Adventures and experiences of Carl Hagenbeck
Eighty-first to ninetieth thousand new cheap edition
Recently increased with 134 partly coloured illustrations

Dedicated in deepest reverence to His Majesty the German Emperor and King of Prussia, Wilhelm II, by the author.

First Section
l. Memories From My Youth
Il. Development of the Pet Trade
III. Exhibitions of People
IV. I Decide to be a Circus Director and Animal Tamer
V. Creation of the Animal Paradise

Second Part
I. Regarding the Capture of Wild Animals
ll. Captive Predators
III. Elephant Memories
IV. Snake Stories
V. Little Adventures
Vl. Training Wild Animals
VII. Regarding Breeding and Acclimatization
VIII. Treating Sick Animals
IX. Notes About Stellingen
X. Great Apes

Third Section
l. People
ll. Kaiser Wilhelm II. Visits Stellingen

The Summer of 1909

In addition to this edition, a luxury edition of this work was published on art paper in half French-bound with leather pressing at a price of M.15 - and a collector's edition in two full leather volumes at a price of M. 100.


The great and enduring success of my memoirs makes me proud and happy. When I wrote the book, it was not my intention to create a 'business', but to tell the world how many sacrifices have been made to achieve the modest successes that I can look back on. But things turned out very differently, my wildest expectations were exceeded and many thousands of fellow combatants in the arena of life reached out and assured me that they understood me. If the description of my life's work has shown what diligence and perseverance can achieve, and if the love of the animal world is encouraged by the distribution of my book, then I am satisfied with the seed that this work has sown.

I feel particularly honoured and deeply delighted by the suggestion received from a wide variety of circles to follow up the first edition of my book with a new, cheaper edition, so that it - undeservedly, I believe - can have a greater distribution. I gratefully place this new edition in the hands of my readers.
Carl Hagenbeck


My whole life was spent in practical work. For the first time I am trying to use these notes to move from the realm of deeds to that of words. I am not a practiced writer and must beg the indulgence of literary experts and the public alike. I hope that the factual material contained in the following pages will compensate for its style, as I certainly could not do it justice to with this, my first and probably my last, book. But my hope is also based on the fact that I have found self-sacrificing and tireless support in literary matters from my old friend and adviser, the well-known author Mr. Philipp Berges, and my energetic publisher, Mr. Felix Heinemann, owner of the Vita publishing house, with valuable suggestions and personally offered assistance in the development of this work. I am sincerely indebted to both gentlemen now that this work lies finished before me, to my delight.

Hamburg-Stellingen, October 1908.
Carl Hagenbeck.

I. Memories From My Youth

The world had not yet been dominated by traffic when I was a boy. The noise and hustle and bustle that now fills the cosmopolitan city of Hamburg was not yet noticeable. Along with the Senate crier swinging his big bell, the strangest characters strolled through the streets of jolly old Hamburg. Somewhere in the suburbs the merry hustle and bustle of a fair took place almost every season, and around Christmas almost all the vacant squares in the city were given over to the famous "Hamburger Dom" [a funfair], which has since lost much of its originality. When I now let my gaze wander over the wide grounds of the Stellingen zoo, with its green meadows and towering artificial mountain formations, between which thousands of visitors enjoy the sight of the living animal panoramas, it almost seems like a dream to me that the old Hamburger Dom is solidly linked to the animal paradise of Stellingen.

I can still clearly see the Großer Neumarkt as it looked at Christmas time, covered with snow-covered stalls. Hands in pockets, hopping from one foot to the other from the cold, the young people crowded in front of the tempting displays of sweets, toys and fragrant fried pastries, but even more in front of the mechanical theatres, waxworks and stalls with cannibals and rare animals. On the old cathedral you could still, in all seriousness, see the mermaids and similar mythical creatures in person. In front of the stalls the criers, called barkers, walked hastily up and down, for they too were freezing, and loudly called out in inviting voices. One of them was the "performer" Schwanenhals or, as he called himself, Swonenhals, an eccentric person who was recruited for all kinds of services. So now, on a winter evening in 1853, Swonenhals was pacing up and down in front of a show booth on the Großer Neumarkt and kept calling out these memorable words to the astonished audience:

"Walk in, gentlemen! Here you can see: the largest pig in the world! You must view something like this, it's colossal, it's unbelievable, it's unprecedented! The giant pig, gentlemen, can be personally inspected here. Adults pay one shilling, children half!"

This text was supported by a huge sign on which the pig was depicted as large as a hippopotamus. But, for me, the strangest thing about this booth on the old Hamburger Dom was the fact that this primitive enterprise also bore the name Hagenbeck! This or another similar display from bygone times was the root from which this widely branched company, now centralized in Stellingen, grew up and was baptised half a century ago.

The entrepreneur who presented the giant pig to an admiring public at the Grosser Neumarkt was my dear father, who had bought the animal, which indeed weighed nine hundred pounds, from an old veterinarian. In those years my father was in the habit of never letting the Cathedral period pass without exhibiting some rare or remarkable animal phenomenon. There were, of course, the most amusing deceptions which have become quite impossible today and which one would no longer attempt with impunity even in an American dime museum. One day my father was offered a Vicuna llama by the captain of a ship that had arrived in the port of Hamburg; this was immediately bought for 60 thalers and destined for public display. All the preparations were made and, among other things, a large flaghead was ordered from old Rialer Gehrts, but - oh dear! Before the new attraction could be put on display, it died. The llama died. What on earth could he do? Put the expensive sign that cost twelve thalers in a corner? Impossible. A new vicuna had to be hunted down in the fields of Hamburg for the shield. My father found one in the form of an ordinary, very local deer, which he bought and quite brazenly exhibited to the visitors as a llama. At that time, one could allow oneself such hoaxes without a second thought as people were not as well versed in zoology as they are today, one got one’s knowledge from travelling menageries, who allowed themselves completely different fakeries.

The beginning of the animal business, insofar as it is connected with my house, dates back even further. As for myself, I can say that my whole life, from the cradle onwards, has been directly connected with the animal world, for my father operated a fish shop in the Hamburg suburb of St. Pauli, where I was born on June 10, 1844. The animal trade grew directly from this. But one shouldn't draw any wrong conclusions from his little cathedral swindle, which meant nothing in jolly old Hamburg. The famous "Hamburg at night" stall emerged from the cathedral, into which visitors were let in at the front for a fee of one shilling and then simply let them out at the back, onto the street, and there they had Hamburg at night.

I recall my father as an upright, sharply defined character. He was a man of unshakable principles and strong points of view. I will say with great satisfaction that he laid the foundation for everything that has been achieved. In his character he was very serious about life and had a friendly manner. His saying at all times was "With a hat in your hand you can get through the whole country." The practical application of this saying was made clear to me so often as a boy that it became instilled in my flesh and blood, and I have, I believe, passed it on to my family. Behind my father’s extreme strictness in the upbringing of his children, there was a great goodness of heart. The cane played its role in our upbringing, and through our father’s example, made up entirely of activity, punctuality and thrift, we children learned to live in his spirit. Only once do I remember being beaten; Father called me and I still didn't get to the table in time. Since then I have become accustomed to strict punctuality. If there was a fight between the children, a loud "Hello, hello!" or a "Nana!" was enough and everything went quiet. In particular, we were encouraged to save, nothing that could be of any value was allowed to go to waste. For example, the nails that bent when the crates were opened were knocked straight and used again. As a kind of talisman my father always carried in his pocket the first large coin he had earned in his youth, and as a dear legacy this old coin is now my constant companion. For the work that we children had to do in the shop from an early age, we received a fixed payment, which each child had to put into a clay piggy bank. At Christmas these money boxes were smashed and the money exchanged for silver and gold ducats. I still own mine today.

We were three boys and four girls, of whom, myself, my brother Wilhelm and my sister, Mrs. Runde, are still alive. My mother died in spring 1865. Through my father’s second marriage later on, I have two half-brothers, John Hagenbeck in Colombo on Ceylon and Gustav Hagenbeck in Hamburg.

My entire busy boyhood was spent between the fish business, which grew from small beginnings to a large concern, and the incipient pet trade. I only went to school when there was time, at most three months a year. Elementary learning was drummed into me at a girls' school, at Mother Feind's on Friedrichstrasse in St. Pauli, and it was not until I was twelve that I attended school more regularly. My father was by no means against the blessings of education, and a certain amount seemed absolutely necessary to him, but he valued early, practical acquisition just as highly, in keeping with today’s American spirit. He used to say: "Pastors never work, but they must read and write!"*) Later, when the flourishing business established connections with France and England, my father's broad view proved its worth, and it was said, "That's not enough, you must also learn English and French." In the few remaining school years, the foundations were laid for the higher subjects and also for languages, but in the main the knowledge necessary for extensive business participation was acquired from that great school called "practical life."
(* Pastoren sollt Ihr nicht werden, aber rechnen und schreiben müßt Ihr können.)

The main activity in the fish business was during summer. That was when the sturgeons, which are now extremely expensive, were coming onto the market in large numbers and my father was one of the main buyers. He retained a large number of fishermen in his service for a fixed salary, who had to deliver everything they caught in their nets. From March to July, fish moved from the sea up the Elbe to spawn and to unwillingly be caught in long, large nets. We bought and processed an average of 4,000 – 5,000 sturgeons each season. Processing means extracting the caviar and smoking the meat. The modern reader, who cannot dig deep enough to meet the needs of life, will surely be interested to learn the prices of the time. A pound of smoked sturgeon meat was already considered expensive if it cost with 4 - 5 Hamburg Schillings, which is 32 - 40 Pfennigs in today's money. Nowadays a pound of sturgeon meat costs 2.50 to 3 Marks, that is to say much more. The price for an ordinary milt sturgeon was then 3 to 4 Marks and roe sturgeons cost 10-12 thalers each, depending on their size. I know all this not only from hearsay, but because I was already in the middle of the business when I was a ten-year-old boy, and I still think back with pleasure to some episodes from that time. How many times have I gone out with the fishermen to catch and, with my boyish hands, have helped pull the colossi, armoured with hard scales, out of the nets. Once, near Glückstadt, we caught a giant specimen, which was an impressive thirteen feet in length and strength to match. Retrieving the colossus, into whose back the fishermen hammered a hook or so-called "fang", became a struggle. The prey turned out to be a roe sturgeon which yielded two and a half buckets of caviar. At that time, roes cost 10 - 12 Prussian thalers per bucket (15 litres). My fondness for the sea and deep-sea sport fishing, can perhaps be traced back to the early hunting trips and recently almost cost me my life on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea while hunting sharks. A storm took our boat by surprise, and if we hadn't reached the harbour at the last moment, rushing out of the lashed waves ahead of the hurricane, these youthful memories of our first hunting trips along the water would have vanished too.

But my boyhood was not spent on the water. Many a day I bought fish for 100 thalers and more on my own at the Hamburg Hopfenmarkt, where people still haggle to this day. At home my siblings and I helped to extract the caviar, which the three eldest had to take to Hamburg, and process the bladders of the sturgeons, which were used as isinglass for various chemical purposes.

From mid-July onwards, eels began to challenge the sturgeons for dominance. During this period, up to about the end of September, my father received large consignments of eels from Jutland, sometimes as much as 10,000 pounds a week, packed in sacks. Of course we had to be there to clean and process these fish. Anything that we didn’t dispatch fresh immediately was packed in barrels and later smoked and shipped. Even in autumn and winter we couldn't just sit back and relax. Now it was the turn of the little fish. Herring and sprats had to be pulled onto iron wires - my fingers still tingle when I think back to this wonderful work. The fish had to be taken out of the icy brine in which they were salted and lined up on the equally cold iron wires. Sometimes we got frozen hands, but it was fun for us children, we even worked in competitions, because for every ten wires completed, we received one Hamburg Schilling as wages.

It is impossible for me to recall these episodes from my youth without also remembering two well-known, even famous Hamburg characters, who strangely enough have grown together with our house like the Hamburger Dom. One was old "Aalweber," one of our most loyal customers. I can still envisage him in his light-coloured jacket and red waistcoat, a tall white felt hat on his head, and on his arm a basket of smoked eels covered with a napkin. Who didn't know Aalweber? In the mornings he went about with a cart holding brushes bound with rope, and did this in a very special way. He spoke only in infinitely long verse that never actually broke off. In the afternoon, however, Aalweber roamed the streets with the commodity that earned him his nickname. At that time there was not a single person in Hamburg who did not appear at the Lammermarkt or Waisengrun day, in front of Aalweber's booth in the Kirchenallee in St. Georg, where the "Deutsches Schauspielhaus" is now located, or who did not enjoy Aalweber's eels in some other way. The name of this character is still alive today, not only among the old but also among younger Hamburgers who have never seen him. Probably never has any street vendor enjoyed greater favour and popularity. In a theatre in Steinstrasse they even depicted Aalweber, aptly played by a young actor, onto the stage and the play - called "Gustav or the Masked Ball" - had an enormous following.

(*Aalweber: Johann Jürgen Weber or Karl Weber, 1780 - 1855 , a Hamburg brush binder and eel seller known for his sales pitch e.g. „Aal, rökert Aal! // Madam, kumm gau herdal, // De Köksch de sitt in Kellerlock // Und flickt ehrn Krenolinenrock." )

The other character, who was by no means less famous than Aalweber, was Dannenberg. It is hard to describe this very strange person, although I got to know him better than many people did when I was a boy. Dannenberg lived on the second floor of our building on Petersenstrasse, and of course I always had free admission to his place. This famous man was not handsome because his face, framed by black whiskers, was disfigured by a sunken nose. He wore small rings in his ears, as you can still see on sailors today. But this ugly exterior contrasted with an all the more decent interior and Dannenberg showed incredible industriousness. There was no work that this man, an actor by trade, would not tackle - for money and good words it should be noted. In the morning he could be seen going through the suburbs as a crier and announcing all sorts of news in a loud voice. Sometimes, when he announced auctions on behalf of the city, he carried a large bell in his hand. He usually began his public speeches with the words: "Hört Lüd!" [Hear ye] or "Hear, you Hamburgers and residents!" and then it went something like this:

„Door is hut morgen groote Afschoon of der lange Reeg bi Herrn Mittelstraß öber diverse Mobilien, Kleidungsstücken Gold- un Sülbergeschirr, Koppergerät und sonstige wertvolle Gegenstänn. Wer da Lust to köpen hätt, dee koom stock tein, bring öber Geld mit!"* [Dialect]
(* "Listen, folks, this morning there is a big auction on the Langenreihe at Mr. M.'s for . . . . if you want to buy, come at the stroke of ten o'clock, bring money with you.")

When a child or a dog got lost, when fresh victuals arrived somewhere, Dannenberg announced everything. If there was nothing to announce, then you could see the industrious man chopping wood, helping move things and doing all sorts of other things. Dannenberg had a special temporary job with my father. Of course he had to play the crier here as well, and all St. Paulians will certainly still remember his great praise: "Hear Lüd! Freshly roasted warm Neesen! Bi Hogenbeck in de Peterstroot gives eight big, fat, warm Neesen for one shilling." At other times this man had to look after us three eldest children for everything.

However, Dannenberg's moment of glory only began in the afternoon, for now the crier and unskilled worker was transformed into the theatre director, whose questionable fame has even found its way into the annals of Hamburg theatre history. When Dannenberg stood in front of his Elysium Theatre in St. Pauli, disguised as an ancient knight, in shining armour, helmet on his head and a mighty sword at his side, his sunken nose covered with red make-up, he was unrecognizable. One only recognised him as the St. Paulian town crier when he opened his mouth and invited the audience, this time in elegant High German and raising his voice ever more menacingly, to attend the great tragedy. "Entrance first pew four, second pew two, and last pew, I'm almost ashamed to say it, just one shilling." In the midst of the most pompous chivalrous scenes, rotten apples and eggs sometimes rained down from Mount Olympus onto the stage, and then, while the performance was interrupted, one of the actors had to hurry to the gallery to throw the culprits out into the open. So that was Dannenberg. Those who are more interested in his personality and his theatre will find a good characterization and the most cheerful episodes in Borcherdt's work "Funny Old Hamburg".

The beginning of the transformation of the fishmonger shop, which was just a food shop, into a pet shop took place during the stormy year of 1848. At the beginning of March, the fishermen, who had set out very early that year to catch sturgeon, caught six seals in their nets. Since the fishermen were contractually obliged to deliver their entire catch to my father, they naturally brought these seals to him as well. Regarding what followed, all one can really say is "small causes, big impacts." My father came up with the happy idea of exhibiting the animals for an entry fee, and for this purpose he exhibited them in two large wooden vats on the Spielbudenplatz in St. Pauli for an entry fee of one schilling (eight pfennigs). Quite good business was done with this display. This was my father's first venture of this kind, as he didn’t trade in pets at that time, and it's fair to say that the whole pet business grew out of this. A berlin business friend suggested to my father that he exhibit the seals in Berlin as well - for modern people it seems a strange idea to take seals to the capital of the Reich to be exhibited as a great rarity. They really were a rarity back then, so the seals were placed in Kroll's garden as quickly as possible. Despite the political turmoil, business wasn't bad at all, but as the revolutionary movement grew daily, my father began to feel uncomfortable in Berlin, so he sold the famous six seals to a Berlin entrepreneur, unfortunately not for cash but on credit, and travelled back to Hamburg. Unfortunately, this entrepreneur had a very bad memory as he went off with the seals and forgot to pay the bill. That was the beginning of the pet trade. It wasn't as bad as it might appear, because my father did not lose anything, and he still had a little money left over from exhibiting the seals in Hamburg and Berlin.

You shouldn’t believe that profit alone played a role in the shows and animal purchases that followed. I can say with a clear conscience that my father also had an innate love for animals,. An animal shop, whether large or small, is unthinkable without a passion for the animal kingdom. My father was a particularly avid animal lover, which was evident from the fact that he always kept goats, a cow, a monkey, a talking parrot, chickens, geese and all sorts of other domestic animals. A pair of peacocks also strutted about in the large rooms used to store the wood chips for smoking fish. So the menagerie already existed before anyone even thought of an animal business.

I must have inherited my father's love of the animal world as my inclination towards animals was expressed quite dramatically in my earliest youth. One day, when I was just two years old, I brought eight live young rats into the house in my apron, to the dismay of my good mother. They were immediately taken from me of course. The result was a horrible screaming that only stopped when my father had the happy idea of giving me a pair of young guinea pigs to play with instead of the missing rats, as he also kept a whole stock of these creatures for his special pleasure. A little later I was given a live mole. A large barrel of sand was prepared as a residence for the new inhabitant. But the main question here was the stomach question. Every evening I made a pilgrimage to the Heiligengeistfeld [Holy Ghost Field, site of the Hamburger Dom] with my eldest siblings to look for earthworms, and this way we kept the mole alive for over two months. He probably would have lived longer if he hadn't died in an accident. During a heavy downpour we forgot to cover the barrel and the poor fellow drowned in his own residence. This was the first little lesson I received regarding the treatment of animals. The accident touched my childhood heart very deeply and, even if unconsciously, I probably learned from the lesson of being more careful.

A few years later, a far stranger mishap happened to me. I was already a twelve-year-old boy and, as a result of my almost self-employed work in the animal business, which was already flourishing more and more, I was completely in control of my own actions and omissions. On our large farm we had half a dozen ducks whose plumage had become very dirty. Since the animals lacked bathing facilities, I came up the idea of providing them with one. I pumped an empty seal tub half full of water, grabbed my ducks and put them in the bath one by one, where they began to cavort merrily. I watched the hustle and bustle with pleasure for a while, then went to our apartment on Petersenstrasse for lunch. I returned after about two and a half hours and was amazed to find no ducks, neither on the water nor in the yard. With the help of a guard, the whole property was searched without success. Then the Keeper said something I found very strange at the time: "Maybe the ducks have drowned." I thought that couldn't be possible at all, but when we examined the pool, we found the six ducks lying still at the bottom. They had indeed drowned. Because of the ingrained dirt, their plumage had not been sufficiently lubricated by the body's natural oils to keep out the water. Their plumage became waterlogged and its weight then pulled the animals down. They should only have been placed in very shallow water at first. Now one can well imagine that my father did not exactly praise me for this deed, but it still taught me a valuable lesson for the future.

The ball started rolling with the seal business. In the next few years, the search for new seals was successful, but my father no longer exhibited them himself, but sold them to traveling showmen. The innocent animals were presented at fairs and markets as "mermaids" or even as "walruses" – the people knew no better. In July 1852, my father was offered an adult polar bear, which Captain Main had brought to Hamburg from Greenland on his ship "Der Junge Gustav". Back then, when only three zoological gardens existed, it was not easy to find a buyer for such a monster. Daring and an enterprising spirit played a part in putting money into a polar bear, so to speak. However, my father did not shy away from doing this and, after much bargaining, he bought the polar bear for 350 Prussian thalers. Coincidentally, at the same time, a striped hyena and some other animals and birds that had arrived by ship also came into his possession, and this whole menagerie was soon being exhibited on Spielbudenplatz in St. Pauli in what was then the Huhnermärder Museum for an entrance fee of four shillings. Now one must not think that one simply put, say, an advertisement in the newspaper and waited for the public to turn up. Oh no! A barker was put in front of the door, and what a barker! The crier Barmbecker, who was very well known at the time, was put into a red dress suit, like the Danish postal officials wore as a uniform, he was given a huge megaphone and with the help of this instrument he had to announce to the astonished crowd that the giant polar bear from Greenland could be viewed for an entrance fee of only four shillings. Such advertising was necessary at that time, because the Spielbudenplatz with the previously mentioned Mattler Theatre and its director Dannenberg, and with its merry-go-rounds and show booths required strong effects. Incidentally, business was doing quite well and encouragingly.

Every year, these shows were followed by performances on the Hamburg Dom, almost all of which, quite apart from the type of advertising, had a comic aftertaste. For example, in the December following the lion's escape from Kreutzberg's menagerie - but I should first say a few words about that. In the autumn of 1858, the lion "Prince", a magnificent, fully grown animal, which was being transported to Harburg, jumped out of a carriage of the aforementioned menagerie. The first thing the escapee did was jump on the neck of the horse pulling the wagon and bite its throat. A cool-headed servant accompanying the wagon, Heinrich Rundshagen, who later became known under the honorary title "Lion of Hamburg", put a noose around the predator's neck and strangled it. Oddly enough, not only was the stuffed lion later shown for money, but Rundshagen, whose heroism had gone to his head, was also shown for money. In the December that followed this earth-shattering event, my father devised a very grand display which, these days, would not attract a cat of course. In the company of old Schuster Baum, another of St. Pauli’s eccentrics, an impression of the lion ride was made and shown in a booth for the entrance fee of a shilling. The artwork consisted of an old stuffed lion skin attached to the neck of an even older stuffed white horse. Both animals came from the Hühnermäder Museum, but their poses were slightly changed. The traces of blood on the neck of the poor white horse were created by dripping sealing wax. This venture turned out to be extraordinarily lucrative, the audience shuddered with horror, and the lion ride was probably the best Christmas deal my father had done on the Dom up to that point.

