in the wantonness of his power and the malignity of his disposition; and that, when tamed, his hunger being satisfied and his feelings being free from irritation, he suffers smaller animals to remain in his den uninjured, is familiar with, and sometimes fond of, the keeper by whom he is attended and fed, and will even, when under complete control, submit to the caresses of strangers.

But even this limited degree of amiability, which, in an animal of less formidable powers, would be considered as indicating no peculiar mildness of temper, is modified by the calls of hunger, by the feelings of revenge, which he frequently cherishes for a considerable length of time, and by various other circumstances which render it dangerous[6] to approach him unguardedly, even in his tamest and most domesticated state, without previously ascertaining his immediate state of mind. On such occasions no keeper possessed of common prudence would be rash enough to venture upon confronting him: he knows too well that it is no boy’s play to
… seek the Lion in his den,
And fright him there, and make him tremble there;

for in this state of irritation, from whatever cause it may have arisen, he gives free scope to his natural ferocity, unrestrained by that control to which at other times he submits with meek and unresisting patience.

Happily for mankind the range of this tremendous animal is limited to the warmer climates of the earth; and even in these the extent of that range is constantly becoming more and more confined by the spread of human civilization, which, at the same time that it drives him to take refuge at a distance from the haunts of men, contributes greatly to thin his numbers and to diminish his power of annoyance. His true country is Africa, in the vast and untrodden wilds of which, from the immense deserts of the north to the trackless forests of the south, he reigns supreme and uncontrolled. In the sandy deserts of Arabia, in some of the wilder districts of Persia, and in the vast jungles of Hindostan, he still maintains a precarious footing: but from the classic soil of Greece, as well as from the whole of Asia Minor, both of which were once exposed to his ravages, he has been utterly dislodged and extirpated.

There is some variation in the different races of Lions from these distant localities; but this is by no means of[7] sufficient importance to establish a distinction between them. The Asiatic Lion, of which we are now treating, seldom attains a size equal to that of the full-grown Southern African; its colour is a more uniform and paler yellow throughout; and its mane is, in general, fuller and more complete, being furnished moreover with a peculiar appendage in the long hairs, which, commencing beneath the neck, occupy the whole of the middle line of the body below. All these distinctions are, however, modified by age, and vary in different individuals. Their habits are in essential particulars the same: we shall therefore defer what we have farther to say on this head until we come to speak of the Cape Lion, and proceed to the history of the Asiatic individual now exhibiting in this Menagerie, a striking likeness of which is given in the engraving at the head of the present article.

This fine animal, although called by the keepers “the Old Lion,” is, in reality, little more than five years old; and that designation was adopted only for the purpose of distinguishing him from the Cape Lion, a comparatively modern resident of the Menagerie. His proper name, or rather that by which he has been known ever since his arrival at the Tower, is George. The following anecdotes relative to the mode of his capture, and to his habits and demeanour in his captivity, are given on the authority of Mr. Cops, who derived his information on the first point from General Watson himself, and speaks to the rest from his personal observation.

It was in the commencement of the year 1823, when the General was on service in Bengal, that being out one morning on horseback, armed with a double-barrelled[8] rifle, he was suddenly surprised by a large male Lion, which bounded out upon him from the thick jungle at the distance of only a few yards. He instantly fired, and, the shot taking complete effect, the animal fell dead almost at his feet. No sooner was this formidable foe thus disposed of than a second, equally terrible, made her appearance in the person of the Lioness, whom the General also shot at and wounded so dangerously that she retreated into the thicket. As her following so immediately in the footsteps of her mate afforded strong grounds for suspecting that their den could not be far distant, he determined upon pursuing the adventure to the end, and traced her to her retreat, where he completed the work of her destruction, by again discharging the contents of one of the barrels of his rifle, which he had reloaded for the purpose. In the den were found a beautiful pair of cubs, male and female, supposed to be then not more than three days old. These the General brought away with him, and succeeded by the assistance of a goat, who was prevailed upon to act in the capacity of foster-mother to the royal pair, in rearing them until they attained sufficient age and strength to enable them to bear the voyage to England. On their arrival in this country, in September, 1823, he presented them to his Majesty, who commanded them to be placed in the Tower. The male of this pair is the subject of the present, the female that of the succeeding article.

The extreme youth of these Lions at the time of their capture, and the constant control to which they had been accustomed from that early period of their existence, rendered them peculiarly tame and docile, insomuch that, for twelve months after their arrival, they were frequently[9] suffered to walk in the open yard among the visitors, who caressed them and played with them with impunity. The Duke of Sussex, in particular, was highly delighted with the unusual spectacle of a Lion and a Lioness bounding about him at perfect liberty, and with all their natural grace and agility. It must, however, be observed that they were not then fully grown, and that it was afterwards thought necessary to place them under greater restraint; but more with the view of guarding against possible mischief, than in consequence of any positive symptoms of rebellion. Of the change which has taken place in the character of the female, we shall have occasion to speak hereafter: the male still continues perfectly docile, and suffers himself to be treated with the greatest familiarity by his keepers and those to whom he is accustomed.

Like all the other carnivorous animals in the Menagerie, he is fed but once in the twenty-four hours; and his meal usually consists of a piece of beef, of eight or nine pounds weight, exclusive of bone. This he seizes with avidity, tears it to pieces instantly with his claws, and ravenously devours it; contrary to the usual custom of his fellow lions in a state of nature, who are said generally to remain for a considerable time after they have struck the fatal blow, before proceeding to glut their appetite with the flesh and blood of their victim. This awful pause of suspense may, however, under such circumstances, be attributable to an instinctive desire completely to finish their work, or at least to preclude the possibility of resistance, prior to removing from the body of their prostrate prey the weapon with which his destruction has been inflicted.

[10]

It has been generally remarked, that lions in captivity have certain constant and stated times for roaring: this observation is not, however, strictly true with regard to those now in the Tower. It may nevertheless be observed that in the summer time, especially when the atmospheric temperature is considerable, they uniformly commence roaring about dawn, one of them taking the lead, and the others joining in the concert in succession; and Mr. Cops has frequently had occasion to remark that whenever any one of them fails in accompanying the rest in their by no means harmonious performance, the cessation from the customary roar is an infallible symptom of actual or approaching illness. At no other time is there that regularity in their roaring which has been so frequently stated; although the chorus which has just been described is sometimes repeated after feeding, and also when they have been left alone for any length of time; hence it occurs particularly on Sundays, a day on which they have no company except from the occasional visits of the keepers.