176 A MONOGRAPH OF THE PHEASANTS 



is vain and consciously proud of its plumage, and that it derives pleasure from the 

 gaze of admiring throngs. In zoological parks these birds certainly never display as 

 often or for as long-continued periods as when numbers of people are present. Under 

 such conditions I have known birds, scores of times, to display for a half-hour at a time 

 with no hen in sight, turning around and showing their beauties in all directions. 

 Appearances certainly favour the opinion of the layman. 



I saw no actual fighting among wild Peacocks, although more than once I observed 

 one cock pursuing another. Once in Ceylon two adults were thus occupied, and near 

 Agra a full-plumaged bird ran a young male almost into me as I turned a sharp corner 

 around a jungle-covered ruin. There is no doubt about severe battles taking place, 

 however, judging from the circumstantial evidence of sturdy legs and long sharp spurs, 

 and the actual evidence of fierce encounters between captive birds. As I have said, 

 these are usually preceded by a display on the part of both birds, but sooner or later one 

 loses patience and makes a rush, and there ensues a pandemonium of feathers which 

 would delight the heart of a futurist artist. The birds strike like lightning and dodge 

 as quickly, and when both attack simultaneously they rise eight or ten feet into the 

 air, striking downwards or sideways with one or both spurs, and pecking with the beak. 

 It is a sight unequalled in the world of birds, the long trains fraying out, twisting and 

 curving, following and accentuating every movement of their owners, the whole forming 

 a blur of metallic colouring, with now and then the crested head of a bird, its eye bright 

 with intense excitement, silhouetted clearly amid the whirling encounter. I have known 

 feathers to fly by the dozen, and once a bird's breast was ripped partly open, but I never 

 knew death to result. Sooner or later one bird weakens and flies off, sometimes pursued 

 hotly by its assailant, when the battle may be renewed elsewhere. 



As to sexual selection I need only repeat my belief, already expressed in the case of 

 other species, that the Peahen exercises no conscious, aesthetic choice, but is profoundly 

 influenced in some subconscious way by colour, movement, voice and quill-music, and 

 especially by the persistent repetition of these phenomena. I have known of an instance 

 where a young, short-spurred, rather unornamental cock was successful over two adult 

 males, but in this case, although constantly driven away by one or the other older birds, 

 he never failed to return as soon as their backs were turned, and during the time I 

 could spare to watch he displayed his small beauties twice as often as the others, and 

 eventually won the hen, although even after pairing he was kept on the run much of the 

 time by his unsuccessful rivals. 



It is well authenticated in a number of instances that the black-winged mutant and 

 the white variety will sometimes completely dominate a flock of normally coloured birds 

 by winning all the females. This would seem to support my theory that persistence of 

 reiteration, implying supreme bodily health and vigour, is of more importance than mere 

 perfection and conventionality of ornamental detail. The two are so often synchronous, 

 however, that these exceptions seem only to emphasize the usual correlation of excess of 

 vigour and perfection of plumage. 



There is no doubt about the Peacock being polygamous, although in captivity not 

 only will he occasionally be satisfied with one hen, but I have known him to condescend 

 to accompany the chicks and pick up bits of food for them. Wild birds usually are 

 associated with from three to five hens, and it is probable that the cock has little or 