During another time at the Dom, it was the turn of the popular giant pig. This time it was a large boar of the English Yorkshire breed, which is known to be poorly bristled. This gave one of my father's workers the original idea of showing the animal as a very special curiosity, namely as a naked giant pig. To this end, the boar was shaved, but things did not go as easily as one might imagine, and the pig was miserably maltreated as a result. On the shield above the stall, of course, was a portrait of the good pig, about twice as big as it really was, with the following verse beneath it:

*You’ve often seen big pigs,
But never as big as this,
So come on in, everybody,
Come and compare its size."

One can well imagine that no great wealth was earned from such shows, but they made at least a few hundred marks, which were very welcome to supplement winter expenses.

Very slowly, alongside the fish shop, the pet shop began to develop. Small business ventures were followed by larger ones, and most involved trips I took part in when I was a boy. From then on, half my life played out on the treadmill, so to speak, I always preferred face-to-face negotiations to written ones, and I achieved the best results that way. In short, before anyone knew it, I was already on the train or the steamboat. I don't think this quality has changed in the least since my boyhood.

I made my first business trip to Bremerhaven when I was eleven, accompanied by my father; here a ship-chandler named Garrels had some animals for sale. At that time you still had to make a detour via Hanover to get from Hamburg to Bremen by train; so a trip to Bremerhaven, which we don’t even think about today, meant a real journey back then. The stock of animals consisted of a large raccoon, two American opossums, a few monkeys and parrots, which were bought and brought to Bremen by steamboat, from where they were to make their way to Hamburg on the deck of the "Diligence". So the menagerie was to make the journey at dizzy heights on the roof of the stagecoach, a risk that did not go unpunished. After the stagecoach had rattled through the night, it was discovered in Harburg in the morning that one of the boxes was empty. During the night the raccoon had chewed its way through the wooden bars and, without a word of goodbye, had fled. I will never forget my father's face when he scratched behind his ears and looked forlornly at the empty box. The raccoon was gone, however, and you didn’t dare make any fuss because otherwise a whole stream of lawsuits might have been thrown at you; because if the escapee wasn't killed soon, bad days were in store for farm owners and their poultry. In fact, the raccoon roamed free around the Luneburg Heath for a full two years until this rare game was killed. We found out about this from the newspaper, but of course we kept very quiet and apart from my father, the postilion and myself, no-one ever found out how the raccoon got into the heath.

There was no shortage of similar episodes, which mostly took place at home. In the middle of our sweetest slumber we were once aroused by a night watchman who, pale with terror, told us that a large seal was slipping about near the moat near the Millerntor. My father immediately set off, and of course I, as the foremost assistant in the animal shop, went too. Luck came to our aid. We were able to catch the fugitive just as he was about to slide down the steep embankment that leads to the water of the city moat. It wasn't hard work to entangle the animal in one of our seal nets and return it to our quarters on Spielbudenplatz. However, had the seal got into the water first, catching it would have been much more difficult.

Another time, also in the night, we were surprised by our old warden with the report that a stray hyena, which had been packed up the night before and was to be dispatched the next morning, had escaped. My father was not a little shocked because we had no experience in dealing with such predators at the time. My eldest sister and I were taken along as assistants because the keeper was already an old man, well into his seventies, whose help one couldn't count on, and then we went to the Spielbudenplatz. When we entered the menagerie, my sister with a lamp, my father and I each armed with a sea-net, we carefully searched the room and finally found the hyena hiding in a corner under a large monkey box. According to the nature of her sex, she greeted us with a horrid howl, but dared not attack. With long sticks we finally got the animal out from under the box. Just as it was about to pounce in anger on my father, the latter with great skill threw the seal net over its head, and in a moment the beast was entangled in the mesh. Within a few minutes we brought the captured animal into an empty predator box. But the whole adventure did not happen as quickly as I have related it here, for we did not return to our home until about eight o'clock in the morning.

Another adventure that I remember fondly from that time did not go so smoothly. This time my father had to pass a rencontre with monkeys, namely with baboons. A number of baboons were to be caught out of a large monkey cage by means of a sack-net. My father, standing in the cage, had one specimen in the net and was about to bring it out when, hearing the prisoner's screams, all the other baboons, about a dozen in number, attacked my father and scratched and bit him miserably. He managed to leave the cage, admittedly covered in blood. Besides a multitude of open bites and scratches, his body showed countless bruises where clothes had protected it. After this incident, the monkeys were always caught using a so-called transfer box into which they were lured with fruit.

And these little adventures may be followed by two more bear stories, but I'm getting ahead of myself a bit, because they didn't take place until a few years later, in 1863, on Spielbudenplatz. A certain Herr Klimek, provision manager of the Hamburg America Line, brought five large, trained bears with him from New York. There were two grizzly bears, two cinnamon bears and a North American black bear. All were owned by "Grizzly Adams," then popular in America, an old trapper who had caught and trained them young, and then roamed the United States with them for years. After the trapper's death, the animals were auctioned off and thus became the property of the provision manager. Da andere Käufer sich nicht fanden, kauften wir die Tiere zu einem ziemlich niedrigen Preise. The animals were housed in cages in the courtyard of our establishment. One night one of the grizzly bears, fortunately a blind animal, broke out of his cage and made himself comfortable on its roof. The calamity was announced to us by a shoemaker who lived nearby, who had been awakened by the noise, had seen with horrified eyes that the bear was loose, and brought the news to us with even greater horror and breathless from running so fast, of course we hurriedly got out of the way. Nothing had happened yet, and the bear lay leisurely on its chest. My father had the happy idea of sticking half a piece of brown bread on a feeding fork and using this bait, which the bear followed sniffing, to lure the animal back into its cage.

So this breakout had a happy ending. A few days later, however, I also had my first bear adventure in the same place. I had the task of "packing" a Russian bear for travel, which by the way is a 1 – 1-and-a-half year-old animal. At first, I struggled for hours to lure the animal into its travel cage using a moving box, but Master Furry didn't feel the least inclination to change residence. Time was pressing. If I wanted to get the animal to the railway station in time, I had to take action. I locked the yard, opened the cage bars and threw small pieces of sugar in front of the bear. That helped. My bear came out of his box and ate one lump of sugar after another as he walked on. Just as he bent down again for a piece, I grabbed his neck with one hand and grabbed the deep fur of his back with the other, trying to force the bear into the cage in this way. But I had made a miscalculation, and a real duel ensued. The bear was far stronger than I had imagined. At first it bristled in surprise, but then it turned and managed to grab me with its front paws. In the next moment the most splendid wrestling match was in progress. With its sharp claws, the bear literally ripped my clothes off my body in tatters; the animal bit and scratched furiously, and in an instant it was no longer my clothes but my own precious skin that was involved. I received the first serious wounds. The warden I called for support only took one look at the fighting group and bravely fled to a safe distance instead of rushing to my aid. However, I did not give up. Using all my strength, I threw myself on the angry animal and finally showed him who was master. Then I managed to squeeze it into its cage and get it to the railway in time, despite my somewhat dishevelled condition. The furry brown ruffian had nearly stripped me, had inflicted a severe bite on my right hand and a number of other bites and scratches on other parts of my body, but fortunately the wounds proved harmless. After this episode, however, I never tried to "lure" bears from one cage to another in this way again.

It is not possible to estimate or describe how many large and small "technical difficulties" my incipient animal business had to contend with over the years. Everything we know today about animal transport and animal treatment had to be tried out in practice and paid for with failures and sacrifices. You don't get experience for free either, it is precisely this that you have to pay for most dearly in life. Unfortunately, lack of experience not only resulted in small adventures and accidents, but also formed a stumbling block for the business as a whole that was difficult to overcome. It was so important that in 1858, a year before my confirmation, my father gave up the thought of the pet shop and concentrated on the fish business, which had continued in the meantime, although the animal business had already assumed larger dimensions. In the previous year alone, some really important – for that time - animal deals were undertaken. Thus my father travelled to Vienna as quickly as possible after receiving a written notice from his bird dealer friend in Vienna that the Africa researcher Dr Natterer had arrived with many animals from the Egyptian Sudan. He found five lions, two leopards, three cheetahs, some hyenas, antelopes and gazelles, and a number of monkeys, which he readily bought, and at a comparatively cheap price because there was no competition. After a six-day train journey involving many difficulties, the animals arrived in Hamburg and very soon changed hands. The beasts of prey found afficionados in various menagerie owners, while the antelopes, gazelles and monkeys, as well as a few cheetahs, found a home in the Amsterdam Zoological Garden.

In spite of such dealings, my father found in a general estimate that most of the money he made as a fishmonger brought in was spent in the pet shop, as lack of experience in the treatment of animals meant many perished. Thus the future of the whole pet business was up in the air. With these thoughts in mind, my father asked me one day whether I wanted to choose the pet shop or the fish shop as my future career. He shared his experiences with me in a fatherly manner and advised me to turn to the fish business. But I'm sure he did this with a heavy heart and only to avoid disappointment. Like himself, however, I was already far too involved in the pet shop and loved dealing with our animals, which had become a habit for me, too much to give even the slightest thought of giving it up. Without further ado, I decided to continue the animal business and, since I was my father's favourite, gained his approval, albeit on the condition that he would not have to pay more than 2000 Marks in the event of a possible subsequent loss. So I now had to see for myself, he said, how I could get on and grow the pet trade. In 1857, the same year in which my father started his first large animal business by purchasing Dr Natterer's animal collection, I also made a somewhat unusual but not bad deal. The peculiarity may be credited to my 13-year youthfulness. In the port of Hamburg I bought 280 large beetles packed in three cigarette cases from the cabin boy on a small schooner that had returned from Central America. I made the boy overjoyed with two and a half Hamburg shillings a piece, that's twenty pfennigs according to our money. But when I showed my father this purchase, he was not at all pleased and said, "Well, whatever you earn from those cockroaches, you can keep to yourself." This time, my father was wrong. First I showed the collection to the master baker Dorries, who was a great connoisseur of beetles and butterflies, and he said I should be able to get at least 1-2 marks for each beetle if I sold the collection to the natural history dealer Breitruck. At the time, Breitruck owned the largest shellfish and natural produce business in Germany. In short, I actually sold my three crates of beetles to Breitruck and received no less than 100 thalers. Incidentally, Breitruck did not fare badly in this business, for he passed the whole collection on to the London animal dealer Jamrach for a much higher price.

By the way, when I was 14 years old, I already knew a lot about the actual animal trade, as I had accompanied my father on most trips. So, after I left school in March 1859 at the age of fifteen, things got serious. I devoted myself entirely to the pet trade while my father was only in charge of the fish business. His passion, however, was still the animal business, and his advice remained authoritative. I was never happier than when I had earned my father's praise through a successfully completed business deal. To the end of his life, my father remained the kindest adviser and restless collaborator. And just as he laid the foundation for the material business, he also laid the foundation for activity, perseverance and moderation and planted the love of animals in our hearts, so that all successes of a later time still go back to him, who has long since been slumbering under the turf.


A difficult, but deeply satisfying, time now began for me. Inclination and profession flowed together, and I approached my new business with enthusiasm. Animals had to be bought and sold, the proper housing and treatment of the animals was a constant concern, and there was also the economic side of the business, which caused a lot of headaches. My sister Caroline helped me with bookkeeping and paperwork, while sisters Luise and Christiane took care of the birds. My brother Wilhelm acted as coachman and had to get the living goods in and out of the house. For myself there was an overabundance of work, for it was and always has been our principle that work ennobles man. In caring for the larger animals, I was only assisted by an old keeper. At that time, most of the work was made by the seals, which were housed in large tubs. Fresh water had to be pumped into these tubs early every morning, and for this purpose I had to stand at the pump for two or three hours. When I had finally finished the pumping, I dragged my fish basket over to feed the sick souls one by one.

Newly arrived animals, which were still shy and wild, were simply thrown their food, but after a few days they became so tame that they took food from the hand. Only the older specimens were an exception and could only be made to eat with difficulty. Old seals are difficult to acclimatise to a new environment, and the animals will grieve and sometimes starve for weeks before deciding to eat. Like my father, I had and still have a special affection for seals. I must have told a French interviewer something similar recently, but this gentleman had a rather lively imagination, for he claimed in the newspapers of his native country that I had once gotten a seal so far that it cried out "Papa" whenever it saw me. The truth is that the animals knew me well. When I appeared in the courtyard in the morning and greeted the animals with the call: "Paul, Paul" (all seals were given the name Paul), all stretched their long necks out of the tub. It was always the common North Sea seals (Phoca vitulina) that our fishermen brought us. We once had a grey seal that was very agile and often escaped from its bathtub. It was this animal that once escaped in the night and slid for a walk in the city. At home it had become so tame that it followed me around the yard like a dog, it soon learned to sit up straight, turn around in the pool on command and many other things, for which it was always rewarded with an extra fish.

I got into my first major deal when I was just over 16, and it is interesting to see how chance, which plays a major part in life, came to my aid. You just have to keep your eyes open and try to use every situation appropriately, "to make the best of it", as the English say. At that time, the menagerie owner August Scholz came to Hamburg with a young, five-foot-high elephant, which he lodged with us for one night in order to dispatch it the next day with other animals bought from us. First, Scholz and I led the elephant through the streets to the train station. However, this shipment was interrupted by a small interlude. On Lombardsbrücke the pachyderm became shy and ran away from us. Of course, there was a nice crowd. After chasing through the grounds for more than half an hour, the elephant was finally brought back in, bound by the legs and tied behind the wagon, whereupon he had the sense to be taken to the station. At the railway station, Scholz asked me to accompany him to Berlin at his expense. I was willing to do this and gave our coachman the task of bringing me a blanket at the station and telling my father that I had gone to Berlin as Scholzen's assistant. Next noon the shipment was completed, whereby the animals were transported with an extra locomotive through the middle of the city to another station. Nothing was more natural than that I would use the free afternoon to visit the Zoological Gardens.

I was no stranger to the Zoological Gardens, and I already knew the inspector. When I went to see him and offered him several of our animals, he informed me, to my great delight, that I had probably come at just the right time, as there were various gaps in the predator house that could be filled. A few days later I sold animals to the director, Professor Peters, for almost 1700 talers. I was quite pleased with my success and could hardly get back to Hamburg fast enough to tell to my father.

More important transactions took place in the autumn of 1862, when I took a trip to Antwerp with my father. An animal auction took place every year in the Antwerp Zoological Garden, which was mainly attended by the directors of the few zoological gardens and by animal lovers. The main buyer at that time was the London animal dealer Charles Jamrach, who did his shopping in Antwerp and at the same time did barter deals. It was hard to imagine beating this competitor, who was more powerful than us at the time, but it happened anyway, and in a way that exceeded our wildest expectations. On the trip to Antwerp we visited the Cologne Zoological Garden, which had only existed for a few years, and we concluded some barter and purchase transactions with the director, Dr. Bodinus. Dr. Bodinus had been part of our circle of business friends since 1860. In that year he was in Hamburg and bought a whole range of animals of various kinds, which filled several truckloads. These animals were the first occupants to move into the empty houses of the Cologne Zoological Garden, which then opened in July of the same year.

In Antwerp we made only a few small purchases on the first day. In the evening, when my father was tired, I visited the Zoological Garden on my own, without any particular intention, and was introduced by our friend, Director Schopf from Dresden, to a few gentlemen I don't think I'd met personally before. Among these was the director of the "Jardin d'Acclimatisation" in Paris, Monsieur Geoffroy St. Hilaire, whom I have often met since then and who gave me many valuable tips. In addition, that evening I had the opportunity to meet director Martin from the Zoological Gardens in Rotterdam and director Westermann from Amsterdam, and to conclude quite large purchases and sales with these gentlemen. Geoffroy St. Hilaire had secretly inquired about our circumstances from an animal lover we knew, Count Cornelli, and the information must have been very good, for I made the most important deal in Antwerp with the Paris director. The good Jamrach, who arrived later, was horrified to learn that I had beaten him to it and had left him almost nothing.

By a strange coincidence, a few days later I had to thwart the intentions of the London firm again, and very keenly at that. Of course, this did not cause us any regrets, and I can probably say that my father was very amused when I presented him with the list of transactions I had concluded in the evening and told him how we had beaten our competitor.

As soon as I got back to Hamburg, I found among the correspondence that had arrived there a letter from the widow of the menagerie owner Christian Renz, who was visiting the fair in Krefeld at the time and wished to sell her menagerie. I would have loved to have left again right away. But my father had reservations, he thought it would be too much for us if we also took on these animals over the winter, and between the back and forth of deliberations the letter remained unanswered for a while. Four days later in the afternoon a second letter arrived from the widow Renz, in which she asked for immediate information as she had also offered the animals to Herr Jamrach, who would take them if we didn't get them. Now I got serious and got my father's approval to buy the menagerie. Time was pressing. The Harburg steamer, which connected with the train in question, left in half an hour. I didn't even have time to fetch an overcoat or other travel essentials from our apartment in Petersenstrasse, but hurriedly went and stood at the steamer, which I reached just in time. But I had the most important thing with me, namely 100 thalers in cash, so that I could at least make a down payment for the animals.

I arrived in Krefeld around eleven the next morning and immediately went to the menagerie. Here I found four wagons full of animals, including a very full-maned Barbary lion, more beautiful than I have seen since. Also a white arctic wolf, a jaguar, some panthers and many other animals, all of which I acquired within a few minutes. I paid 50 thalers as a deposit and made the condition that the animals would be brought to Hamburg by the managing director the next day, at the end of the fair. The remainder would be paid then. But only some of the animals were actually shipped, because after Mrs. Renz pointed out to me that she could have sold various animals already to small show booth owners who were at the fair, business immediately got going. I got in touch with these people and in no time I had sold animals from my stock for 700 talers. And now comes a small, sweet interlude. At Oberhausen station, where I had to change trains, my dear Mr. Jamrach from London, whom I had seen in Antwerp only seen a few days ago, suddenly stood opposite me. I couldn't possibly remember him fondly, and he was also somewhat shocked at the sight of me and asked, quite taken aback, where I had "been this time". "In Krefeld," I said dryly, " where I acquired widow Renz’s menagerie." This news caused the gentleman from London quite a bit of excitement, his voice sounded a bit strained and uncertain when he asked me: "What do you want to do with all these creatures so close to winter?" "Let that be my concern," I replied, then casually added, "By the way, a large number of the animals have already been sold on the spot."

The next morning I arrived in Hamburg with a full wallet and was able to stand up to my father with honours. I received a gift of 100 thalers for proving my quickness. My father would not regret this gift, because the deal with widow Renz brought us a profit of more than 2000 thalers. I want to say the following about the fate of the animals. The lions were given to an English business friend, Charles Rice in London, who sold them on to the Fairgraves menagerie, who were traveling in England. It is noteworthy that Fairgraves bred the beautiful Barbary lion with large Cape lionesses and obtained a magnificent breed. When he later retired and dissolved his menagerie, the finest animals found accommodation in the Bristol and Dublin Zoological Gardens. From then on, the most beautiful lions to be found in Europe were bred here. Within a few days I had sold the other Renz animals to various menagerie owners, whom I had already informed before the trip.

Even without special assurances, one can see from such transactions that the animal shop was constantly expanding. In 1863 my father bought the house at Spielbudenplatz No. 19, which was right next to the museum, where we had previously had our business. The front building had two shops downstairs, one rented to a shoemaker, and the other housing our birds. Behind the house was a small courtyard, and behind that a large building, eighty feet long and thirty feet wide, which we arranged to suit our purposes. To the right were placed a number of cages for beasts of prey. The left side was divided into stables for other animals. A small photographic studio was built above the courtyard. Boxes for larger animals were placed in the open space of the courtyard.

The last few years had given me new connections with England, France, Holland and Belgium, and the menagerie at Schaubudenplatz always had a substantial population of animals. In the winter of 1864, I made my first trip to England, which has since been followed by countless others, for I subsequently went to London about twelve to fourteen times a year to buy animals from dealers there. My dependence on the London market only ended later, after the founding of the German Reich and the upswing of German overseas relations. I have memories of many interesting experiences from that time.

Transporting a giant anteater, which I bought in London in March 1864, turned out to be quite an adventure. I had never seen an animal of this kind, and when news reached me from an English friend in Hamburg that an adult anteater had arrived in Southampton from Argentina, I left immediately for England. The animal's owner lived at a country estate four miles from Southampton, and we travelled there by coach. The anteater roamed free in the garden where the snow lay two inches deep, an observation which, along with others like it, encouraged me to ever more extensive attempts at acclimatization. The animal spent the night in the chicken coop, where a few bundles of hay were piled up and it burrowed into this. After I bought the animal, the previous owner said I could take it with me in the hackney-cab, provided the windows were locked so that it couldn't slip out. Since I had no idea of the danger of such an animal, I allowed myself to be persuaded to take the anteater inside the cab with me, and my friend sat on the box.

So there I was sitting with my four-legged neighbour, who was becoming alarmingly restless and suddenly tried to grab me with his two sharp front claws. At first, he set his sights on my legs, which he clutched so hard that I had trouble releasing him. During the whole trip we scuffled back and forth, I was constantly having to fend off new attacks, which wasn't an easy task, because the animal measured 7-and-a-half feet from the tip of the nose to the end of the tail and was extremely strong. I was completely drained of energy when we finally got to Southampton and I was able to call on my friend for help. The animal was then transported to London in a packing box. The food that the anteater had been given daily consisted of eight raw eggs and a pound of chopped meat, and he was given warm milk as a drink. On the crossing from London to Hamburg we had very stormy weather and I went to bed seasick. Although I could hardly move, I prepared the anteater’s food and asked the ship's carpenter, whom I knew, to feed my animals. There was an amusing incident. The ship's carpenter had scarcely left my cabin when he came back and, pale with terror, told me that a long, thin snake had crawled out of the anteater's throat as he tried to feed him. In spite of my weakness, therefore, I had to go below decks to see this wonder. The snake was, of course, nothing more than the anteater's long tongue, with which it licked up the porridge dropped by the frightened carpenter When I arrived in Hamburg, I sold the rare animal to the Zoological Garden, but under very strange conditions. I received part of the purchase price in cash straight away, but further fixed sums only after each month that the animal would remain alive. One did not dare to buy such an expensive and difficult to treat animal on the spot. By now, however, I had accustomed the anteater to a particularly digestible diet of cornmeal and boiled milk, given morning and night, and four raw eggs and half a pound of meat at midday. The animal thrived on this diet and was admired for years as a great rarity in the Hamburg Zoological Garden.

An extraordinarily important connection was made in the same year, 1864. It was late one evening when we received a telegram from Vienna from a friend telling us that Lorenzo Cassanova, a traveller from Africa, had arrived with a shipment of animals that he had collected in Africa, and had travelled to Dresden via Vienna.

Two years earlier, this Cassanova had brought a large shipment of animals from the Egyptian Sudan to Europe, consisting of six giraffes, the first African elephants and many other rare animals. At that time, the traveller had great difficulty selling his animals. We also did not dare to take on such an expensive shipment, so the collection finally passed to the well-known menagerie owner and animal tamer Gottlieb Kreutzberg. This time things were different. In the morning after receiving the telegram I travelled to Dresden and met Cassanova in the Zoological Garden where he kept his animals. This time it was only a small shipment, consisting of two young lions, three striped hyenas, a collection of very beautiful, large monkeys, and a few birds. We agreed very quickly. The main result of this meeting, however, was not so much the purchase of these animals, but the conclusion of a contract, whereby Cassanova would supply us with larger animals such as elephants, giraffes, rhinos, etc. in the future. Since the traveller would not recognize my own signature as fully valid, he travelled with me to Hamburg, where my father signed the contract. All the animals that Cassanova brought home safely from a new trip to Africa would belong to us at a price fixed in the contract, with the sole exception of one elephant, which was intended for the director of the Zoological Gardens in Berlin, Professor Peters.

Cassanova thus began a series of long-distance travellers who searched for wild and rare animals for us in the bush, forest and steppe. In the next year, in July 1865, Cassanova brought his first contractual shipments from Nubia to Vienna. This was mainly three beautiful African elephants, various young lions, a great number of hyenas and leopards, young antelopes, gazelles and ostriches. I was already in Vienna when Cassanova arrived. Here I also met Professor Peters, who had already chosen his elephant. The animals were loaded and first made it safely to Berlin, where they had to be separated from the elephant intended for the garden there. Once again there was a small free performance. With great difficulty we got the animal out of the wagon and lured it a few hundred metres with sugar and bread. Suddenly the two elephants that had stayed behind began to call out something in elephant language to their departing companion, perhaps a farewell. In short, at that moment our elephant turned and ran back to his comrades, dragging us behind him like shuttlecocks. We had no choice but to take the other two elephants out of the wagon and let them accompany the deserter to the zoo. Only after the elephant had been accommodated in its new home could I march back to the station with my two elephants, and then arrive with them in Hamburg without further incident.

As my success grew, so did my courage. Cassanova returned to Africa with larger commissions, and in the following years a whole series of other travellers competed with him. Many factors contributed to making the name Hagenbeck popular at that time. The animal trade as an area of business was new.

The zoos began to flourish and interest in foreign animals suddenly soared. It was difficult to satisfy all the demands that were placed on me. Of course, animals flowed to me not only from Africa, but from all parts of the world, and where I did not travel myself, at least I had my middleman. The trade in Indian animals was then chiefly in the hands of William Jamrach, and I had absolutely no reason to disturb him as a seller, especially as he mainly collected for me, as far as I wished to take his animals from him. Imports from Australia were also still centralized in London and were in contact with me through the aforementioned Mr. Rice. Despite the fact that supplies came from a wide variety of sources and I was almost constantly on the road to get new stock, I was nevertheless often forced to look for missing items from among the duplicates in the Zoological Gardens. Not only Europeans, but also Americans began to rely on us. Even back then, the traveling "shows" in America had taken on dimensions that had never been reached by the menageries and circus ventures in Europe.

The history of this period is also a history of the development of animal transportation in Europe, because everything in this area had to be learned through experiments. The largest African animal transport I ever received arrived in 1870. Around Whit Monday of that year, news arrived simultaneously from the already familiar Cassanova and from another traveller named Migoletti that both were traveling with large transports of animals from the interior of Africa. Cassanova urged me to leave for Suez at once. There he was seriously ill and was afraid he would never see his family in Vienna again. Migoletti reported that he had met Cassanova and would probably arrive in Suez on the same steamer that had Cassanova's animals on board. There could be no delay. Well provided with an Egyptian letter of credit, I travelled the very next day, accompanied by my youngest brother, via Trieste to Suez, where we safely arrived after a nine-day journey. Even before we had seen Cassanova or Migoletti, we found ourselves among the animals destined for us. At the entrance to Suez station we saw giraffes and elephants in another train, stretching their heads towards us as if in greeting. We found poor Cassanova seriously ill at the Suez Hotel. He had no hope at all, he asked me to pay him credit for his animals, which was fine, and to pass the amount to his wife in Vienna, as he felt that he was at the end of his life. The foreboding feeling of approaching death did not deceive the poor man, he had only a short time left and never saw his family again. But this time we had to leave the sufferer on his sickbed. Necessity compelled us to devote all our energy to the caravan, which, without the man's watchful eye, had fallen into great neglect.

I will never forget the strange scene that presented itself to me when we entered the courtyard of the hotel. If a painter had seen this scene, he might have immortalized it under the title "Captive Wilderness". Elephants and giraffes, antelopes and buffaloes were tied to palm trees. In the background sixteen large ostriches ran about freely, and in 60 crates lions, leopards, cheetahs, 30 spotted hyenas, jackals, lynxes, civet cats, monkeys, marabou storks, rhinos, birds and a large number of birds of prey moved about. After making a list of the entire collection, I concluded a sales contract with Cassanova in the presence of the German consul. After the animals had passed into my possession in this way, not only a real Herculean task awaited us, but also a real struggle on different sides.

Most of Cassanova's people were ill and had paid little attention to the animals, so that, above all, in order to give the poor animals their rights, I first had to take on several Arabs to help. However, we had scarcely begun to give the animals their feed and to prepare their bedding when suddenly a crowd of less than confidence-inspiring Greeks [foreigners] burst into the yard and tumultuously demanded money from me. The leader legitimized himself as one of Cassanova's companions and claimed that he owed him money. He backed up his demand by remarking that if he wasn't satisfied, he would "set the whole thing on fire." Without letting myself be intimidated by the threats, it was immediately clear to me that the only way to calm the outraged feelings was to say "Baksheesh". I guaranteed what Cassanova owed him and at the same time gave the man a tip of 50 francs, whereupon the berserker immediately turned into a lamb who happily complied with my request to help feed the animals. I had given the same tip to the rest of Cassanova's people. As for the other guys that the Greek had brought, I gave 5 francs, and the rabble could hardly leave fast enough to turn the loot into drink. It became clear to me, however, that it was best to get away from Suez as quickly as possible, and once again baksheesh was needed to smooth the way.

Obtaining the necessary wagons for our animals at the railway station was not so easy. The official in question, an Arab, stubbornly maintained that it took at least 6-8 days to assemble that many carriages, that getting it done faster would be like magic and that he was no magician. Strangely enough, after I had also promised this man 50 francs, he actually turned into a magician and assured me with the greatest commitment that all the carriages should be ready the next evening.

In the animal yard, where we called again in the evening, there was a new, unpleasant surprise. The rumour circulated among Cassanova's people that the gang of Greeks that had visited me that morning were planning a real raid on the camp that night. At first I was inclined to take the rumour as ridiculous, but I decided to have six policemen guard the camp. In fact, at about 1 o'clock that night, twenty thugs sneaked up, led by the same fellow who had received 50 francs from me only a few hours earlier. However, when the gang noticed that we were in a state of readiness against them, they quietly withdrew. As I heard later, the attempted robbery was aimed at some boxes full of carpets and other valuables that were among Cassanova's luggage. The chief of the gang had the nerve to come to my hotel the next morning to collect 100 francs that Cassanova owed him. Of course, since the thing was true, I immediately paid the bandit the money to get rid of him.

The transportation of the great caravan was in many ways similar to those expeditions that go to unexplored lands. The system of Nansen and Peary, who, on their arctic expeditions, used sled dogs which became unfit for pulling as fodder for the other animals, is not unlike the system I employed in this and many other shipments, although it was not about dogs in my case. The biggest concern when transporting animals is always food. This time, in addition to a lot of compressed hay, bread and a variety of vegetable feed for the elephants and other animals, we also took 100 milk goats with us to be able to provide our young giraffes and other babies with milk. Goats that could no longer produce milk were periodically slaughtered along the way to feed the young predators.

The magician had kept his word (so that we should keep our word) and the railway carriages were ready at the desired time. First, a mixed train was to go to Alexandria the next morning. One of the most difficult jobs still lay ahead of us, namely transferring the animals to the train station. It would have been extremely lucky to do this without incident, and we weren't exactly lucky. The elephants, giraffes and predators were already housed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But one should not praise the day before evening arrives! Only sixteen large, full-grown ostriches were left, which were to be led to the station in such a way that two people would hold a bird by its wings and force it to move. My brother and I joined the first ostrich, the other birds were to be held back for the time being by Cassanova's people. The people obeyed this order, but not so the ostriches! We had scarcely gone a few paces from the yard when the other fifteen ostriches rushed through the yard like a whirlwind, knocking over all the keepers and fleeing towards the desert. When I saw this, I did something I shouldn't have done - but one has to learn life’s lessons the hard way. I thought I could hold our ostrich by myself, so I quickly shouted to my brother to let go of the wing he was holding and rush to help the others. But we had scarcely freed the ostrich’s wing when it kicked me so hard in the chest with its long legs that I fell backwards. Faster than a horse, the escapee followed its comrades while I lay on the ground, gasping for breath and looking at the fugitive in amazement.

Curiously, recapturing the flock of escaped ostriches proceeded in an almost ridiculously simple manner. One of Cassanova's ill people, named Seppel, instinctively found the right method, speculating on a peculiarity which animals and men alike obey, namely, habit. But it seemed to be something amazing. Just as I was getting up, I saw Seppel driving the whole herd of goats out to the courtyard. When I called: "Seppel, what are you doing there?" he answered laconically "I want to bring the ostriches back." On his orders, two Arabs had sat on dromedaries and these, as well as the herd of goats, now followed the ostriches quickly. As the procession approached the fugitives, they craned their necks, flapped their wings as if in joy, and danced in a wide circle around the herd of goats and the dromedaries. A quite ludicrous sight. And as if everything was all right again, the whole caravan set off for the station. The ostriches walked among the goats and dromedaries very calmly, as if held by some invisible force. Without much resistance, the birds allowed themselves to be seized and led into the carriage intended for them. The solution to the puzzle was very simple. For the entire forty-two-day journey from Kassala to Suakin, the ostriches had been transported unchained between the herd of goats and the dromedaries. Seppel, who had been there, knew that and had quite correctly calculated that the ostriches would go back to their usual marching order without hesitation.

But I thanked God when we finally finished loading and, although totally exhausted, were able to eat our breakfast, which the manager of the Suez Hotel and his lovely wife had brought to the station for us. Poor Cassanova had left for Alexandria a little earlier. He had been carried to the station on the "Angareb," his African bed. As he was terribly weak, I could scarcely hope of finding him alive in Alexandria.

I will think about the journey from Suez to Alexandria for the rest of my life. Rarely have my nerves been so severely tested. The day was hot, one of the hottest that I can remember. The journey began when, after a few hours of driving, the front carriage of the freight train caught fire. Luckily there was a canal nearby, so the fire was overcome. There was such a jolt as the locomotive pulled that both of our "gulahs," the earthenware water bottles that we had hung in the wagon, shattered. So with the heat came burning thirst. The only happy memory from this trip was meeting a troop of Bedouins who came up to the train to see our giraffes and ostriches. Through a young Nubian whom I had with me, and who knew both Arabic and French, I tried to buy some of the long flintlock rifles from the Bedouins, but they wouldn’t part with any because they were indispensable for hunting. But this little memory, the image of the wild, brown sons of the desert, is lost in the torrent of troubles that followed. In the middle of the journey, they tried to simply leave us lying around in one station. Since the train driver claimed his engine couldn't pull the long train any further, the carriages were simply uncoupled, and the train drove off to Alexandria without us. In the blackest frame of mind, I went round my wagons. How easily this could lead to disaster and deal me an almost irreparable blow. The animals were crammed so tightly together in their wagons that we couldn't even feed them, since we couldn't reach the individual animals without emptying the wagons. Here it was necessary to pull myself together. I remembered that Cassanova had given me a certificate from the imperial court in Vienna, which had been given to him by the inspector of the Imperial and Royal Menagerie at Schoenbrunn, on the occasion of an assignment, with the instruction to show it if necessary for the purpose of expediting the transport of the animals. Under the document was a large, gilded seal, and it was on this that I placed my hope. When I showed it to the station manager, a French-speaking Arab, it immediately made the desired impression. The clerk telegraphed Cairo for permission to hitch an extra locomotive to our carrages, and scarcely an hour had elapsed before our train was transformed into an extra train.

Everything should have gone smoothly now. But disaster again loomed, this time in the form of a drunken engine driver who sped off with the train at such a speed that all the animals were thrown about. But the worst thing was that the train was in constant danger of catching fire. The engine was heated so carelessly that the chimney spat out a veritable volcano of fiery sparks and glowing pieces of coal, which fell like rain between our giraffes on the straw of the wagon. We were kept constantly busy kicking the resulting fire and calming the animals. In the end, however, we had no choice but to throw out all the straw through the side flaps. Finally, however, this terrible night was over, and we reached Alexandria at 6 o'clock in the morning. You can only imagine what state we were in.

The reader may be interested in hearing the rest of the story of this shipment, which is typical in some respects. In Alexandria, the animals were first unloaded and housed again, ready to resume shipping the next morning. At the same time, there was always concern for the feeding and welfare of the animals. We found accommodation at the farm of the wagon owner Migoletti, brother of the African traveller. Here, Migoletti's caravan, which I now also took possession of, also joined us. The day, which followed a sleepless night, was taken up with the provision of foodstuffs for the animals in my care, and with preparations for the shipment, which was to take place the following morning. Only in the evening did I see my poor friend Cassanova again, in whom the spark of life was only glowing very faintly. The sick man was happy to see me again. He also spoke about the shipment being successfully completed to this point. But when I said goodbye at 11 o'clock, I felt that this was a permanent farewell. Just an hour and a half later, Cassanova has gently passed away in his sleep.

We had no time to mourn. We had to get up at the crack of dawn to ship our goods to the steamer "Urano" bound for Trieste. The most difficult and most dangerous work was, of course, transferring the animals. Giraffes, elephants, buffaloes, antelopes, ostriches and goats had to be strapped up and transferred by steam crane. Believe me without hesitation that seeing these large, valuable animals hovering in the air between sky and water made me very anxious. Releasing them was much more difficult than putting them in the slings. The giraffes, for example, had to be laid on their side, otherwise the ropes could not be loosened, and no matter how quickly it happened, it was inevitable that these long-legged creatures would regale you with dangerous kicks. My brother Dietrich received such a hard blow to the chest that he fainted. Luckily he soon recovered, and it turned out that nothing was broken. We arrived successfully in Trieste, where we were met by my father and my brother-in-law, who had already ordered the necessary railway carriages in advance. Our shipment caused a tremendous sensation among the population of Trieste. Of course, the two combined caravans of Cassanova and Migoletti represented the largest shipment of animals that had been brought to Europe up to that point. It consisted of the following animals, among others: a rhinoceros, five elephants, two warthogs, four aardvarks, fourteen giraffes, twelve antelopes and gazelles, four wild Nubian buffaloes, sixty large and small predators, including thirty spotted and striped hyenas, seven young lions, eight leopards and cheetahs, as well as some wild cats, etc. There were also twenty-six African ostriches, including sixteen adult birds. The most striking of these was a female of an extraordinary size such as I have not seen since. This bird could easily pull down a head of cabbage which I had placed at a height of eleven feet. The shipment was completed by twenty large crates of monkeys and birds, and seventy-two Nubian milk goats, a working dairy which supplied us with milk for our young animals. As the animals were unloaded, thousands of people lined the banks to watch the rare spectacle, and a roar of voices rose whenever an elephant or giraffe squirmed in the slings high overhead. But this crowd was nothing compared to the crush of spectators when we marched with our animals in a long procession from the ship to the railway station. The crowd in the streets was so crowded that even with the help of our ushers, a police force of six, we could scarcely move forward. It is still a mystery to me how no accidents occurred.

On the journey to Vienna, Dresden, Berlin and Hamburg, the great caravan broke up. A few giraffes, an elephant and many smaller animals remained in the imperial menagerie in Vienna. Two giraffes, along with a number of other animals, also found their new home in Dresden. Most of the animals, however, were taken over by Dr. Bodinus, to whom I had already sent a telegram, in Berlin for the zoological garden there. At that time the new buildings erected by Dr Bodinus had just been completed and I can say that I did my utmost to populate them. The rhinoceros stayed in Berlin, along with a couple of giraffes, a couple of buffalo, a couple of aardvarks and many antelopes and predators, so that when I left the capital of the Reich, my transport was already fairly thin. After a short rest we continued to Hamburg, where we arrived safely on July 8th with the rest of the shipment, which now quickly evaporated. The zoological garden received four giraffes, two buffalo, two aardvarks and some other animals. The much-mentioned Charles Rice from England also received a large number, so that, apart from the ostriches, which later went to Antwerp, and a few predators, which were soon passed on to various menagerie owners, I had sold the whole caravan by the time I arrived in Hamburg. If the description of this great animal shipment has interested the reader, I would like to say today that it only really tells half of the story, and that is the less interesting part, because these transports through Europe are preceded by those through the wilderness of Africa, which will be described in other chapters.

Ever since I took over the animal business on my own account at the beginning of 1866, I got no peace. I would soon be staying on the banks of the Rhine and then on the shores of the Red Sea, and when I finally returned home, telegrams that had arrived during my absence would call to far flung places again. These trips became no less frequent after I had started my own household on March 11, 1871, so to speak under the new black, white and red flag. All my free time belonged to my family. Of the ten children my wife gave me, five are living, three girls and two boys. The latter two, Heinrich and Lorenz, who are now also my partners in the business, have also become happy husbands - just as my three daughters have now become housewives. As living proof of this, I am surrounded by a gaggle of thirteen grandchildren.

The means of transport have developed so much in recent years that one can hardly get a proper idea of the difficulties involved in transporting people and animals at that time, which is not very long ago. A large collection of animals which I acquired from the menagerie owner August Scholz and sold on to the French menagerie owner Pianet for the considerable sum of 70,000 francs had to traverse a difficult mountainous climb over St. Gotthardt to reach its destination in Italy. Pianet had loaded his animals into six large wagons and each was pulled by twenty mules. No fewer than 120 mules were needed to accomplish this shipment. On the occasion of this business, we came into contact with animal training for the first time, and it would later play a large role in our establishment and was to be reformed by me. The collection included various performing groups consisting of predators, which were presented by the animal tamer Robert Daggesell. For the sake of simplicity, the trainer was taken on, i.e. hired by me, at the same time, and then transferred to Pianet when the animals were sold.

Shortly after the outbreak of the 1866 War*, I found myself in Frankfurt am Main, which was full of soldiers, tumult and excitement. I had been called there by a letter from the Zoological Society, which wanted to give up their garden. I had to act quickly because, as I had been informed from London, the animal stock had also been offered to my competitor Jamrach. Jamrach only got as far as Cologne, because direct travel between there and Frankfurt had been suspended. I too was stuck in Cologne at first, but I finally got to Frankfurt via Koblenz by rail, ship and carriage, where the transaction was quickly settled.
[*Austro-Prussian War – 7 weeks war between the Austrian Empire and Kingdom of Prussia. Each side had allies within the German Confederation. Prussia was also allied with the Kingdom of Italy. It was part of the rivalry between Austria and Prussia. Northern German states shifted away from Austrian and towards Prussia. The German Confederation was dissolved, the replacement North German Confederation excluded Austria and other Southern German states. Austria became part of Austria-Hungary. Prussia annexed Hanover, Holstein, Schleswig, Hesse-Kassel, Nassau, Frankfurt and fringe possessions of Bavaria and Hesse-Darmstadt. Italy annexed the Austrian province of Venetia.]

It was somewhat unpleasant Frankfurt, the population was greatly excited because the battle near Aschaffenburg had just been fought. Thousands of Bavarian and Hanoverian troops passed through the city to get to Mainz. I also went to Mainz that same evening, and the next morning went by steamboat to Cologne. The contrast between the excited scenes in Frankfurt and the quiet natural peace on the Rhine, and perhaps also the inner joy about my successful business mission, made my first trip to the Rhine seem to be one of the most beautiful experiences I had encountered up to that point. In any case, I was extremely receptive to the wonderful romantic scenery, and I still look back on this wonderful tour with joy. I have not again looked at the banks of the Rhine with such enthusiastic eyes. In Cologne I paid a visit to Dr. Bodinus, owner of the Zoological Garden, and was actually not at all surprised to meet Mr. Jamrach on the Konzertplatz. He had not had the courage to venture as far as Frankfurt at that critical time, and now had to return to England with his two men without having achieved anything.

A few days later, accompanied by my father, I found myself on a journey to Vienna, where one of our travellers had arrived with seven elephants and a large number of other animals. At that time, because of the turmoil of war, it was not possible to get to Vienna via Dresden. Rather, one had to make a detour via Frankfurt and Linz, so that we only arrived in the imperial city after a forty-hour drive. The transportation of this collection of animals did not, as usual, happen without its little adventures. In the Nuremberg area I noticed that my elephants were suffering from colic. I immediately paused my carriages in Nuremberg and could not continue the journey until the next opportunity. One of the animals was already lying down from weakness. Only with the help of a keeper, whom I had brought with me from Vienna, was I able to get the animal up again. This was by no means an easy task, for although the animals were only about five feet tall, they already weighed at least 1000-1200 pounds.

Now, there is a very simple remedy for colic in elephants. Lack of exercise often causes the ailment; therefore, exercise must also remove it. So, I took my seven elephants for a walk at the station, and after two hours, the promenade, which I did not personally enjoy, had worked so well that I was able to put the animals back in the wagon. But I hadn’t heard the end of this. The station chief immediately came running and made a hell of a fuss, and with good reason, because I must confess that after that two-hour promenade the station did not exactly make a clean impression. I had no choice but to explain that if the station chief got his people to clean the place, I would pay for everything, and that calmed everyone down. But there was still worse to come. Before the train went on, which took a few more hours, I went into town and bought some bottles of good rum and a few pounds of sugar. From this I brewed a strong grog, which I gave my elephants to drink as a proven after-treatment for colic. This remedy was very good for the animals, and everyone got into a good mood. One of the elephants, however, seemed to have had too much of a good thing, for he began to do all kinds of nonsense, boxing and kicking his companions. I brewed extra grog for this boozer, so he got totally drunk. It wasn't long before he lay down and it took him six full hours to sleep off his intoxication. The must have woken up with a huge hangover, and if I’d wanted to give him a sour herring for his headache, he would need one the size of a marinated small whale!

After a journey of four days and four nights I arrived safely with my shipment at the last station in Harburg, and from here the animals were transferred to Hamburg in a steamer. However, an accident almost happened during the transport from the wagons to the ship. My business friend Rice, who had been waiting for me in Hamburg and was leading the largest of the elephants, received such a violent push from the elephant with his trunk that he performed a veritable somersault in the air and remained unconscious for a moment. Fortunately, the elephant was pleased with this result.

From the trip to Hamburg, I sold my friend the four largest elephants for 24,000 marks, and soon afterwards sold the three smaller ones to the animal dealer Charles Reiche from Alfeld for 20,000 marks. The reader may think that this was a good price , and I believed it myself at the time, but I was very wrong, for Mr. Rice sold his four elephants to an American circus owner for $10,000, and Mr. Reiche got an even better deal. His three elephants went to New York. He received $8,500 for the largest, $8,000 for the second, and $7,500 for the third. But these were also the highest prices ever paid for young elephants up to that point.

In the following year (1867) I received two even larger African transports. For years, the Sudan was the largest source of animals for Europe. The first of these shipments consisted of five giraffes and an elephant, which a German merchant named Bernhard Kohn had brought from Egypt. Until now, this Kohn had only dealt in merchant goods, namely skins, rubber, etc., but when he learned from his travels that I had commissioned Cassanova to collect African animals, it gave Mr. Kohn the idea to take the opportunity to bring animals to Europe himself. The telegram that Kohn sent me from Trieste gave me great pleasure. Giraffes were just the animals I could use since none had made it to Europe for a long time. Of course, I immediately rushed to Vienna, where Herr Kohn had also travelled to in the meantime, but it was only after a few days that I was able to reach terms with the enterprising gentleman, as he demanded a very high price. A new difficulty arose when I took over the shipment. Giraffes were new to our business encyclopaedia. With regard to their treatment and transportation, I first had to gain experience, which was already evident when the giraffes were transported to the train station. Every single animal had to be guided. I had taken on ten people for this purpose. Two led a giraffe and I took the elephant myself. However, no sooner had the stable door been opened – for Mr. Kohn had housed the entire consignment in a horse stable - than all the giraffes and their handlers ran away at a wild gallop. Luckily the streets were empty due to the early morning hour, otherwise it would have drawn a huge crowd. Kohn, who accompanied me, took over the elephant at my request, and I myself rushed as fast as my legs would carry me to help the people with their giraffes. The largest had already thrown its guides to the ground and was now racing away at a frantic pace. I was able to get the other animals to stop, and with that I got the runaway giraffe back under control, as when it finally stopped and looked around and saw that its companions were not following it, it returned just as quickly as it had run away. I immediately seized the animal and led it myself, and we now got to the station without further incident. This little adventure made me wiser, because when I arrived at the Berlin railway station in Hamburg after a five-day journey, I had three people lead each animal, so that the shipment could be delivered to my establishment without an accident.

The second large animal caravan of the same year was characterized by a series of accidents. There’s an old saying that disaster never comes alone. I would also experience that here. When the steamer with our animals appeared in the Trieste anchorage, where I had rushed with my father, we were shocked to see that the quarantine flag was flying. Cholera was raging in Egypt, which is why the ship had to undergo an eight-day quarantine, during which time nobody was allowed to board or disembark. To make matters worse, my father fell ill with dysentery, and four days after the illness he developed an alarming weakness. I was terribly dismayed when the patient summoned me and, as it were, said goodbye to me. With the pocketbook in front of him, he gave me orders relating to business in Hamburg, gave me good advice on many things that lay in the future, and finally admitted that he hardly thought he would see his homeland again. It was with a heavy heart that I left home that morning to do justice to the many creatures that were waiting for me out there. The collection that had to be disembarked and reloaded consisted of thirteen elephants, two giraffes, thirteen antelopes and gazelles, five leopards, two cheetahs, twelve hyenas, thirty monkeys, thirteen ostriches, and thirteen crates of various birds. In addition to the responsibility of leading this large caravan, I was also concerned about my ailing father, who, on the doctor's advice, had travelled ahead to Vienna because of the change in air quality. The animals were finally loaded, though not without the well-known minor incidents. The fact that an antelope jumped out of the wagon on the way and lay on the railway embankment with a broken neck, that one of the ostriches broke a leg and had to be killed, or that one of the smaller elephants died when a comrade pushed him, was of no consequence compared to my great joy and surprise at finding my father fully recovered in Vienna. However, this transport had a kind of epilogue, which happened when the animals were transferred in Vienna. For safety's sake, the seven smaller of the thirteen elephants were led onto the road first. But when they had already covered a good distance to get to the station, the seven pachyderms raised a loud cry, whereupon the six large elephants who had remained behind behaved wildly in their stable, tore tethers, ropes and hooks and rushed out the door. An indescribable uproar immediately erupted in the streets. The passers-by scattered to the right and left and sought refuge in the houses. But the elephants paid not the least attention to the scattering two-legged dwarfs, they only wished to reach their own kind, and when they had reached them, they walked behind the procession as quietly as so many sheep. Like everything in life, this transport finally came to an end and after they had rested in my Hamburg stables for a few more days, I was happy to place the animals on a London steamboat, because the animals were already on their way to an English business friend and were resold by him to an American.

The era of the exclusive animal trade lasted until the early 1870s, when other companies subsequently joined in. The keystone of this epoch was the move to a new home. With the growing expansion of the business, the rooms on Spielbudenplatz had long since become far too small. In the spring of 1874, after a long search, I succeeded in finding a suitable plot of land with a house and a 76,000 square foot garden at the Neue Pferdemarkt in Hamburg. I acquired this property, and the necessary facilities, such as stables, etc., were built with such zeal that we were able to estimate our move into the new home as early as mid-April.


On a beautiful autumn day in 1886, a brilliant company of representatives of science, the arts and the press met in the banquet hall of the "Jardin d'Acclimatisation" in Paris. It was time to say goodbye. A Sinhalese troupe had put on a show under Hagenbeck's flag, which now disbanded after staying there for two and a half months. This display had been the sensation of Paris; it had not only brought the garden considerable income, but also entertained, stimulated, and instructed an uncountable public. On Sundays, the display had attracted 50-60,000 visitors. The banquet was the worthy conclusion of the undertaking. Many speeches were made, one of the most significant by the editor of the Figaro, and concluded with a toast from the garden's director, Mr. Geoffroy St. Hilaire. The scholar, whose honesty and modesty were equal to his importance, replied that he was not the only one to be commended, but also the animal dealer Carl Hagenbeck, who had first compiled these anthropological-zoological exhibits and introduced them to the public.

Mr. Geoffroy St. Hilaire spoke the truth in this regard. Indeed, it was my privilege to be the first to introduce to the civilized world the exhibitions of peoples, which have been an attraction since 1874 until this day. I am happy to admit that the idea did not spring into life ready-made, like Athena from the head of Zeus, but that it was developed properly, influenced by coincidences.

The first impetus was the fact that around the mid 1870's the animal business was slowly starting to take off and I was forced to think of expanding my business in some other direction. As a result, the old saying: "Small causes, big impacts" was once again confirmed. It was in 1874 when I wrote to my old friend, the animal painter Heinrich Leutemann - I don't remember why - that I had to import a herd of thirty reindeer and supply various zoos with these animals. The artist wrote to me that it would certainly arouse great interest if the reindeer were accompanied by a Laplander family, who would then of course have to bring their tents, weapons, sleds and all their household goods with them. What the artist had in mind in his letter was certainly only the picturesque Nordic picture, which he could only imagine in complete perfection with people and animals and, if possible, a winter background. In this suggestion, however, was already hidden the happy idea of the ethnological exhibitions, which were strung together like a colourful chain over the next few years. Laplanders and Nubians, Eskimos and Somali, Kalmucks and Indians, Sinhalese and Hottentots, the inhabitants of the most diverse zones, indeed antipodes, shook hands in the years to come as they marched through the European capitals. The procession started with the Laplanders.

Luckily it so happened that the agent who brought the reindeer together also arranged for a family of Lapps to go to Hamburg. Towards the middle of September 1874, the small expedition of men and animals, led by the German-speaking agent, a Norwegian photographer, arrived in Hamburg. The real father of the idea, my friend Leutemann, and I drove towards the steamer, climbed aboard during the journey and immediately went to the steerage deck where the guests were accommodated. The very first sight was decisive for my conviction that the enterprise would succeed. The caravan consisted of six people and made a most striking impression. On deck, the three male members of the troop, small, tawny people clad in skins, strutted alongside their reindeer. But on the steerage deck we had a delicious sight! A mother with her baby, which she tenderly pressed to her heart, and a cute four-year-old girl. The disembarkation went well, as did the transport, which of course included some of the incidents already known to the reader. Sometimes, however, these incidents became a lucky omen because they provided the company with unintentional publicity which had great advertising power. The reindeer were unruly on the road and would not be led. Two of these animals sprang out near the Dammtor, rushed over the cemeteries, easily springing over railings and walls, and finally got to the Zoological Gardens, where they were in good hands until we picked them up again. However, this incident and the sight of the Laplanders had attracted thousands of people and had become quite good publicity.

My belief had not deceived me. This first ethnological exhibition was a great success. Perhaps it became so because the whole enterprise had come into existence and was presented with a certain naivety and sincerity. The guests from the far north had absolutely no concept of shows and, related to that, there were absolutely no performances. The caravan was housed on the spacious property behind our house, on the Neue Pferdemarkt, so it was completely outdoors, with no artificial backdrops or backgrounds. A scene was presented which, on a small scale, was probably a separate copy of natural life.

The Lapps, or as they call themselves the Sami, known to inhabit those northern parts of Russia, Finland and Sweden known as Lapland, are divided according to occupation into three distinct peoples, namely the mountain Lapps, forest Lapps and fisher Lapps. Ours belonged, of course, to the mountain Lapps who roamed the country as reindeer nomads. These people depend almost entirely on the reindeer. It was very interesting to see the little people, who only reach a height of 1.3 - 1.6 m, at work. As at home, they broke down their tents and put them up again, which did not require much work. These tents were built of poles and covered with canvas in summer and tanned skins in winter. There is a hole in the top centre for the smoke to pass through.

You couldn't call our guests pretty. Their skin was a dirty yellow colour, their round skulls were covered with taut black hair, their eyes were slightly crooked, and the nose was small and flat. On the other hand, their skeleton is very fine and delicate, and smaller hands and feet than those of the Laplanders can only be admired on Eskimo beauties. The Forest and Fisher Lapps that you can meet every summer on Nordic excursions have already inherited many things from civilization, including clothing. Our Laplanders were even closer to nature and made their own clothes and tools. The tanned reindeer hides were very finely sewn together with sinew, snowshoes and sledge parts were carved out of wood and held together with leather straps. Women and men are dressed pretty much alike, both sexes wearing a long fur skirt, pointed fur hat and leather shoes sewn on their feet. It was a pleasure to watch how the reindeer were caught using a noose, how skilfully the sleds were moved and how expertly the tents were erected and torn down. The milking of the reindeer always aroused great interest, and the little Laplander woman's appearance aroused excitement when, in her naivete, she put her baby her breast quite undisturbed by the audience. Our guests were unadulterated natural people, who did not yet know Europe's whitewashed politeness and might well wonder deep in their souls what could actually be seen in them and their simple procedures, which was by no means an art.

From the very first day the audience was positively enthusiastic, which is partly due to the absolute novelty not only of this performance but of such performances in general. Early in the morning of the opening day, the influx of the audience had already began and despite the large space available, the crowds took on almost frightening proportions. The entrance to the property, which was normally only used for carriages, had to be made available to the crowd of spectators. In the end there was nothing left but to commandeer policemen to keep the influx of the public in check. A few weeks later, after all of Hamburg had seen our Laplanders, I also travelled with them to Berlin and Leipzig, but the low season was unfavourable for this further enterprise and the income was only sufficient to cover the considerable costs.

This first attempt at an anthropological-zoological exhibition taught me a lot. The ice was broken, so to speak, and I was convinced that such displays, with their great educational value, would appeal to the public. In my mind I kept looking around for other peoples to be presented, and the business state of affairs meant that I jumped straight from the icy north to the sunny south. I commissioned one of my agents at that time, Mr. Bernhard Kohn, who was collecting animals for me in Nubia, to recruit a number of really interesting natives for me for the next transport and to send them to Germany together with their animals, tents, household and hunting equipment. So this time it was a picture of the Egyptian Sudan on show. In June 1876 Kohn arrived in Trieste with this transport of people and animals. These attractive people belonged to different tribes, they came from our then animal paradise, the Sudan, which was to be closed a few years later by the Mahdist uprising. All of these people had come into contact with Europeans, but they were coming to Europe for the first time. Accompanying the Nubians were many interesting domestic animals, including giant black dromedaries and an extraordinarily rich ethnographic collection. Many pleasant anecdotes could be reported about the small clashes between primitive people and civilisation. Of course, these clashes were not always unpleasant in nature. A gigantic, young Hamran hunter, measuring over six feet in spite of his "tender" age of nineteen, wreaked havoc in the hearts of European ladies, and did not seem immune to the charms of the pale-faced beauties. There was also a woman in the troop; Hadjidje, the first Nubian woman to reach Europe. In its entirety, the caravan's performance turned out to be a sensation of the first order. Decorated with their own wild personalities, with their animals, tents, household and hunting equipment, the guests offered a highly interesting, anthropological-zoological picture of Sudan. This first Nubian expedition and an even larger one the following summer actually form a coherent whole. Each exhibition began in Hamburg and travelled from here to various cities, everywhere attracting the same attention. Here and there, of course, some preliminary work was done, I must confess. In Breslau, for example, I came up with the idea of letting my Nubians, all in pompous adornment with their weapons, feathers and skins, drive around the city in the most elegant carriages that one could obtain in Breslau. In the first carriage were Dr. Schlegel, the director of the "Zoo", myself and the beautiful Hadjidje. A lance-carrying Sudanese warrior was enthroned in sinister majesty next to the coachman. Ten carriages drove one after another. On the way, we stopped at the first cafe in town, which was immediately filled with curious visitors from far and wide. As a result of this move there were 30,000 visitors on the first day of the exhibition. The entire exhibition was later engaged for the "Jardin d'Acclimatisation" in Paris and achieved a success that far outstripped all previous ones. From Paris I went with my large troupe to the Alexandra Palace in London, which had recently been opened, and here too we achieved excellent results.

The great success of the Africa exhibition made it obvious that I should fill out the winter with a suitable exhibition. This could only be done from the north, and a happy thought inspired me to present the Eskimos we knew from our North Pole expeditions and had never seen in Central Europe. In the spring of 1877, I had already engaged a young Norwegian, Mr. Adrian Jacobsen, whom I now sent to Greenland to invite an Eskimo family to an exhibition tour through the European capitals. The Royal Danish Government had not only given their permission for this, but also transported my traveller to Greenland on a government ship. The journey went to the west coast, to Jacobshavn. The task succeeded beyond all expectations. Jacobsen initially hired a family consisting of Ukubak, his wife and two little girls, as well as two unmarried men. He also brought back a highly interesting ethnographic collection - the Eskimo dogs for pulling sleds, the household effects, the tents and weapons, of course, were present, but the collection also contained two kayaks, those well-known hunting boats of the Eskimos, a large women's boat known as an "Umiak", a lot of interesting clothing, many interesting implements, such as snow knives, seal-catching equipment and primitive weapons. We were lucky not only with the transfer of this new caravan, but also in the choice of characters.

Ukubak, a man of about thirty, turned out to be a very skilled kayaker and, on the whole, a distinguished specimen of his people. The Greenland Eskimos, best described by Nansen in his monograph, are closer to civilization than the wild Eskimos who live to the north and to whom kayaking is still unknown. As is well known, the most recent news that we have received from these peoples came from the pen of the bold Norwegian Roald Amundsen, who lived among the Eskimos for three years. The Eskimos living in Greenland under Danish protection do not differ too much from their fellow tribesmen. Although they have embraced Christianity, their manners and customs have remained fairly faithful to ancient pagan tradition. Above all they have to practice the craft of hunting if they want to keep up to speed. The game known in Greenland is the common seal and some other different types of seals. Ukubak was one of the good catchers, as you could tell from the fact that he was very at home in his kayak and on the water. The kayak is a narrow skin-boat into which the hunter puts his legs. The opening is closed around the body in such a way that the hunter's clothes are fastened around the opening of the boat. It is not uncommon for these boats, surprised by a storm, to overturn in the violent waves, so that the hunter hangs upside down in the water. It takes extraordinary skill to get back to the surface with the help of the double oars that the hunter holds in his hands. Many an Eskimo has met his death in the waves this way if no help was nearby in time. For Ukubak, this feat was a trifle, he practiced flipping the kayak and resurfacing; he always succeeded in this feat and never tired of repeating it.

Ukubak was an attractive-looking man of medium height. His spouse, clad in dainty furs, could be considered a beauty even from a Kabluna or white point of view. Tall, rather than short, she was of slender build, wore her hair in a bun in the centre of her head, and had her two adorable babies with her. The Eskimo beauties don't wear clothes like ours, but wear coats and delicately sewn shoes, so-called kamikker. This attractive family, accompanied by two Eskimo youths, moved in with us and made themselves comfortable in the same space that the Laplanders – who are not related to the Eskimos - had once occupied. A dwelling was set up for the people in the Eskimo way, half underground.

The success in Hamburg was great. My dear friend, Monsieur Geoffroy St. Hilaire, soon turned up to inspect our guests from the north and to recruit them for Paris, where they were also a resounding success. At long last, the zoological gardens in Germany began to open their gates to those ethnological exhibitions. Dr Bodinus, the former director of the "Zoo" in Berlin, could no longer resist. The expedition moved from Paris to Berlin in March 1878 and the response exceeded all expectations. Even our unforgettable elderly Emperor paid a visit to the Eskimos and revelled in Ukubak’s daring aquatic antics. From Berlin we went to Dresden, from there back to Berlin for an eight-day exhibition, and then to Hamburg, where the Eskimos were only given quarters for a few days in the Zoological Garden. It was the Easter Holidays, with a cheap entrance fee of four shillings or thirty pfennigs, and it was enormously popular. There were no fewer than 44,000 visitors. Since the Eskimos were supposed to return to their homeland by the end of April, they had to say goodbye immediately after Easter. They came here poor, but they went home rich in the literal sense of the word. In addition to a real fortune, at least by their standards, they took home two carriages with gifts of all kinds.

Strange! It will seem to anyone who looks back on his life's journey, as if what was basically just a coincidence had been a preordained destiny. All events are joined in a chain that would fall apart if just one link was missing. What at first seemed like a nice game and a pleasant diversion gradually turned out to be very fortunate. The animal trade, far from being lucrative, brought great losses each year, and it was now the ethnological exhibitions that made up for the deficit. 1879 is listed as a particularly bad year in my life’s calendar. Pretty much everything I tried failed. The business of importing animals was booming and there was a kind of overproduction, so to speak. Although I knew all the sales sources better than anyone else, it was difficult for me to sell my animals. I was forced to sell them at ridiculously cheap prices just to shake off this "eating capital". The balance sheet of this pleasant year turned out to be surprising: in this one year, I got rid of almost everything I had acquired in my many years of tedious work before that year. The only support was that the property I owned was worth a good 100,000 marks more than when it was acquired. I was never one to despair. On the contrary, I believe that resisting fate prevented me from losing heart, so I continued to work undaunted to overcome this mountain. The end of the year 1880 brought a very nice surplus once more.

That year was all about elephants. From the year’s elephant imports, a new human exhibition developed in a roundabout way, and you can really see how the different links of the chain come together. My American clients competed to obtain Indian elephants. My main customer was the world-famous Barnum, another was Forepaugh, who had also become extremely well-known at the time. These two titans of the American circus scene tried to outdo each other in their elephant performances and loved to exhibit them in droves to their audiences. So big delivery orders poured in, and this was very fortunate for me in more ways than one.

The Mahdi had appeared in the Sudan, and his successor, Abdullah, had hermetically sealed off the new kingdom of Mahdia. Where my hunters used to roam over mountains and valleys and Europeans could travel safely under the protection of the Egyptian government, there now dwelt the wild, fanatical adherents of the new prophethood. It would be many years before the English government pulled itself together and completely destroyed Abdullah's empire which, like something from the Middle Ages, resisted modern culture and destroyed it from the bottom up. At that time, however, when the Mahdist war broke out, the African animal trade was completely ruined in one fell swoop. The upheaval in Sudan also had a direct impact on my business. My branch in Kassala was robbed, but when I complained I was later compensated for the damage by the Egyptian government.

In order to satisfy my American business friends in their hunger for elephants, I was compelled to seek out places where these animals could be bought cheaply. For this purpose I sent my co-worker, the well-known world traveller Mr. Joseph Menges, who had previously worked for me in the Sudan, to Ceylon, initially as a pioneer, to research what elephants were available there. Menges undertook a thorough inspection of Ceylon, travelled to the remotest corners and established business connections. Two other travellers then followed in his footsteps to deal with the purchase and transport of elephants.

In the meantime, Menges made a small detour to Somaliland to examine this area for us and whether it would offer us a small substitute for the closed Sudan. The experiences of this world traveller will be discussed elsewhere. In the summer of 1881, Menges returned with an animal transport, but was suffered misfortune along the way. Menges had embarked on a small steamer with 45 ostriches, a dozen of the beautiful Beisa antelopes, various gazelles and other animals bound for Aden but was caught in a hurricane-force storm on that short journey, which washed most of the ostriches and antelopes overboard or left them on deck with broken limbs. Of the entire shipment, only six ostriches and three antelopes made it to Hamburg alive. In our business, one must not be discouraged by such fluke occurrences. The struggle must always be waged on different fronts, and impassability, climate and natural phenomena would always play a major role.

Menges immediately returned to Somaliland, but this time he took along collapsible cages and a large supply of wood for making crates to give the animals more protection on the journey. The second transport went better. An ostrich farm in Algeria had placed an order for 40 ostriches, and Menges was fortunate enough to bring not only these birds but many other animals together and transport them to Europe undamaged. The ostriches were dispatched from Marseille to their destination, the other animals sent to Hamburg, and everything went so well that the loss of the first transport was amply covered by the second. In this collection there was a new species of wild ass from Somaliland, with a beautiful coat marked with blue-grey and with black stripes on the legs reaching up to the upper part of the body. Oddly enough, zoologists weren’t that interested in this novel species.

Shortly afterwards, I was approached by a highly illustrious assessor of my imports. Although not an expert, he was an assessor whom I would hardly ever have looked to. It was none other than Prince Bismarck. When I returned to my zoo from a business trip in Hamburg around noon one day in the autumn of 1882, I was received by my wife with the message that Prince Bismarck, accompanied by two ladies and a gentleman, had arrived incognito about twenty minutes ago and was in the crowd. I immediately went there and found the prince in front of the wild donkey from Somaliland. The prince was just asking a senior keeper what kind of strange animal this was. As the keeper could not give a proper answer, I stepped forward and remarked that it was a young wild donkey recently imported from Somaliland, an animal as yet unknown and undescribed. Since the prince wanted to know more, I related in detail how the animal had been discovered by my traveller, caught, fed and brought to Europe. I added that I was still having difficulty selling the animal to the Zoological Gardens, since nobody could believe that this was a new animal species. "That's odd," replied the prince, quite astonished, "I'm not a zoologist, but I saw at first glance that this must be a new and strange animal, because it has stripes on its legs like a zebra, also the body has a much more beautiful blue-grey colouring than is generally found in ordinary donkeys." A lively conversation then developed and the prince showed such lively interest and asked so many questions that I had to give him exhaustive information about the whole situation and the arrangements of my business at home and abroad.

I finally sold my Somali donkey to the Zoological Gardens in London, and I also had to undertake to get a few skins of old animals of this species for the British Museum free of charge within a year, a promise that I kept. The skins are still owned by the British Museum.

In the meantime, the import of elephants from Ceylon had developed and turned out to be quite favourable. In 1885 I took no less than 67 of these animals out of the island. As if it were a matter of course, the new area was also included in the ethnological exhibitions, which continued without uninterruption. The year 1883 once again united extreme opposites, Indians and - Kalmyks.

The elephant transports suggested to me that a number of "Kornaks", as the elephant drivers are known, should come from Ceylon to Europe to show how the elephants were used for work in Ceylon and in India in general. The demonstration, as I had anticipated, aroused great interest. The imported pack elephants, which are just as willing and docile as horses, performed a number of difficult tasks under their riders, tasks which would have necessitated many horses in each individual case. The demonstration first took place in Paris, later the elephants worked for a month in Berlin, and here too the spectacle, which had never been seen before, caused a sensation.

Encouraged by the success of this little troupe, I immediately made preparations to set up a large, comprehensive Ceylon exhibition for the following year. This time it wouldn't just be about elephants and their Kornaks, but a large-scale ethnographic exhibition, with the necessary ethnological and zoological trimmings. I wanted to travel to the capitals of Europe with this exhibition. In order to set everything in motion correctly, I sent two reliable travellers to Ceylon who, according to my plans and instructions, were to arrive in Europe with the whole caravan in the spring of 1884.

Meanwhile, I was traveling with a large Kalmyk exhibition which I had imported from the Volga region of Russia. The Kalmyks are an interesting people with a rich historical past. They call themselves Mongol-Oirat, the name Kalmyks comes from the Tatar name Khalemak. Most of these vast tribes are still under Chinese suzerainty, and their ancestral seats have been in the region of the Kuku-nor for centuries, but large numbers live in the Russian Empire and are scattered over wide areas. They are a nomadic people who live in special, easily erected tents called kibitkas, and are responsible for raising livestock. Our Kalmyks came from the banks of the Volga and, in addition to their tents and equipment, they also brought all their livestock with them, especially horses, a large herd of camels and, as one of the rarest sights, an immense herd of huge fat-tailed sheep. These animals sometimes develop such a heavy rump from the build-up of fat that it is constantly placed on a small two-wheeled cart into which the animal is harnessed. Besides these strange sheep, the Kyrgyz mares, which were milked daily, attracted a lot of interest. The Kalmucks prepare their favourite drink from mare's milk, Kumys, which has become world-famous as a remedy for breast diseases. Kumys is a fermented drink, has a sour taste and when it has reached the necessary age it foams when poured. It is usually drunk immediately after fermentation. But it didn’t end with livestock. I also had two Buddhist priests come along, who made a good impression in their regalia.

In our exhibition you could observe the life and activities of the Mongolian guests down to the smallest detail. They broke down their tents and built them up again. These beehive-like kibitkas are wooden frames covered with large felt blankets; only an air hole remains at the top through which the light falls and the smoke from the stove escapes. Because just under the roof opening, the cooking pots are hung on a frame on large iron hooks, these portable huts spread a cosy warmth even in the icy winter. The frames are jointed so they can be folded together. The departure of a horde was represented in a most precise way. The kibitkas were broken up, their individual parts fastened to horses and camels, and they set off on their journeys. That is, they went around in circles a couple of times and were back in place. The tents were set up and camp life began. The mares were milked and the meal prepared. They prayed, fought, sang and danced.

The Kalmuck exhibition, to be brief, was a tremendous success. In Paris, where I first went, the rush was significant, but what happened shortly afterwards in Berlin was unprecedented, the number of visitors exceeding everything I had ever seen at ethnological exhibitions. I still remember the joy I felt when a telegram was sent from Berlin to Gumbinnen, where I had business to do, with the following content: "So far about 80,000 people have visited. Huge crowds. Traffic is only maintained by a large number of policemen on foot and on horseback." These 80,000 people had entered the Zoological Garden on a single day by four o'clock in the afternoon. By the evening, the number of visitors rose even further to 93,000.

The great Ceylon caravan, which had been carefully prepared for a long time, landed safely in Europe in April 1884. With this transport I probably had the most interesting exhibition in my hands that I had had up to that point. It consisted of 67 humans, 25 elephants, ranging from very young specimens to the largest working elephants, and a whole myriad of cattle of various kinds. The ethnographic exhibition alone included hundreds of different items, and the vegetable world was also represented by numerous samples. A description of the dark-skinned Indians, so characteristic in appearance due to the semi-circular crest worn in their black hair, no longer needs to be given in the age of photography.

Regarding my Sinhalese troupe it was like a touch of the ancient wonderland of India, we had not only captured its colourful picturesque exterior, but also a glimmer of its mysticism. The colourful, captivating picture of the camp, the majestic elephants, some draped in cassocks bristling with gold, some in harness, carrying gigantic loads, the Indian magicians and jugglers, the devil dancers with their grotesque masks, the beautiful, slender, doe-eyed Bayaderes with their dances that exhilarate the senses and finally the great religious Perra-Harra. Such a pageant - all of this exercised an almost bewitching magic, which the spectators everywhere succumbed to. The following little story, which I would like to anticipate, proves that this effect was not only bound up with the imagination. I call it "Krupp and the Sinhalese".

On our tour we also went to Cologne and from here a number of our Sinhalese, adorned in their picturesque costumes and of course accompanied by some Europeans, undertook an excursion to Essen. Here they drove around in a few rented carriages and in this way reached the world-famous establishment of Krupp, the cannon king. Since the main gate happened to be open, the carriages drove into the factory without waiting for any permission. Big excitement. Workers, foremen, foremen, technicians, engineers and, I don't know, maybe directors, all came together. It was apparently believed that a number of exotic potentates had arrived to order cannons. Politeness forbade asking questions, and so the guests from India were led through the entire establishment with the greatest courtesy, until they got back into their carriages, gave thanks in Hagenbeck's name, and drove away. Long faces watched them leave. The order for cannons was just as small as that during the visit of Li-Hung-Chang.

This exhibition opened in Hamburg in the large "Moorweidenhalle", which has long since been demolished. For several weeks, the immense space was filled with spectators from morning to night. Hamburg was followed by Dusseldorf, Frankfurt am Main and Vienna. In Vienna, the visit developed into a veritable migration of people. On the very first Sunday, the ticket offices had to be closed twice because the rush was too great. Personally, I had never before had to work so hard as during the four-week exhibition in Vienna, at any hour of the day, ever higher-ranking gentlemen called in and I had to be their guide. The exhibition became a kind of sensation. We had only been in Vienna eight days when the Emperor announced his visit. It was with great pleasure that I took over the guidance of this lofty personage, who followed the performances of the dancers and magicians, the jugglers and working elephants with the greatest interest and finally also turned his attention to the ethnographic exhibition. The visit lasted an hour and a quarter. As he said goodbye, the Kaiser thanked us in a friendly way for the tour and the explanations and wished us the best of luck with the "interesting undertaking", as he put it. The Sinhalese were in for a special surprise, for the next day the Emperor had every member of the troop presented with a new Austrian ducat.

This visit was just what was needed for the company's resounding success. The press threw themselves into the Emperor's visit, and in long, detailed articles not only described everything that His Majesty had said and done, but also paid close attention to the details of my exhibition. The result was an enormous increase in attendance. Such a crowd had not been observed since the Vienna World Exhibition in 1873. Taking into account the general interest, I introduced people's prizes, twenty kreuzers for first place and ten kreuzers for second place. That got us great recognition. In addition, I gave performances for elementary schools in the morning hours; those who could afford it paid five kreuzers, those who couldn't didn't have to pay anything. I donated the income from these student performances to charitable institutions. My reward was of a different kind. I will never forget the joyful impression I felt when 7,000 children turned up at the same time one morning and enjoyed the performances with cheering and sparkling eyes. Even the parade of these children, who of course came from different schools, made a pleasant scene. The boys' schools often brought a drummer and a corps of whistles with them, and they marched through Prater Park to the rotunda where we had pitched our camp, accompanied by music and jolly singing.

Incidentally, the special performances were, as I will reveal, priceless advertising. Children are never satisfied with seeing something just once when their imaginations are fuelled. The children pestered their parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts and other relatives until they visited the exhibition with them again. So, I had sent thousands of little emissaries, so to speak, to the Viennese public.

From Vienna we went to Berlin, but not to the Zoological Garden there, since I could not agree the enormous expenses with them. The exhibition took place on a plaza near the Lehrter railway station, lasted four weeks, and brought in even more revenue than I had had in Vienna.

I gained only moderate profits from this great and instructive expedition, notwithstanding its remarkable success, due to the great expenses. After the exhibition in Berlin was over, I gave my Sinhalese a big farewell party in our Hamburg establishment and sent them back home, richly laden with treasures. In the next two years, 1885 and 1886, I travelled through southern Germany and Switzerland with the same exhibition, returned to Vienna and finally crossed over to England where I was unlucky. As a result of bad weather, large expenses and other mishaps, the English expedition cost me over 40,000 marks, which I had to pay in cash. It was in Paris that the Ceylon exhibitions, happily with tremendous success, finally came to an end. The average attendance of the Jardin d'Acclimatisation on Sundays was 50-60,000 visitors, and during the two and a half month duration of the exhibition it had nearly one million visitors.

In my memory, the international exhibitions form a self-contained story that is rich in characters and anecdotes. So many dark heads appear laughing in my memory, so many stunned black or brown faces gaze with astonished eyes at the incomprehensible wonders of the civilized world. Where have you all gone, you Africans, Indians, you red sons of the wild, you Eskimos and Laplanders, who entrusted yourselves to my guidance into the land of those strange white people, who stared at you in droves as if you were miraculous beasts. Many of you, if you are still alive, will already have grey hairs on head. Where are you, my good El Amin, you whose glorious figure once kindled the hearts of white women, though your skin was as brown as the finest chocolate? And you, my dear Takruri, do you still strut about in your forests with that old sabre that you once asked me for and who considered yourself more important than all the rulers of the world put together? Do you, my old Ukubak, do you still practice your famous kayak diving skills, which even our old emperor once applauded? . . . The figures pass in a long line, friendly or indifferent, pleasant or awful, but all have their place in memory.

The following little story, which is completely true, shows that a grateful memory is also alive in your ranks, and that the national exhibitions, in addition to their educational purposes, made you very strange and adventurous destinies.

One morning the young officer of a German warship, which had anchored in Punta Arenas in the Strait of Magellan, had the urge to take a trip into the pampas to get to know the fauna and flora of this desolate area better. He didn't think about meeting people. On the back of a horse hired in Punta Arenas, the officer went cheerfully into the steppe. After roaming around for hours and beginning to think about the way home, he realized that he had lost his compass. On the Pampa, where a stranger finds no landmarks, he soon went completely astray. When night fell, the German found himself in the middle of nowhere, having no idea how far he had strayed from the ship. He was already considering the idea of pitching camp under some bush, no matter how uninviting the prospect might be. The puma inhabits the pampas, and many solo travellers have been attacked by them. Moreover, not only the nights but also the days are cold under this stretch of sky. Musters claims Patagonia only has two seasons, winter and a bad early spring, which isn't much better than winter. While he was still occupied with such thoughts, the muffled sound of horses pounding in the distance suddenly hit his ear. A moment later a horde of wild Indians emerged from the twilight and rushed at the lost man with cries of surprise and amazement. He had read enough about these uncivilized hordes to know that the encounter could easily result in death. The horse, the rifle he carried, and the shiny buttons on his ship's uniform were enough to arouse the greed of the Indians. What does manslaughter in the middle of nowhere mean? No-one gives two hoots. The Indians decimate each other mercilessly. The German already thought his last hour had come; he loaded his rifle and decided to sell his life as dearly as possible when something very strange and almost unbelievable happened. When the chief gave a shout, the whole horde stopped and the chief rode alone towards the stranger, stared at him and called out joyfully: "Du Capitano Vapore Hagenbeck?" [Vapore = Steamer] These words sounded like salvation to the German, since he was a man from Altona, and in a flash the thought occurred to him that the Indian might have belonged to one of the ethnographic exhibitions that he had seen so often in my zoo at the Neue Pferdemarkt. He quickly pulled himself together and shouted with delight: "Yes Hagenbeck Amburgo Capitano!"

There was mutual amazement. The chief gave a long speech, accompanied by numerous gestures from his troupe. General cheers. Everyone dismounted, a fire was lit, and the stranger was invited with great courtesy to settle down in the circle of redskins. He didn't need to be asked twice as the night-time chill had already taken its toll on him. But there were other pleasures too. The horde returned from a hunting trip, bringing with them many ostriches and young guanacos. An ostrich was plucked and roasted and set aside for a feast, with the best morsels being served to the officer. After they became companionable, the officer made the chief understand that he wanted to go back to Punta Arenas and his "Vapore." The chief and six of his men now saddled their horses and took the officer between them. They galloped straight to the coast, where the company arrived safely after a few hours' ride. Here they said goodbye to the officer with lively handshakes, and the adventure came to an end.

You did well, my old Pitjotsche, and I accept your courtesy to my lost compatriot with as much gratitude as if you had done it to me personally. You have not forgotten the short time you spent under my care and in your heart dwells gratitude. True, you are only a brown Indian clad in raw hides, and yet it lifts my spirits that you live over there in your wild Pampa as a friend.

The reader will already have guessed the secret behind this little episode. The Patagonian chief was actually once in one of my exhibitions. Captain Schwers had brought him, along with his wife and a twelve-year-old son, by Kosmos Line steamer to Hamburg. But I only had this little family in my zoo for a few weeks, where they performed their tricks with lasso and bolas for the audience. In Dresden, where I had sent the Indians from for a few weeks, Pitjotsche became homesick and begged me to send him back to his Pampa. I complied with his request and dispatched him back to Punta Arenas on the next Kosmos steamer. On board the officers spent a lot of time with the clever and good-natured chief and he gained confidence in all of them. And now comes the highlight. The uniform of the Kosmos officers was similar to that of the Reichsmarine officers. When the chief found the young man in the pampa, he took him for a captain of the Kosmos steamer, which he could only imagine in connection with me.

This kind adventure would make an impact in any Indian story book and yet is true. In any case, Oberlander's famous picture "Hagenbeck is coming!" cannot be applied to the human world, if anything, the opposite is the case. Similar adventures could be experienced not only on the steppes or the Greenland ice sheet, but also in the African primeval forest or in the Indian jungle. Even where my pioneers, scouts, hunters and transporters haven’t been, there are natives who were once members of a ethnographical show. They have unwittingly received instruction and taken culture into the wilderness with them. From the Indians to the Hottentots, from the Kalmucks to the Tierra del Fuegians, the ethnological exhibitions have absorbed everything that could be lured from its ancestral home. There is still a lively procession of peoples, as can be observed every year in the Stellingen animal park.


In a somewhat strange and yet entirely logical way, I ended up temporarily joining the great army of travelling people - I became a circus director (ringmaster).

When the big Ceylon exhibitions were over, I sat there with a whole herd of elephants, not knowing what to do with them. Every day the animals wanted their measure of food - and not a small measure either - it was not cheap and they needed to earn their keep. This was even more necessary as times were slack in the pet trade and I had to think of something new to somehow invest my declining capital in a profitable way. Eventually I came up with the idea of putting together an American-style tent circus and putting it on tour. Decision and implementation went hand in hand, and I immediately threw myself into this new venture, obeying necessity more than my own impulse, because, as I must confess, I had no great interest in this matter. I had no choice but to bite the bullet to at least cover the maintenance costs for my animals. I will not relate to you the toil, adversity, and difficulties involved in putting this enterprise together. Finally, however, I assembled a good company of artists, and my beautiful herd of elephants and various groups of trained animals could be seen everywhere, and when the business was due to open on the Heiligengeistfeld in Hamburg in 1887, I could count on it being successful .

Usually, ventures in which much effort has been expended end in a crash. With my circus it was the other way around. It started with a crash. We had hardly finished setting everything up when a terrible hurricane hit, demolishing the entire tent construction to the ground within an hour. I myself escaped the catastrophe by a hair's breadth. When the storm hit, I was at the top of the tent taking down the roof. Suddenly the hurricane tore the whole structure down and one of the big tent poles fell forcefully to the ground just three feet away from me. If the pole had hit me, I would not be writing my memoirs.

After the storm, the place where my circus had stood was nothing but rubble. My artists stood around, totally despondent, with tears in their eyes, and everyone agreed that this was the end of the enterprise. Although I myself had the feeling that all my hope had suddenly been dashed, I was well aware that only great speed and energy could help things. In a thunderous voice I called on the people to get to work and now show that they could overcome all obstacles. I set a good example myself. The work was tackled with such enthusiasm that clearing up was completed within two hours. Over a recovery drink I cheered my people on again to do whatever they could to help repair the damage, but it took a few days to replace all the demolished parts, rebuild and be ready for the grand opening.

The venture could start and it worked out very well, although my circus equipment, as you can imagine, was very primitive. On the other hand, my artists, as already mentioned, were very impressive. There were also a few groups of trained animals and a small Ceylonese troop of twenty people. It met with success, and remained successful when we went on tour, even though we often had to struggle with bad weather. Hamburg was followed by Schleswig-Holstein, then Hanover, etc. We didn’t make a fortune, but we made it through and I had the added advantage of gradually selling off my stock of animals during the three years of circus life. Around the end of the final year I sold the more valuable animals to the Barnum and Bailey Circus, which was then in London, with the remainder going to my former director, Mr. Drexler, in return for payment.

The goal I had set myself with this circus company was achieved, I had made a good living during the years 1887, 1888 and 1889 and I had sold the animals on the side. Into the bargain I gained experience and new knowledge as a circus director. Only, believe me, it was not without constant excitement and annoyance. I had employed my brother-in-law Heinrich Mehrmann, the animal trainer who later became well-known, as manager of the company This prudent and hard-working man did his job extremely well, but sometimes he was unable to settle disputes and difficulties that had broken out by himself, so that I had to appear as a deus ex machina to bring order to the business.

There are certainly a great many honest and respectable people among the artists who roam the world, but life on the road also produces a bunch of rabble. These people are hard to get along with, they don’t have good faith in their hearts. I remember a man named "August" who was a very good worker, but a terrible complainer and agitator. He often incited all the members against each other and forced me to rush out onto the scene just to destroy his evil work. When the company was dissolved, this man came to me with tears in his eyes and begged me to give him the pony that his son used to vault on. Owning this animal he would soon get him another engagement. The man plagued me and begged for so long, and knew how to portray everything so movingly, that I gave him the pony as a present. Now he seemed overjoyed and thanked me a thousand times because - as he said - I had paved the way for his future. Armed with a receipt, upon presentation of which the animal was to be handed over to him, he left. . . The good man walked to Bremen, where the circus was still staying, took delivery of the pony and immediately sold it to a greengrocer. . .

During my circus life an event of far-reaching importance occurred. I began to execute a plan that had been in my mind for many years. What had driven me as a boy to jump into my father's business with both feet, and in my adolescence to develop the animal trade with all my strength, was my innate love of animals. This still dominates all my activities. Although I'm not inclined to hide my light under a bushel as a businessman, knowing myself I have to say that I'm first and foremost an animal lover. It is impossible to run a business like ours without being an animal lover.

For a long time I had been quietly considering whether it would be possible to break with the old, cruel method of animal training and introduce a humane one in its place. Animals are beings like ourselves, and their intelligence only differs from ours in degree and strength, not in kind. They respond to malice with malice and to friendship with friendship. I had long since found that love, kindness and perseverance, coupled with strictness, could achieve more from an animal than brute force. I also knew from years of intimate contact with animals that their talents, characters and temperaments are different. So nothing is more wrong than lumping everyone together. Like humans, they want to be treated individually, because that is the only way to gain their confidence and awaken their abilities.

It must have pained anyone who had come to this conviction to see animals he loved being mistreated with whips, clubs and iron bars, because animal training was essentially limited to those tools, as I will explain in a later chapter. While traveling with my circus, I felt it was time to get serious about introducing "tame" animal training. There should be careful selection of the most intelligent, suitable animals, but the specimens chosen should be made friends, not enemies, by taking into account the peculiarities of each animal. I happened to get to know the animal trainer Deyerling in England, and since he was unemployed at the time, I hired him on the condition that he was only allowed to train the animals according to my instructions. Deyerling willingly complied with most of my suggestions; I was able to explain my general intentions to him by referring to the training of cats and dogs, where no violent means were used. What happened with them had to be possible with large beasts of prey.

The first test was made on none other than His Majesty the Lion. In the years 1887-1889 I procured no fewer than twenty-one lions for this purpose, and out of this large number only four proved usable. This is certainly glaring evidence of the immense individual diversity of similar animals, but evidence which is, admittedly, also extremely costly. At this point I will not go into detail about the characters of these first four lions, who were trained in the new way, and I will only say that the success was extraordinary. The lions, encouraged only by the whip, scolded when they were careless, praised and rewarded with morsels of meat when they worked well, became comfortable to all sorts of tricks: they took up various positions on pyramids, chairs and trestles, and then went back to their places. Finally, the trainer even rode in a two-wheeled cart, similar in shape to an ancient Roman racing cart, drawn by three lions, four times in a full circle through the forty foot diameter cage - a sensational act.

This group had its first engagement at the "Nouveau Cirque" in Paris, which during the three months of this performance did the best business it had ever done in its existence. A round trip through all the larger cities began from Paris. I myself did as brilliantly with this group from 1889, the year of its inception, to 1892 as I had ever done in any other undertaking. In grateful remembrance I write that the tame lion group was the lifeblood of my whole business in those sluggish business years.

The lesson that lay in this success did not go untapped. I was already thinking about putting together more groups of tame animals, and this time it was for a significant purpose. The great world exhibition, which was to take place in Chicago in 1893, was in sight. One day, when I had shown the Deyerling lion group to the American consuls in Hamburg and Bremen, these gentlemen thought that there could be big business with such a performing animals act during the exhibition in Chicago. My plan now was to set up a zoological circus in Chicago and to start training suitable groups of animals immediately. These words are easy to write down, and yet they cover an infinite amount of work, difficulties and obstacles. The first requirement, even more important than the choice of animals, is capable people, who must be animal lovers and courageous people at the same time.

I cast my eyes on Heinrich Mehrmann, my brother-in-law, whom I have mentioned before as the director of my circus, he seemed to have the requisite qualities for an animal trainer. However, there was a somewhat comical scene when I first approached the proposed animal tamer. After I explained my proposal to Mehrmann, he made a very startled face and spoke the classic words: "Are you kidding me?" – "I have given you my sincere opinion," I replied, "provided you have the will and the courage. And since you're a big animal lover, I think things will turn out really well." Mehrmann didn't think twice. "If you have confidence in this enterprise," he said, "then we can give it a try."

Within a short time everything was prepared for the company. I had brought together a number of different young animals and made a makeshift larger cage in my garden. This saw Mehrmann for the first time in the role of a tamer. During the first three weeks I helped my brother-in-law to give him the necessary directives regarding the treatment of the animals, but after only ten days he said that if I could give him a good keeper he would be able to do it himself. The group I had put together was not small, and because of the diversity of the animals it even had a sensational streak. It consisted of twelve lions, two tigers, some cheetahs, two black bears and a polar bear. We first had to reconcile all these restless elements, we had to teach them to get along with each other - a difficult task, but one which we carried out in such a practical way that after a fortnight the animals were playing peacefully next to each other and were beginning to make friends. It was an amusing and interesting sight to see the animals frolicking about in the large cage during their playtime. In the midst of the tumult the new trainer stayed with his keeper, to now and again any ruffians, whose play was turning too serious, to their senses with a long, thin whip. Otherwise, the whip was never used, and everything desirable was attained solely through kindness and reward. The feline predators were given small pieces of meat which they soon learned to take out from the hand, while the bears were given sugar to encourage them when they did well.

Sooner than could have been expected, by the winter of 1890, the group had been trained to the point where I could think of getting engagements. In order to familiarize the animals fairly well, to have them outdoors as much as possible, and to acquaint themselves with the sight of a large and restless audience, it occurred to me to take the group to the Crystal Palace in London. In the spring of 1891 we made our entrance and began to give our performances in a large iron cage, forty feet in diameter, which proved to be quite successful. I received irrefutable proof that the group caused an unusual stir when two Americans flatly offered me the handsome sum of $50,000 for the group of animals. However, since the animals were to be taken to Chicago for the World's Fair, and having the same goal in mind, I declined the offer without hesitation. . . Little did I know that I had just thrown 200,000 marks away.

When summer came to an end, a great misfortune befell me and the group of animals that had been trained with so many hopes. One day my brother-in-law wrote to me that some of his animals were sick, but he didn't really know what was wrong with them. Since September was already well advanced and the group was supposed to return to Hamburg in October, I did not travel to London first, but waited for the arrival of the animals, albeit with some anxiety. I had a terrible shock when I finally got to see them. All the animals were suffering from glanders and even the veterinarian whom I called in immediately, my friend Kollisch, was unfortunately unable to make any other diagnosis. The misfortune had already happened, and it was of little use to me to establish that the unscrupulous svendor in London had done the damage with infected meat. Any help proved to be in vain. My poor animals died in the most terrible agony. Finally, unable to bear the sight of their suffering any longer, I gave the doomed animals the blessing of a quick death by poison.

This bitter loss marked the beginning of a difficult time. How was I supposed to get a similar glittering group together for Chicago? Although I still had a small reserve group of two young Bengal tigers, a few bears and half a dozen lions, how could I round out this ensemble quickly enough that it could still be considered for the world exhibition? I immediately sent telegrams to India to get young tigers, and in the spring of 1892 four young tigers did arrive, but they brought no luck. One had cataracts, the other had been so irritated by the sailors during the voyage that nothing could be exhibited with it, the other two were flawless but were very young specimens, no more than six or seven months old.

Death seemed to want permanent quarters in my zoo. The animals stayed healthy for a maximum of two months, when they suddenly went down with vomiting and diarrhoea, finally with cramps and dying after an illness of a few days. A group of four young lions which I had bought in England and transferred to Hamburg in the spring of 1892 ended in the same way. Three young Bengal tigers from the Zoological Gardens in Frankfurt am Main, lively, frisky little animals, in whose care nothing was spared, survived only a month before they died of the same mysterious disease. I was faced with a riddle, something like this had never happened to me before, on the contrary, I have always had a very special skill and luck in raising young animals. No matter how much we pondered and experimented, no explanation could be found as to where this disease came from. The dying occurred on a large scale. All the young lions, tigers and panthers that I brought in again died. Mainly I lost those animals that had not yet passed the first year of life; older animals also became ill, but they survived.

Only much later was the true reason for this great dying discovered. It was so remarkable that I will explain it right away. During the whole of that spring and summer my animals died, then in August cholera broke out in Hamburg. I hardly need to say more. The scythe, which mowed down thousands and thousands like ripe ears of corn in midsummer in the human world, had struck down my young animals several months earlier. All had died of cholera-like symptoms. Perhaps much trouble could have been averted if only a little suspicion had put us on the right track. What had killed my animals was certainly the harbinger of cholera, and it is very true that the germs of this terrible disease are spread through the water; this was shown by the fact that my animals immediately stopped dying when Köllisch the veterinarian came up with the idea of only giving them boiled water to drink. The cholera, which was only diagnosed in Hamburg towards the end of August, had been raging among the tropical animals in my garden since March, making the old ones sick and killing the young ones, whose delicate constitution offered less resistance.

It was a bad time. The great losses depressed me greatly. I had gradually lost 70,000 marks through all these deaths and had reached the end of my liquid capital. One day I complained of my need to a benevolent banker, who immediately offered to step in with capital, and since without such help I could not have carried out the Chicago enterprise, I took advantage of the loan that was offered. In the meantime, however, it was too late to be able to train the necessary performing animal groups, so I bought three beautiful groups from my brother Wilhelm whose training had just been completed. In the meantime, the small reserve group that I was left with had received the necessary polish from Mehrmann's hands - and so, on August 16, 1892 I embarked for America on the steamer "Augusta Victoria" to win some gentlemen recommended to me as partners for the American business.

Immediately after my arrival in New York I heard, to my great horror, that cholera had broken out in Hamburg. The press, accustomed to sensational reporting, created the most horrific images of the mass deaths and the bleak conditions in Hamburg. At first, I thought of going back to my family on the next steamer, but after careful consideration I rejected this idea, since I couldn't be any help after all. The next day I travelled to Chicago, concluded the contract with my partners within two days, returned to New York as quickly as possible and left America on September 7 on the "Lahn", a North German Lloyd Line steamer into Bremen. A Hamburg ship was not available because the four steamers that had meanwhile arrived from Hamburg were all in quarantine. As we sailed past these four ships, and were greeted by the quarantined passengers waving handkerchiefs, a gloomy mood descended on me. I thought of my family, of friends, relatives and acquaintances in the cholera city, and everything in me urged me forward, towards home. Who would I see again and who would I sorely miss? Death had reaped a rich harvest in all circles.

When I arrived in Hamburg at the Hanover railway station on September 16, after a quick sea crossing in glorious weather, I was received by my wife and, to my great joy and reassurance, learned that everyone in my family was safe and sound. But what a sight as I drove through the city. The streets were deserted and dead. Many windows were curtained and the shutters were closed, on some doors there were the dark signs of mourning. I had never seen my hometown like this. The impression was devastating, and I am not ashamed to say that tears streamed from my eyes throughout the journey.

Overshadowing everything to do with the Chicago expedition, apart from the immense successes of the exhibition itself, there was an ominous omen. I had scarcely been in Hamburg three weeks when my American companions telegraphed to tell me that I would only get permission to import my groups of animals if I took them to England as quickly as possible and stationed the whole enterprise there until the spring. The American government considered this precautionary measure necessary to prevent me and my animals from taking cholera into the country. Well, that was a nice present! This new piece of really bad news came like a thunderbolt. Without wasting any time, however, it was a question of finding a suitable place in England for the animals to spend the winter. Then I thought of my friends in the Tower Company in Blackpool. Without hesitation I travelled to Blackpool and obtained permission from the Tower Company to erect a temporary building on their vacant land, where I could leave the poor creatures until spring. The construction was completed in three weeks. We then moved to our winter quarters via Grimsby and waited for spring. But what enormous costs arose from this enforced quarantine! In order to give the reader an approximate idea, I will only say that the cost of transporting the animals from Hamburg to Chicago, via England, was approximately 100,000 Marks. The direct route would have cost only about a third of this amount. In the end, however, I got over these difficulties and at the beginning of March 1893 I travelled with the "Aller" via New York to Chicago, arriving on March 20th.

In many respects Chicago takes first place among the great world fairs. There was real exhibition fever in that big, bustling metropolis of the West. American speculation has probably never blossomed so luxuriantly as here. Around the great Hyde Park, where normally the fiery red sumac dreamed in the blazing sunshine, a diverse exhibition now grew up, a thousand hands moved, and the half-timbered hotels that were erected there assumed gigantic dimensions in number. Inside and outside of the exhibition there was an untameable building frenzy. Inside and outside of the exhibition there was an unquenchable building frenzy. Money didn't seem to play a role at all, everything was rewarded with the wildest hopes for the future. Perhaps never before have architects and artists been so empowered to make their dreams come true. The administration building with its golden dome was like a dream from "A Thousand and One Nights." In the elongated Manufacturers Building with "the biggest roof in the world" the Americans' desire to expand, to always strive for the biggest and most powerful, was celebrated as a real triumph. Seen from the blue waters of Lake Michigan, it all looked like a beautiful fairyland. No fewer than 500 large buildings covered the immense square. Over there, in the so-called Midway Plaisance, the amusement street of this World Fair, with the iron parts of the Ferris wheel already stretching into the air, the German Village and the Irish Castle, the International Beauty Show and the Turkish Café were already under construction, but the most sensational sight from the beginning, and later on the largest measurement was Hagenbeck's Zoological Arena. However, the enormous exhibition suffered from its own size before it was completely finished. The buildings were numerous and large, the construction activity was almost feverish, but its incompleteness was also immense. It's in the nature of things that a world exhibition cannot be finished all at once or all be ready on a certain date, that much has been confirmed everywhere, but what I saw, arriving in Chicago not much more than a month before the exhibition opened, gave me a tremendous fright.

Contrary to what my partners had reported, the building intended for my arena was barely half finished, the roof construction had not yet begun, and the whole thing was still in a state of utter chaos. Disputes and bad weather were cited as the main causes of the delay. With all my might I urged that the work be speeded up by hiring more people so that the animals, which had left England on March 24 under the care of Heinrich Mehrmann, could be accommodated. In mid-April, when the animals arrived in Chicago by special train, everything was at least ready enough for the animals to be brought under a roof. Unfortunately, the spring of 1893 was extremely cold in that region, and inside the half-finished buildings it was really chilly, which mainly affected the 150 specimens in my monkey collection as well as my parrot collection, which alone contained about 80 different species. Before the show even opened, I had already lost close to $2,000 of animals coming in, and I was fortunate that at least my performing animals had remained healthy.

Little did I know that the opening of the wide-ranging exhibition still had a nice little test up its sleeve. When we were still a week away from the opening, we had finished the interior of the arena to such an extent that we could give rehearsals in the big iron arena. Everything progressed so smoothly that we couldn't have wished for better. However, when we were only four days away from the opening, the trainer of the main group on which all our hopes rested, my brother-in-law Mehrmann, began complaining of weakness, fatigue and terrible headaches. I immediately suspected something was amiss, but when the doctor diagnosed a typhus infection the next morning and immediately sent Mehrmann to hospital, my heart sank a little. In two days there was to be a big rehearsal and publicity performance for the exhibition commission and the Chicago press - and my chief trainer was sick in hospital! There was nothing else to be done but for me to go into the cage myself. As the rehearsal approached, I didn't think twice and led my brother-in-law's group out, with only the keeper, who was familiar with the animals, assisting. I had the impression that everything would go well and calmly looked forward to the grand opening performance. It went even better than expected.

Dressed in black, equipped only with a Spanish cane, I entered the large central cage and first gave a speech in which I explained the situation and pointed out that I had not had any contact with the animals for five months. Although I would do my best to ensure that everything went well, if the performance did not quite live up to expectations, then, given the circumstances, one should forgive that. Then I opened the door and the animals streamed into the cage. The lions, tigers and bears took their usual places, the keeper brought the necessary props, and the performance began. You can imagine that I was completely absorbed in my task and put all my energy and care into the execution of the performance. To my great delight, each number always turned out more beautifully than the previous one, the performance continued with endless applause and was finally a great success. After the performance was over, the storm of applause really broke out, and I was called back to the arena three times to endless applause. The exhibition commission congratulated me, and the presentations aroused extraordinary interest from the press, whose representatives besieged me with questions about my enterprise, and published column-long articles decorated with pictures the next day.

So I could be satisfied with the way my company was received. The real "business" started differently. When it opened with only one performance on the first day, our circus was sold out, but the next few days, even towards the end of the month, the takings were pretty mediocre. This was due to the low attendance at the exhibition. It had become common knowledge that the exhibition was in a highly unfinished state, so people postponed their visit to a later date. In the course of the summer that all changed, attendance at the exhibition became enormous, and our income from the circus, which was Midway Plaisance's most outstanding attraction, increased in equal measure.

I presented the large group of animals for only a short time; soon the main keeper, whom I had trained in the meantime, took over the animals, and in the fifth week their actual master, Heinrich Mehrmann, was fortunately ready to present his group again. My sojourn in Chicago was attended with so much strain and excitement that I soon became rather worn down. It was time to rest for at least a few weeks to unwind. Hence I travelled to Hamburg, where I spent the month of June, and then returned once more to Chicago. This time I stayed only a few weeks, and then, very satisfied with the state of affairs, left for Europe. The worst was yet to come. My American partners turned out not to be what I thought they were. I had scarcely turned my back when, under flimsy pretexts, they stopped paying my share to my representative. It was no use trying to correct unjust complaints, since such complaints were the intention of the gentlemen concerned. In order to avoid a lengthy lawsuit and the hassle that would accompany it, I finally lost nearly $20,000, which was taken from my rightful share. With these people, who could be viewed purely as entrepreneurs, nothing at all could be done. Had they followed my instructions dictated by experience, they could have achieved five times the earnings. Despite that huge cut, the venture still closed quite satisfactorily for me. The fact that the money earned stayed in America, almost to the last cent, is another matter.

After the exhibition was over, I let myself be tempted to enter into a new partnership. This time I took better care and thought I had secured myself in all directions with a cautious contract. Much good that did me! The zoological circus, which toured the United States under my name, ran into debt due to improper management behind my back, and a quarrel broke out. I was in the midst of it. Since the business was under my name, I was made responsible for the monies owed, and in short, I ended up losing about $18,000 again. And that was about as much as I made in Chicago.

Thus ended the American tour. In the summer of 1895 all my animals returned from their long journey, but not to stay long. I had my brother-in-law Mehrmann go on a tour with the performing animal groups that had been shown in America, which took him, among other places, to Basel, Strasbourg, Copenhagen and Nice. Here the expedition overwintered and in the next few years made its way through the German districts again until it found its place among other performing groups at the Berlin trade exhibition in 1896 in my animal park. The dressage tests were also a great success in Berlin, which some readers will remember.

Many similar expeditions of larger and smaller scales have gone out into the world. Former inhabitants and pupils of the Hagenbeck Zoo worked and still work under countless foreign flags, and one of the largest recent performing ventures is participation in the St. Louis World Exhibition in 1904.


The years roll unstoppably on, and they bring both good and bad things. Despite some setbacks, they meant development for me. My pet shop had taken on ever larger dimensions and was already making its mark all over the world. It was like a big tree with many limbs and branches. From the original stem had grown the ethnological exhibitions, performing animals, numerous breeding attempts grew out of it, and many a developing project was still forming and blossoming.

The place where I had planted my business no longer sufficed; it provided no possibility for its necessary expansion and I had to look for a much larger plot of land which did not limit my expansion. The creation of a comprehensive site was an absolute necessity, if only to be able to fully develop a new branch of my company. The introduction of huntable game from distant lands, the import and export of domestic and farm animals had begun, and hand in hand with this went the acclimatization, breeding and crossing of native and foreign animal breeds. Large deliveries for newly founded zoos in Morocco, Japan, China, Argentina, etc. also required immense premises for the animal population. The move became a necessity.

But where in Hamburg could I find an area suitable for my purposes in terms of size and location? Although I owned 142,000 square feet of property in the Hamburg suburb of Horn, all of the adjacent land belonged to the state of Hamburg, precluding the possibility of any expansion. Long before that, in 1888, when I acquired this property, I had my broker inquire with the relevant authorities as to whether I could acquire a larger piece of land from the state, but I received the decisive answer that none of the state land could be sold. For years I tried to acquire a suitably sized plot of land in the Hamburg area, but either the location was unfavourable or the asking price was too high, so that nothing came of the purchase.

Since the search in Hamburg was futile, I extended it to Prussian territory, although it was painful to me that there was no room for me in my hometown.

On a beautiful Sunday morning I visited my dear old friend Wegner, who has now unfortunately passed away, in Stellingen and discussed with him the subject that was always on my mind. In those minutes I felt like the man who has been looking for his glasses while he has them on his nose. In the middle of the conversation, Wegner suddenly took my arm and said: "Come with me, I want to show you a nice piece of land with a small villa that is currently available cheaply." We stepped outside. Wegner led me across from his house and along a hedge behind which lay a small villa in a very overgrown garden. The plot of land, which had a perimeter of 200,000 square feet, would be available for 35,000 Mk. It was exactly right. Two days later the land was my property. On the third day, Wednesday, I found out from my old friend that two plots of land adjacent to my new property were also available cheaply, and 24 hours later these two plots were also mine.

What I had been looking for for years just happened to fall into my lap within a few days. Now I finally had a magnificent, high-altitude piece of land, which was ideally suited to the creation of a wildlife park. The entire development of the land was immediately came together in my head and found its first practical form in a drawing with indications of the departments. So I tackled the development and utilization of the site with enthusiasm and focus, and just five months later twelve large enclosures and five beautiful animal houses had been completed.

Meanwhile, the work grew in effort, the thoughts and plans grew, and a lot of intellectual and practical work was still needed before Stellingen became what it is now. The land and buildings suited me perfectly, but the facility was too far from my main business in the city. The connection between Hamburg and Stellingen was also bad. That's when I got the idea that it might be possible to acquire the large areas of land now occupied by my property towards the Hamburg border at a reasonable price and possibly sell them on to a consortium in order to open up the whole area for me in this way and to establish a direct connection between Stellingen in Prussia and Eimsbüttel in Hamburg. My next task was to find out who owned the various large estates. I soon figured that out and went to work to negotiate all the plots at prices as low as possible. At first I kept the lands in my hands as long as possible, in order to look around for enterprising people who would be inclined to take part in the speculation. However, things did not go as easily as I had imagined. Not everyone saw things as I did. I returned from Berlin, where I tried to publicize my cause, without success. I didn't find any suggestions in Hamburg either.

Five whole months passed with these futile attempts to make connections when my best friend – chance - finally came to my aid again. One day I received a visit from a Hamburg gentleman, who was well-disposed towards me, who lived in England and who, accompanied by his brother, had viewed and bought a number of Hungarian red deer from my establishment at Neue Pferdemarkt. Nothing was more natural than telling my guests about my newly established wildlife park in Stellingen and inviting them to take a look at the facility. Out in Stellingen, while looking at some freshly imported red deer and roe deer, I mentioned my plan during our conversation. One word led to another, and I finally explained that I had all the land between my property and Hamburg at my disposal at a very reasonable price, and that I was looking for a few gentlemen who might decide to take the on this project with me. I would give up my right of first refusal at a very minimal profit, on the condition that I could buy more land for myself in order to realize my pet project of developing a zoo of my own design. At the same time this would quickly open up all the land.

After I had finished my little speech, one of the guests looked at me thoughtfully and spoke the simple words: "That seems like a sound idea to me. For my part, I have 100,000 marks left over for it." When asked by his brother, the other gentleman also declared that he would entrust the company with the same sum, and he immediately expressed his opinion that it would not be difficult to get a small company together for this project. After another eight weeks, the whole affair had become perfect and I was committed to moving my entire concern to Stellingen and entering into the speculation myself with at least 150,000 marks

Now my own comprehensive plans for creating a completely new type of zoological garden began to crystallize. In order to be brief at this point, I will only say that the main idea was to show the animals in the greatest possible freedom and at the same time to show what acclimatization can do. I wanted to show animal lovers by a large, practical and continual example that it is not necessary to have luxurious and expensive buildings with large heating systems to keep animals alive and healthy, but rather that staying in the open air and getting used to the climate offers a far better guarantee for the preservation of the animals. The main attraction of the planned animal park would be found in the new housing of the animals. A modern animal paradise was to be built where there was nothing to be seen but farm fields. From one given point in the garden one would be able to see the animals of all zones, in great terraces, each species appearing to roam freely in an environment appropriate to its homeland. The chamois, wild sheep and ibexes would be on artificial mountains, the animals of the steppes on wide open pastures, the beasts of prey in unbarred canyons, separated from the visitors only by a ditch. In the middle there had to be a central building with a large arena for training purposes, and next to it large rooms for what might be described as transit traffic. Housing had to be created for a stock of animals whose numbers could hardly be estimated for the next few years. Whereas ten years earlier I was selling scarcely 20 game animals in a year, the number had now grown to many hundreds. If I sold 6 - 8 camels a year, that was once considered a large turnover, now I had come to see 100 camels as a small turnover. A few years later I managed an order for 2000 dromedaries, which, however, did not have to go via Stellingen. Traffic with zebras had grown from 3 - 4 animals to 50 in 1905. It was the same thing with other animal species. However, I had already housed a large number of elephants in my old establishment at the Neue Pferdemarkt, the greatest number being 20 at the same time. Stellingen broke this record as early as 1904, because in that year I had 43 of these pachyderms as my guests.

There was a tremendous amount of work lay before us. There was a wilderness to transform into a luxurious park, a pleasure park with streams and mountain formations, with practical animal houses and outright luxurious buildings. First of all, my mission was to gradually acquire the plots bordering my property as cheaply as possible. With a little patience and business acumen, I was able to make 14 hectares of land my own over the next three years. After many difficulties and all sorts of obstacles on the part of a highly laudable citizenry, my property in the city was sold partly to the state of Hamburg and partly to the Hamburg Vereinsbank. We were now firmly rooted in Stellingen.

Finally, in October 1902, the plans had progressed so far that the movement of earth and the construction of the large central building could begin. By opening day, at least 40,000 cubic metres of earth needed to be moved just to change the landscape. When work began, the view comprised a wide field containing nothing but six trees. A small team of artists, engineers, architects, landscape gardeners and laborers got to work, and the place soon resembled a scene from Aladdin's fairy stories. I saw the work grow and develop, saw plan after plan mature and take shape. The ideas that I had long harboured within me gradually began to appear. It was in the Stellinger Tierpart that you could see the never-before-seen spectacle of African ostriches taking a snow bath outdoors in winter or romping about merrily in the severe cold. Ibex, chamois and antelope no longer had to live in captivity in the lowlands, but could climb happily on their rocky ridges. The king of beasts roamed freely in proud majesty in his vast grotto. Finally, on May 7, 1907, the day of the official opening of the zoo approached as the culmination of many busy years.

And now I'm sitting here and letting my eyes wander over the wide grounds, on which inquisitive visitors surge back and forth, far over there a gracefully curved bridge spans the country road to virgin ground, which has been annexed by the zoo. And my thoughts are already reaching beyond this with new ideas and new plans.



No trading house is compelled to pursue practical geography to such a great extent as a pet shop. The pet shop has to look for its goods over the whole earth. Scouts must be sent to the African primeval forest, the jungles of India and Ceylon, and the wide steppes of Siberia and Mongolia, followed by the long-distance travellers and hunters with their staff of native helpers. Unlike the hunter, who is only driven by the desire for sport, the pet shop representative has his work cut out – his goal is to hunt the game alive and to protect the animal population, not decimate it. The head office at home gives the hunter free rein, it is up to him to search for new, rewarding hunting grounds on untrodden paths. The most difficult part of practical geography to be pursued is finding routes by which the spoils may be brought alive and well to civilized countries. From deep in the heart of uncultivated countries, many an animal caravan moves for weeks, even months, through steppe and wilderness, and every foot of path conquered has to be paid for with losses.

Books and maps can only be used to a very limited extent in determining our workplaces, for naturally the trapping grounds for wild animals are far removed from all traffic in the cultivated world. Uncivilized tribes, no less fierce than the beasts to be captured, often present an obstacle. Inhospitable areas set limits to many an expedition. Every traveller returning from distant lands with his animal caravan becomes a living encyclopaedia that brings new information. In the evening by lamplight, in the company of the friends who had sent him out, the returning world traveller tells of his experiences and adventures, of military expeditions and legends of the natives, of the rare animals that are said to be found here and there but could not be found, and Many a small, seemingly insignificant piece of information gives the impetus to equip a new expedition into unexplored areas.

The Egyptian Sudan can be described as the animal paradise par excellence, as one of the richest and most inexhaustible sources of animals. The area in question is far-reaching in extent. One of its best experts, my old friend and faithful collaborator, the world traveller Josef Menges, says of this area: "If you go far enough, you can include the whole of the north Abyssinian lowlands, which stretch from Massaua to the upper Blue Nile. The actual hunting area, however, constitutes the landscape of Taka, beginning in the east with the upper Chor Baraka and ending in the west with the upper reaches of the Rahad, a tributary of the Blue Nile." These lands consist mainly of steppes interspersed with scrub, from which rise picturesque, rocky mountain ranges, which take on the nature of a wild highland only in Abyssinia. From the rich wildlife that populates this area, I will just mention mammals: the African elephant, black rhino, hippopotamus, giraffe, lion, leopard and cheetah, spotted and striped hyena, hyena dog, aardwolf, honey badger and black-backed jackal, wild ass, cape buffalo, numerous antelope species such as roan antelope, hartebeest, kudu, beisa antelope, waterbuck, bushbuck, Soemmering’s gazelle, dorcas gazelle and Arabian gazelle, klipspringer and dik-dik; also the warthog, aardvark, porcupine, the Cynocephalus and hamadryas baboons, the gelada and the guereza monkey. The bird world is richly represented with the swift-footed ostrich, the marabou, secretary, the bateleur eagle and various vultures, the hornbill, guineafowl, francolin fowl and desert chickens. Crocodiles, snakes, etc. complete the stock of animals suitable for hunting.

It is understandable that this wealth of beautiful huntable animals, including the giants of the animal world, has always attracted the attention of Europeans, and so these areas belong, so to speak, to the classic ground of animal trapping.

For many years this animal paradise was closed to us and the angel with the flaming sword guarding the gates of this paradise was Caliphate Abdullahi el Mahdi, the false successor of the equally false prophet. The animal paradise was given its closed season. Entering Mahdia meant almost certain death for Europeans as well as for Egyptians, or at least long imprisonment. Yet one would be wrong to suppose a fanatical, intolerant population occupied those regions. Only those in power exercised bloody coercion. And these areas, which are so rich in game, are not inhabited by hunters on the contrary, the natives are consistently either sedentary farmers who also engage in trade and some industry in the few towns in the country, or nomads who move with their herds from pasture to pasture, carrying with them simple tents built of straw mats and sticks and their few household goods on the backs of camels. A certain agreement in the way of life prevails among the peoples of the Sudan, in spite of the fact that they fall into several strictly separated tribes. One distinguishes among the more powerful the Jalin, Shukurieh, Dabaina, Hamran, Beni-Amer, Marea, Habab, Halenga, Hadendoa, the Ababdeb Bischarin, famous for their camel breeding, and the Takruri. These latter are Mohammedan negro immigrants from Darfur. All these Nubian tribes, who are without exception followers of the Prophet, are strikingly similar in outward appearance, only the Jalin and the Takruri being an exception. A beautiful race of people live in the Sudan, their limbs have a rare symmetry, and their posture is proud and erect; these people are not only beautiful, but are also intelligent and usually good-natured. However, their hot blood gives them a short temper. All of these are brave and warlike, but bloody feuds between individual tribes are rare now that the Egyptian government keeps order. In defending their herds against wild beasts and when hunting, the Nubians find plenty of opportunity to prove their courage and temperament.

The Nubians have a very simple and regular way of life. During the rainy season some of these nomadic tribes settle down on the banks of the Setit, Atbara and Basarlam, their herds of goats, sheep, humpback cattle and camels graze peacefully, and in the wet season they sow Durrha, or sorghum, and cotton and sell this to neighbouring tribes. The life of these free children of nature can now be observed better than when they are travelling, and all the more easily since one of their noblest virtues is hospitality. A piece of old biblical life takes place. Simple household appliances, such as water and milk containers, water bladders made from animal skins, sandals, etc, are made "in house". The women, who do most of the work, weave straw mats, both coarse for building huts and delicate for covering beds. Their fingers also create finer works, delicate cotton fabrics that are used as shawls. In the few towns and marketplaces of the country, such as Kassala, Kedarif, Doga, and Galabat, one finds extremely skilful native craftsmen who, with primitive tools, make shields from elephant and buffalo skin, lances, swords, knives, and saddles for camels and horses. Among these saddle pads you will find real gems, as well as fine gold and silver work, such as coffee beakers, and filigree arm rings and leg rings.

Twice a day the Nubian eats "Luchme", the national dish, which is enjoyed either with milk or with "Mellach". Luchme is a type of polenta made from Durrha-grain. The slave woman, found in every "better off" family, grinds the grain into flour on the murhaka, or grinder, and curdles it into a paste in boiling water. In this upside down world, the meat dish, Mellach, is served as a sauce; this dish is prepared from meat dried in the sun and ground into powder, then mixed with butter and a dried plant whose Arabic name is weka; the whole thing is then boiled and seasoned with salt and red pepper. This sauce is poured over the Luchme and served in a large wooden bowl on the floor. Family members and guests huddle around the bowl and all take some with a devout "Bismillah," meaning "in God's name." As in ancient times, everyone still dips their clean hand into the bowl, forms a dumpling, turns it over in the sauce and puts it in their mouth. This is repeated until either the bowl is empty or everyone is satiated. Then begins the feast for the ears, which is so incredibly ridiculous for us Westerners. It is good custom in the Orient for every satiated person to belch vigorously in order to honour the householder, and each belching is followed by a loud, honourable "El Hamdulillah", i.e. "Thanks be to God".

On exceptional occasions, such as weddings and other family celebrations, an ox is slaughtered and eaten on the spot. The tallow is used there and then to set hairstyles. The speed with which the animal is slaughtered, skinned with crooked knives, its meat cut up, roasted on coals and consumed is quite unbelievable, and the quantities consumed by individual people are even more unbelievable. With a buffalo or a giraffe during a hunt there is not much to do, the feast is served on the spot and only skin and bones remain. I remember a hippopotamus hunt on the Atbara, when crowds of hungry natives from neighbouring towns, numbering perhaps a few hundred mouths, overwhelmed the 4,000 – 5,000 pound animal that had been shot, within two hours. The flocks of vultures that gathered at the scene of the great slaughter received only the bones.

Notwithstanding the peaceful nature of the Nubians, it must seem quite natural that a large proportion of them learn to become bold hunters. Hunting is, as it were, an elementary occupation for the people who are born into that animal-rich landscape On the ragged stream-banks with their thorny, almost impenetrable primeval forests, and in the steppe, which in the rainy season is a grassy forest 10-15 feet high, elephants roam in herds of 50 - 100 individuals, the black double-horned rhinoceros moves in pairs, the gentle giraffe, the wild cape buffalo and the evasive antelope move in the hundreds. Predators follow their tracks. The native hunter knows the favourite spots of his game, whose tracks he finds with a naturalist’s instinct. He counters the shyness of the game with his cunning. Entire families and villages are dedicated to the dangerous, but stimulating and lucrative hunt, and in this way formal hunter castes have formed.

The most distinguished of these castes are the sword hunters or "Agaghir" (plural of agahr, sword hunter), who, not without justification, regard themselves as the aristocracy of their class, for the hunting practiced by them, because the sword hunting practiced by them and almost exclusive to Taka, requires boldness, dexterity and skill. The hunting method used by the sword hunters is a very peculiar one and essentially consists of the well-mounted hunters slicing through the knee or Achilles tendon of the hind leg of their game with a sharp sword. As long as the game is harmless, such as giraffe and antelope or ostrich, this hunt is fairly safe and only requires good riding across the rugged and dangerous terrain. The hunting horses are of Abyssinian breed; small but powerful and fiery animals whose temperament is entirely suited to that of their riders. Hunting becomes dangerous when the animals in question are able to defend themselves, such as buffalo, rhino, lion or even elephant. Although there are always two to four sword hunters teaming up, the hunters can easily become the hunted.

Only the most experienced hunters go out to hunt elephants, and they do so in small parties of four or six, excellently mounted, and such close friends that they can absolutely rely on one another in danger. Menges, who took part in such elephant hunts innumerable times, related the course of events in the following way. The search for elephants begins with a careful study of the streams and watering places where the game goes to drink at night. If elephant tracks are found, their unmistakable trail is picked up immediately and a long, often very tiring search begins. The African elephant is very agile and a mighty wanderer before the men, often many hours pass before the hunters come into contact with the herd. Of course, it also happens that they don’t make contact at all, and that the alarmed animals march through the whole day and night without stopping. The rule, however, is that elephants graze through the woody steppe until about noon, then rest during the midday heat. The hunt becomes almost hopeless when a herd of elephants retreats into the dense thorn forests or "kitter" that criss-cross the steppes of Sudan. For the sword hunters there is then no chance of a successful hunt. Sometimes the rifle-armed hunters, in league with the sword hunters, follow the elephants into these African jungles. Often, however, the thorn is so dense and tangled that the hunters themselves would have to have an elephant’s skin to be able to penetrate the labyrinth.

If the herd is found on favourable ground, the attack is such that the hunters ride up to the herd and try to separate the bull, who is armed with the best tusks, from his companions. The elephant has learned through thousands of years of persecution to be not only cautious but also fearful and will flee if it can find a way out. However, if confronted, he turns into a most determined opponent who immediately attacks. With furious trumpeting, which makes the horses wild with fear, he throws himself on the hunter, who now flee in turn. An elephant prefers to attack light-coloured or grey horses, which it notices first because of its rather poor eyesight. One of the hunters accordingly rides a white horse, and it is this rider's job to let the elephant pursue him, but he must manage to stay close to the angry animal and hold its attention so that it doesn’t notice what is going on behind it. The comrades of this leading hunter chase after the pursuing and pursued animal until the first of them is within ten paces of the elephant. He now quickly jumps off his horse, sword in hand, hurries in long bounds after the elephant until he is close to the animal's left hind leg. The moment the elephant puts that leg on the ground, the sharp, two-handed blade swoops down and cuts through the Achilles tendon, leaving the animal paralyzed on one side by exposing the foot bone. Of course, the wounded bull turns to face its attacker, who, however, has turned to flee after delivering the blow, and it is now the turn of the first hunter, who jumps off his white horse and cautiously approaches the already half-paralyzed animal and, with a powerful blow, cuts through the tendon of the right hind leg. The mighty beast is now completely helpless and at the mercy of its attackers. If the blows are strong enough, the large arteries are also severed and the animal dies of bleeding, often only after a long time, but without any particular pain. If guns are at hand, the defeated giant is given the coup de grace and hours of industrious work begin for the hunters. The tusks are broken off and the skin is peeled off in individual pieces, it is very valuable for making shields, scabbards and for tying together the primitive ploughs. The meat is usually left for vultures and predators, but when the nomad camps are nearby, the whole population goes to the battlefield to recover the meat, which, cut into strips and sun-dried, resembles South American charqui , a valued reserve for the rainy season.

For Europeans, even the hunt for large game has lost all terror. In the far north, they face the polar bear, which was once so feared, with the greatest calm and regards it no differently than they regard the musk ox, which provides food for the kitchen; in Africa he gets within a few paces of the elephant or lion and is able to photograph these kings of the wild before he finishes them off. The struggle of the natives against the largest living creature is different. The hunter's weapons are much more primitive than the powerful weapons wielded by the elephant. This hunt, which resembles a hand-to-hand fight, places great demands on the presence of mind, agility and courage of the attackers. If a horse falls, something that is all too easy in the parched, rutted ground cracked by the heat of the sun, either the man or the horse is doomed. Only the determination of his comrades attacking the elephant together can save a fallen hunter. The Sudanese maintain that no professional elephant hunter dies surrounded by his family, but that sooner or later they all end up under the tusks and feet of a hunted elephant.

The rhinoceros and buffalo are hunted in a similar way to the elephant. The giraffe, antelope, and ostrich are chased to the point of exhaustion, a difficult task for man and horse because of the swiftness of those animals. Even the lion, the arch-enemy of man’s herds of cattle, is boldly attacked by the Hamran hunter with his sword.

The line of hunters could be traced much further, down to the Bedouins, skilled ostrich hunters who play guest roles in the Sudan, or to the great European sportsmen who ply the wholesale hunting business. But the main point here is not just the hunt, still less mass slaughter, but the capture that delivers the animals alive into the hands of the hunter.

Morning awakening at Atbara. A light wind ripples the grassy steppe, and the trees stand glistening in the bright light of the rising African sun. Countless swarms of birds clamour in the thicket along the bank, from the gigantic marabou to the little swallow darting across the water surface. In the far distance the ungainly head of a saurian rises out of the water - or is it just a sandbank? Already the heat is rising and myriads of buzzing insects fill the air. It also comes alive in our station, which is not far from the riverbank. In the wide Seriba, which is surrounded by an enclosure made of tree trunks and whose only exit is blocked by a tangle of thorns, rise the straw huts of Europeans and their black servants, stables for captured animals and some storage sheds.

The fires that are kept burning overnight in various places on the Seriba to deter predators have long since been extinguished and the daytime arrives - the working day. Yesterday, when Hagenbeck's hunters arrived, it was all delight and joy. Old friends were greeted by white people, who spoke the local language, and gifts were exchanged in the customary manner. Rich gifts in the form of fat sheep, hens, eggs, honey, Durrha flour, great pots of Merissa and Assaliee, that is Durrha-beer and mead, poured into the camp of the white men, who in their turn were not stingy, and gifted their dark friends a multitude of highly valued European items. Then was a big celebration and welcome party on the station. First a feast, during which most of the edible gifts are eaten by the donors themselves. Then war dances by the menfolk, who carry out mock battles to the accompaniment of drums and shouts with dances, swords and shields, group dances of graceful women and girls to clapping hands, the monotonous sound of drums and howls of applause. A race on nimble riding dromedaries and hunting horses forms the piece de resistance. But people dance and cheer by the glow of the campfire until late at night.

The reception ceremonies are over. Today it’s all about "business." Slaves prepare the morning meal in the open air and the animals are not forgotten either. A lively existence unfolds. Acquaintances, natives, flock in from time to time, some out of sheer curiosity, others offering their services as hunters and asking for hunting horses. Hunting platoons are discussed, the hunters are given directives, equipped and sent out. The hunters are gripped by hunting fever, they don't wait a moment, they hurry back to their home village and put the finishing touches on their equipment. The saddle pads are freshly padded, and the heavy swords sharpened, while slaves fill provision bags with Durrha flour. When the hunting party goes out, they are followed by camels laden with water and provisions, and a herd of goats that are supposed to provide milk for the captured animals.

The main way in which the sword hunters catch the younger animals is by chasing the herds until the weaker young lag behind from exhaustion and become separated from the herd. They can now be easily seized and tied up. This type of hunting is not dangerous with giraffes and antelopes, and mostly with buffaloes too, since they shamefully abandon their calves. The most sought-after game, young elephants and rhinos, are also the most difficult to hunt. These pachyderms fiercely defend their young, and often the only way to get hold of the young is to kill the old ones. When the mother returns to the cries of her little one and prepares for a life-and-death struggle, her death becomes a sad necessity. This is how the first giraffes were caught in Kordofan in the 1930s, just by being chasing them and cutting them off from the herd. On a large scale, however, that capture was only conducted after Cassanova, already known to the reader, recruited the sword hunters in Taka to help, and through their mediation he received the first captive African elephants. The captured animals receive the utmost care, for this purpose the herds of goats are taken along so that fresh milk is available; but nevertheless a large number of captives perish as a result of the agitation and fear they endure before the station is reached again. On the onward journey, a number of the caught animals are lost and, as a rule, hardly half make it to Europe.

The Takruris are very skilful trappers and catchers. Most of them live in Abyssinia and hunt on horseback and with firearms. However, those living in Sudan are especially trappers and their domain is lower-level hunting. They are excellent at catching leopards, hyenas and large baboons in boxes and traps made of stone, digging up porcupines and aardvarks or outwitting them at night, and especially at netting birds of all kinds in ingeniously worked snares, secretary birds, hornbills, and birds of prey, right down to guinea fowl and francolin fowl. As a result of this versatility, they are among our most valued employees.

A very special position among the hunters is occupied by the Hawati or water hunters, whose game is the hippopotamus and crocodile. All, without exception, are excellent and bold swimmers, who tackle the monsters of the water even in their own element. The weapon of these hunters consists of the harpoon, fixed on a long bamboo shaft, and connected by a long, strong rope to a float of light wood. The hunters usually harpoon their game from land, especially around midday, when the crocodiles are sleeping on the sandbanks and the hippos are swimming in drowsy stupor on the water. The harpooned animal is pulled to the bank by means of the float and killed by stabbing it with a lance - where the firearm is not yet available. Only a very small modification is applied for the catch. The young hippopotamuses are also harpooned and pulled ashore, but the hunters use a specially designed harpoon that does not penetrate deeply, and care is taken that the wound is only slight and will heal quickly. This hunt requires a practiced and skilful hand, but at least three quarters of the hippopotamuses formerly brought to Europe were caught in this way.

What has been said of the capture of the large game also applies in general to the more dangerous of the beasts of prey. Sometimes a young lion or a small leopard that has lost its way falls into the hands of the shepherds on their wanderings. These are just coincidences. As a rule, the old must bite the dust and taste the bitter lead from the hunter's rifle if the young are to be captured.

According to popular belief and jokes, it is enough to simply walk up to the lion in the wild and throw a bag of pepper in its face - after which the animal had to sneeze and you could tie it up in peace. If one wants to catch monkeys, it suffices to put a pair of boots under a tree and then simply place the same boots, smeared with glue on the inside, on the grass. A monkey immediately climbs down from the tree and [copying you,] puts on its boots, sticks to the glue and needs only to be taken home by the hunter.

Of course, monkey-hunting isn’t that easy or funny, although it is precisely monkey-hunting that offers so many interesting things. In one of our most frequented hunting grounds, the banks of the Mareb or Gasch, the large brown baboon, the Atbara baboon (Cynocephalus Doguera) is lord and master, but it is we who are the real lords and masters, luring the baboon out of its troupe and capturing it, and not, as with other game, the young animals, but the leaders of the troupe. The craggy, barren granite rocks scattered in scenic patches across the Nubian lowlands echo with the shrieks and grunts of these baboons, who roam the rocks in troupes of hundreds and more. For food they descend into the dense doum-palm forest lining the banks, or pay very unwelcome visits to the natives’ Durrha plantations.

One of our stations was on the Gash, at the foot of the Sahanei mountains and in close proximity to a rocky outcrop that could be described as a monkey town. Below the rock, the dry bed of the Gash glittered like silver, for the Gash is a rain-stream which only carries water during a few months of the year, in the rainy season, but is merely a vast expanse of dazzling sand for the rest of the year. Here and there in the sand one finds natural waterholes whose hard subsoil has prevented the water from seeping away, as well as artificial watering holes kept open by human hands. Near our camp, the riverbed narrowed to a width of five meters due to a protruding rock ledge, and there were several water-ponds a short distance away, which were used by the monkeys as drinking places. All day long we heard the quarrelling and chattering of the monkeys when they went to drink, and even at night our ears were subjected to this concert. Whole families or, if you like, entire harems, sat crouching on narrow ledges of rock. Mothers lull their babies to slumber with soft grunts and squeaks, and old males growl at the disturbance. Suddenly there will be a screech and the whole herd bursts into mad screams. Most likely the baboons' worst enemy, the stalking leopard, has attempted a raid. During the day one could admire gigantic old males at close range, true splendid specimens full of boldness and self-confidence, and the desire arose to get to know these gentlemen a little better. After all, that's the reason they set up camp here. These four-handed gentlemen, still unfamiliar with Europe's politeness, would not have responded to a friendly invitation, so appropriate means had to be resorted to.

One day our old friend Abdalla Okutt, an ostrich hunter from the semi-wild Basa tribe, appeared on the scene. He came with his family from the isolated mountain range of Bitama, about thirty kilometres from us, and was very welcome in our Seriba, as he suggested that he should first catch a batch of large "Hobeï" (baboons) for us until a nobler game could be found for him. All the hunter used for this purpose was a few branches, a number of ropes, and some help. It goes without saying that our guest was promised a decent "Bakshish" for catching any large males.

Beware, poor monkeys, you cannot escape a master like Abdalla Okutt! The hunter immediately went to work and plugged all the waterholes of the Gasch with thorn bushes - except for one. In this way, the baboons were all forced to use the same watering place, the one our animals were led to. The monkeys accepted our suggestion without any inhibitions, a consequence of our business policy which made it our duty to never disturb or alarm the animals before. They had long since become accustomed to our presence. Now they had lost their shyness to such an extent that they went to the water with our animals and quenched their thirst only 50 paces away from our people. To make the monkeys more secure and familiar, Durrha was regularly sprinkled near the water-hole, which the large males greedily accepted; they did not let any of the smaller or weaker animals approach the precious find.

During this hypocritical friendliness on our part, the trap was set that would first make our guests prisoners and soon make them emigrants. One must not imagine a complicated apparatus under this trap, but must, to a certain extent, reduce one's ideas to a primitive view of the jungle. The trap consists quite simply of a rotunda woven from tree branches, see-through like a cage, with its exterior resembling the conical roof of a native hut. First, a wreath about two metres in diameter is braided from tough canes, the foundation. Strong poles are placed in this wreath at intervals of thirty centimetres, which converge at the top and are firmly bound together. The whole cone is tied together with thin twigs and cords twisted from baobab bark, forming a quite solid and weighty cage. At any rate, our people had to do a lot of hauling to get such a trap from where it was built to the trapping point, the watering place in the Gasch. Setting up the trap is also very primitive. You just put it down, but lift up one side and support it with a strong stick driven into the sand. At first, however, it is not about the actual catch, but is further hypocrisy. One no longer scatters the daily portions of Durrha on the sand, but places them inside the trap. Only when the animals went into the rotunda and calmly took their food there did Master Abdalla become serious.

In the dark of night, a long rope is attached to the stick that holds the trap open; the rope is hidden in the sand and leads to a hidden place that allows a view of the trapping apparatus. And now comes the tragedy. The midday sun burns hotly and a troop of thirsty baboons rushes cackling to the usual drinking place. Some of the strongest males, who have already secured a monopoly, rush into the rotunda and feast on the spread. The hunter watches everything and waits for the most opportune moment – then a tug on the rope, the trap falls, and three great monkeys are caught. The scene that follows is hilarious, almost dramatic, and defies all description. For a moment those taken by surprise sit as if frozen, terror glows in their eyes, then they look in all directions for a way out and spin round like so many tops. The troupe outside, no less surprised, first fled in terror, now they return, gather nearby and, with deafening grunts and screams, they encourage the prisoners to try their utmost. The bravest leap close to the trap and engage in excited dialogue with the captives. They are probably conferring on the possibilities of rescue. It must be something like that for American Professor Garner, who has been at work for years to construct a monkey language with more imagination than science. But of course, the hunters don't even try to hide themselves; once the trap is closed, they rush out from their hiding place to prevent the captives, who have great physical strength, from breaking through the netting. The animals attempt this immediately after coming to their senses. When the hunters approach, the prisoners’ fear increases, and they swing themselves up on the wooden sticks and literally try to bang their heads through the wall.

As you can imagine, this is where the most difficult and dangerous part of the business begins: releasing the prisoners from the trap. The hunters equip themselves with a long, forked pole each, the "Scheba". These fork rods play the role of lassos. One pushes them through the wickerwork and tries to grasp an animal's neck with a fork. If this is successful and every monkey is pressed to the ground with a Scheba, then the cage is lifted and the prisoners are tied up. This is done in a very thorough way. The mouth is tightly bound with strong ropes braided from doum palm fibres, then the hands and feet are tied and the whole body is wrapped tightly in a cloth for safety's sake, so that the prisoner finally looks like a sausage prepared for smoking. The package is hung on a pole and carried triumphantly to the station by two people.

These big monkeys have strong constitutions - no wonder, they don't smoke, drink or work and they always live in a summer resort. After brief, but total, exhaustion, the animals recover so completely after a few days of rest that their innate impudence regains the upper hand. The angrily jump at anyone who approaches the cage from a distance. The big males, stripped of their pasha status, must be kept in solitary confinement, for they are imperious and quarrelsome, and if they are given company, there is a bitter struggle and companionship ends with the death of the weaker animal. Even females given for companionship would die, but of hunger, because the ungallant male takes all the food for himself. This jealousy of food, which is very pronounced in baboons, is the reason why the strongest males are usually caught, they simply don't allow any of their subordinates get close to the bait. At best, such a pasha gives his favourite permission to follow him into the trap and shyly pick up a few chunks. Females and baby monkeys caught in this way are usually released.

Menges, who has directed many such monkey stations and whose reports I am following, makes a very interesting remark about baboons. He concludes that their intelligence cannot be great, based on the following fact. It should hardly ever happen that an animal which got trapped and luckily escaped would fall into the same trap a second time, especially when it is set up as conspicuously as the monkey trap described. However, there is no doubt that younger monkeys have been repeatedly caught in the same trap. A young female, with the 'distinguishing mark' of a severe scar on her nose, was caught three times, each time in the company of a different master, of course. The hunters finally welcomed the "sitt" (woman) as an old acquaintance. At the third encounter, Master Abdalla lost all his manly gallantry, gave the lady a lesson with the hippopotamus whip, and dismissed her with a stern warning. I do not know whether one can reasonably conclude from this incident that baboons lack intelligence. In any case, the young female was a very desirable specimen of her clan as she was widowed twice and another pasha immediately chose her as his consort. She had to follow him, anyone who has observed monkeys knows how slavishly submissive female monkeys are to their strict masters, and not without reason. Disobedience is severely punished. If the master went into the trap and invited his favourite to follow him, there was no way out.

Even if the capture of the big baboons has its comic side, for the catchers it is by no means funny or without danger. Unless cornered, even the strongest male baboon hardly attacks anyone, but dealing with freshly caught animals is fraught with danger. Their mighty teeth rival those of the leopard and they have formidable physical strength. Serious injuries to the catchers are the order of the day. If a monkey manages to free itself from its bonds, then it can't get away without someone being bitten. Abdalla is a son of the half-wild Basaz tribe, who don't much worry about the danger, since baboon is a large part on their menu.

The station fills up with four-handed guests. In eight days, twenty-two big males will march in, all from the monkey town above the camp. They soon get used to being in captivity, having accepted the food from the beginning. They also receive visitors, for their companions out in the wild have not forgotten the prisoners. After the midday drink, whole flocks of baboons go to the Seriba, mount the doum palms surrounding them, and call out unintelligible words to our prisoners, who respond with wails. A true monkey tragedy. In the end, the entertainment always degenerates into an ear-splitting concert. One day a particularly courageous one jumped over the thorn barrier into the camp and rushed towards a cage in which perhaps his brother or his father, perhaps his uncle was sitting, but our servants quickly chased the intruder out while the "spectators" outside howled in anger from the trees at this rudeness.

However, the scene of the monkey-hunt sometimes turns into a battlefield, especially when it is an expedition against the great silver-grey Hamadryas. This species is very aggressive and, since it occurs in enormous troupes, is also very dangerous. Ernst Wache, one of my younger travellers, tells of a Hamadryas battle in Abyssinia, in which nearly 3000 monkeys took part. There is something terrifying about the way these animals initiate combat. They ruffle their mane, bare their mighty teeth and bang their hands angrily on the ground. They come within a few feet of the opponent and challenge him to a duel.

The capture of these animals does not differ much from that described. Here, too, the trap is set up near the drinking place and provided with food. The trap is erected with sticks firmly planted in the ground, and these sticks are tightly interwoven with thorny branches of mimosa. This construction, which is either round or oval and measures six meters in length and four meters in width, is equipped with a trapdoor on each side, the cord of which passes over the gate to the hunter's hiding place. This two-door system has its specific purpose. The great armies of monkeys that roam between the rocks break up into separate clans, each with its own leader monkey. When a troupe of hamadryas approaches the trap, the lead monkey does not enter, but stands guard at the door until the favourite females and young have eaten. As soon as a leader monkey puts himself in the trap, he will be replaced by another. But the back door is open and unguarded, and so many monkeys sneak in through it that the trap fills up quickly. Suddenly a hoarse scream breaks out of a thousand throats and a tumult ensues - the trapdoors have closed.

It was on one such occasion, Wache recounts, that an army of 3,000 Hamadryas rushed at the few hunters who defended themselves with guns and clubs and, despite all their bravery, the hunters were repulsed and had to give way to superior numbers. The victorious monkeys held the field, opened the trap, and released all the captives. Truly touching scenes could be observed in the tumult of the battle. A small monkey, stunned by a blow from a club, was rescued by a large male and carried boldly through the enemy into the bush. A mother, already carrying an infant on her back, picked up a second baby whose mother had been shot. Strictness is just as great as the love that prevails in the monkey population. The lead monkeys, as educators of the troupe, act with cruel ruthlessness and mistreat their subordinates with downright sadistic fury.

It is rare that the hunters are defeated. If the trap is closed, the fate of the prisoners is sealed. The old large males are shot dead, the rest are pulled out with effort and difficulty. It does them no good to cling to the walls, they are brought down and have to crawl into a second collapsible cage, which is placed in front of the trap after cutting a hole in it. The natives try control the monkeys by hunting them down. The troupes are followed when they descend to the plains to plunder the Durrha Fields near the villages. During the pursuit, the younger animals and mothers carrying babies on their backs tire easily and fall behind the herd, becoming prey for the hunters.

Back to the Seriba on the Atbara. The day of departure for this year is approaching. Stables and yard are filled with captured animals. If many of the prisoners were not shut up in crates and boxes, the place would be like a little paradise. Chained to trees you can see young elephants and hippos, giraffes and young buffalo. Lion kittens are playing in the grass and a red guenon monkey jumps gracefully over them. Pigs grunt in primitive wooden boxes, leopards hiss, monkeys cackle and birds sing out. Ostriches strut solemnly through the courtyard. Anything that is not exhausted from the hardships of being hunted soon gets used to being in captivity, and only our black friends are depressed because the Hagenbeck people are saying goodbye this time.

Finally, everything is ready for departure and an even more difficult part of the hunt begins, namely the transport from the interior station to the Red Sea port of embarkation. The transport of captured animals through the wilderness requires immense effort and care if the journey is to go well and result in the delivery of healthy animals to Europe. It's a formal campaign. Every strategy must be deployed to safely escort the train of 150 creatures and more than 100 loaded dromedaries, not to mention the captured animals, through the arid steppes and barren desert areas.

The moon has risen and shines down on the desert's frozen sea of sand. There is a silver flicker on the dune crests, dark shadows gape at their feet. Loneliness all around. From far away there are hoarse, uncanny sounds- the laughter of a hyena. Like a snake, our caravan winds its way up and down over the wide sand dunes. With swaying steps the dromedaries walk one behind the other. Marching in-between is a fantastic sight: ostriches, giraffes, elephants and buffaloes. Strange shadows move beside the Caravan across the bright, glittering sand. In these regions night is man's friend. The area around the Red Sea has always been notorious for its heat. In summer the thermometer stays almost constantly at 45 degrees Celsius in the shade, and there is hardly any noticeable cooling at night, but at least the sun is not in the sky; during the day it mercilessly burns the parched land and the bare, rocky mountains. The worst enemies that stand in the way of the march are therefore the high temperature and the lack of water. One seeks to meet the first danger by night marches, the second by careful precautions.

Shortly before sunset, the caravan sets off and everyone goes to their assigned place. The large animals are led by servants, a giraffe by three people, an elephant by two to four, an antelope by two and a large ostrich also by two men. Smaller animals - young lions, leopards, monkeys, pigs, and birds - are in primitive cages made where they were caught, two or three of which are carried by a dromedary. In the middle of the procession, a group of dromedaries moves clumsily, one pair of which is always coupled together. Between the two animals hangs a mighty box made of sticks and knotted with rawhide straps - a cage containing a young hippo. Two strong poles are placed over the pack saddles of the two dromedaries and the cage hangs from these, weighing at least 300 kilos with its occupants. For each of these noble travellers 6 - 8 more dromedaries are needed, they form his special servants and carry the water, which such a hippo needs continuously on the journey. Also, for the bath, which is prepared for the animal in a tub made of tanned ox skins, tied together, every day during the rest period. Entire herds of goats and sheep, numbering in the hundreds, accompany the caravan. The mother goats provide fresh milk for all the baby animals that are in transit, the rest of the animals are slaughtered for food for our carnivores. The whole thing resembles a gigantic, wandering household. The many people on the camel train must also be satisfied; they receive a certain ration of Durrha flour daily, which was ground by the slave women long before the caravan set off, and they also receive fresh meat in the form of sheep and young oxen, which are traded from the nomads encountered along the way. On rest days, the hunt is also keenly pursued in order to supplement the camp provisions. But the main thing remains the water, on the availability of which all life depends.

The caravan moves as fast as the different gaits of the animals will allow. We march for a few hours, then rest, the animals are fed and watered, then we continue until morning. An hour after sunrise the whole caravan seeks rest in the meagre shade of mimosas or acacias, or under the artificial protection of stretched mats, which of course do little against the scorching sunlight. Watering places in the desert are few and far between, and when they are reached, which is always accompanied by granting a special day of rest, it is often difficult to take possession of them. Nomad tribes have already occupied the place with their herds, a quarrel develops, and the wild sons of the desert are already taking up weapons when the leader of the caravan settles the matter with a "Bakshish". There are distances of 100 kilometres between these watering places, and since such distances take 3-4 days when marching with captured animals, large quantities of water in bladders made of goatskin and ox-skin have to be carried along. The precious liquid that is taken from these water holes hardly looks like real water, it is a terrible broth, and yet all our lives depend on it. No fewer than 30-40 dromedaries are busy carrying water for the caravan or bringing it back from ahead.

Despite the thorough care, many animals perish during transport. The dreadful heat which prevails in midsummer in the southern part of the Red Sea kills even those animals which are native to those regions and live, as it were, without shelter. Strong male baboons are affected by heat stroke and are beyond help and die after half an hour. Certainly, however, the animals are already disposed to all manner of weaknesses on the journey. The fear they endured during the hunt and capture may still be in their system, perhaps being caged and the unfamiliar nature of the transport puts them in permanent state of agitation. Occasionally, worry over everyone’s well-being is interrupted by a cheerful interlude. Such an interlude happened one day while crossing a northern Abyssinian valley. When the caravan stopped at a watering place just before sunset, they met a large troupe of Hamadryas baboons. The barking and grunting of these animals attracted the attention of our captive baboons, who soon made themselves by making grunting calls from their boxes carried by dromedaries. The Hamadryas baboons then approached their captured comrades without hesitation and did not vanish even when the caravan continued its march. For at least half an hour the troupe, moving on either side of the mountainsides, kept pace with us, and talked uninterruptedly with their captive brethren. Now and then a bold Achilles or Aeneas would jump to within 20 paces of the cages, stand on a block of stone and make an angry speech - perhaps telling the prisoners to break their boxes - but these bold heroes of freedom soon had to give way to the stones thrown by our camel drivers. And as night fell, they disappeared among the rocks.

Finally, after a tiring journey of 35 - 40 days, the caravan, or what is left of it, reaches the Red Sea port. The motley crowd sets up camp at the fountains outside the city and waits until one of the steamers that periodically call at the square appears and takes the whole party to Suez. In Suez, the animals are transferred to one of the steamers coming from India or East Asia, or it is possible and the entire, extensive collection of animals may be taken by rail to Alexandria and loaded there bound for a Mediterranean port such as Trieste, Genoa or Marseille. Only after further train journeys of indefinite duration, up about nine days to Hamburg, do the animals and their guides finally come to rest. Almost three months will have passed since they left the camp on the Atbara or Gasch before the emigrants from the African jungle can return to "sanitary conditions".

In our animal paradise in Sudan, a lot has changed since the Mahdi closed it to us for a long time. When Lord Kitchener appeared before Omdurman with his victorious troops, the caliph's dull war drum was still pounding within the city. He did not wait for the victor to come but fled and lived for a while as a robber chief in the mountains of Kordofan before falling in battle. Among those who entered Omdurman in Kitchener's entourage was Slatin Pasha, the courageous Austrian who had been a prisoner of the caliph for ten years. As a slave, with a shaved head and bare feet, this former governor of a province had had to walk beside the tyrant's horse for ten years. Just as it came into being, like a fata morgana, the Mahdi's empire has passed away again - a piece of medieval romanticism in the middle of our time, a romanticism unfortunately that has literally depopulated the Sudan.

Orderly conditions slowly returned under the Egyptian-English regime. In the areas we are considering, however, much has sadly changed. The rich stock of game that I described has shrunk miserably; today you can no longer find a tenth of the game that the country contained thirty years ago. The elephant can only be found in small groups, the rhinoceros has been almost completely wiped out, the giraffe has become a rare animal north of the Takassieh, the antelopes that used to be so numerous have disappeared from many areas, and the buffalo has fallen victim to cattle plague in their thousands.

The Mahdist wars are directly and indirectly to blame for this sad devastation of the animal population. With the destruction of Egyptian rule in the Sudan, the native tribes came into possession of thousands of modern breech-loaders, which were also used for hunting whwnever the incessant wars and feuds allowed. However, this alone could not have caused such a sharp decline in the wild population. While the Mahdi's treasury was filled to bursting point, the population of his empire was being decimated by famine. When the Mahdi's troops found nothing left to plunder in the stripped Sudan and seemed doomed to starvation themselves, they turned on the game and a bitter fight for meat began. Whole armies, especially the Baggara Arabs of the White Nile, who are as famous hunters as the sword hunters of East Sudan, set up camp in our hunting grounds and massacred the game. The border neighbours of the Sudanese, the Abyssinians, who suffered the same fate, lived in the same way and, as capable businessmen, they especially pursued the elephant, which in addition to its meat also gave them valuable ivory. The prince of the border province of Ermecho shot 56 elephants in a single day with his troops, who organized a veritable roundup. It was a regular battle, with casualties on both sides, for twenty Abyssinian warriors also fell on the battlefield, almost all of them having been killed by the stray bullets of their comrades.

In Abyssinia, where human resources do not seem to matter and where all wild animals are regarded as imperial property, hunting is generally practiced on a large scale. A typical picture of this is the zebra hunt, which one of my travellers took part in on my behalf, since the animals to be captured were intended for us. There were no fewer than about 2,000 soldiers with their leaders who acted as beaters. An immense tract of land, the base of which was a dried-up riverbed, was first surrounded and more and more closely enclosed, so that the animals were forced to approach the riverbed. From the high rocky banks, they plunged without hesitation into the sandy river course, from which there was no escape, for the opposite banks were made of sheer cliffs, while sentries were posted to the right and left of the river's course. After the animals were thus enclosed, a truly barbaric spectacle ensued. At a sign from their leaders, the soldiers, well over 1,000 men, armed with ropes, threw themselves into the midst of the angry thrashing zebras, which were overcome after a few hours by the superior numbers - but only after 33 people had been killed or seriously injured. The animals were tied up and led away with ropes attached to all four legs. As imperial property, the zebras were simply led into the natives' huts, which, moreover, were readily commandeered by the soldiers for service. In the huts, the animals were tied by all four legs, and in a few days, they had calmed down enough to be led away without great safety precautions. This is the wonderful Grevy's zebra, which has an excellent character and can easily be made into a pet if treated properly. Since it also has a tough, competitive nature, it has a great future in civilised countries. The Kilimanjaro zebra is much wilder and more difficult to tame and its stubborn nature is more reminiscent of the donkey.

In the Sudan we found not only the game, but also our friends and helpers, the native tribes, in completely different conditions. Some, of course, have disappeared entirely or been reduced to a mere remnant. Wars, famine, smallpox and cholera have raged in such a way that when Mahdia fell in 1908, little more than 10 percent of the original population was left. The famously proud tribe of the Hamran, which produced the best sword hunters, had dwindled down to 20 people, none of the sword hunters remained at all, so that this bold, chivalrous style of hunting is known to the new generation only through the tales of the old people. The water hunters or Hawati are also a thing of the past. In general, hunting is now carried out with rifles, and even if the manner of hunting has generally remained the same, namely by chasing the young away from the old, it is clear that the old animals fall victim to the long-range bullet in much greater numbers, than they did earlier to more primitive weapons.

In addition to chasing off the young, traps and pitfalls are the rule when catching animals, after one has observed the animals’ usual trails. The hippo, for example, helps the hunters by its habit of letting its young go before it. The purpose of this measure is obvious: from behind, the animal is protected by its own thick skin and in front it has a view of any danger that might threaten the young. A pit is dug along the trail that you have scouted and is well covered by branches. The mother hippo loves her offspring as much as any other mother; but if it suddenly disappears before her eyes in the jungle, without any warning of danger, she gets such a fright that she abandons her offspring and runs away. If all goes well, the prey is now safe for the hunter. Once, after the successful capture of a young animal, the natives came towards our hunter beaming with joy and shouted the message to him jubilantly: "Bana kiboko makufa!" (The hippopotamus is dead), for it had collapsed from the agitation, to which the hunter had no choice but to reply, "Nakula kiboko!" (Eat it.) This was the permission the natives had expected, and hence their joy at the death of the quarry. Sometimes, when the animal has to be left in the pit overnight, Simba the lion gets involved, so that the next morning there is nothing left in the pit but skin and bones.

However, if all goes well, a palisade is hastily built around the pit and a noose is passed over it between the front leg and the chest of the young animal. Hippos sweat a slippery fluid when aroused, so the sling must be passed between the legs to prevent slipping. When this is managed, the animal is lifted a few inches with the help of at least 20 men, and six other people jump into the pit, tie up hind and front legs and tie the animal's mouth shut. These animals are not to be trifled with; hippos are stupid and vicious, and just as aggressive as they are strong. It is quite different from the rhino, which, once used to its keeper, follows the caravan like a dog. Having secured the hippo in this way, the palisades are broken apart and a slanting passage is dug into the pit. A stretcher is woven from strong sticks and branches, the animal is laid on it and secured from above with woven branches. Now the journey begins through the swamp or jungle to the next river, where a native vehicle is supposed to pick up the prisoner. A track has to be hewn through the bush, and the porters follow this with difficulty. The juvenile, which is perhaps two to three years old, weighs 1,000 to 1,200 pounds and the basket-like stretcher weighs just as much. From the station or any other place, the animal is first acclimatised to captivity and food before being shipped to Europe.

The field of expeditions to foreign countries is so rich in events and experiences that it can only be touched upon. Not only Africa, but all other continents are explored for animals, and possibly for new animal species. The conditions under which such expeditions work are fundamentally different and depend above all on the climate, the country and the population. Boldness is the first requirement for anyone who sends animal-hunting expeditions to distant lands. Sometimes a tour company comes home empty-handed after months of absence. The field of activity was reached, the work was and a valuable animal collection was assembled, but on the journey home everything perished.

A few decades ago, in the quiet of the office, I had chosen a region that was new at the time, Tierra del Fuego, where so many interesting water birds, including various species of penguins, make their home. In ethnographic terms, too, there must be a rich harvest down there. The idea was soon followed by action, and a traveller who was tried and tested in various countries set out. He chose Punta Arenas as his base. Despite all efforts, the experienced man did not succeed in catching the longed-for birds alive. On the other hand, he had assembled a brilliant ethnographic collection. When he returned to Punta Arenas in his sailboat from his tour of various islands, a threatening storm was brewing. The traveller, concerned for his large and valuable collection and ultimately for his life, gave the order to the Spaniard, who was in command of the boat, to land immediately. For whatever reason, whether obstinacy or ignorance of the danger, the Spaniard refused to obey the order, and the traveller could only obtain obedience with revolver in hand. Although he saved his life, he had to abandon the collection. He felt like William Tell at Kussnacht, he could only jump out of the boat onto land, whereupon the vessel drifted out to sea again, not because of the storm, of course, but because the crazy Spaniard wanted it that way. The traveller marched briskly across country across the pampas to reach Punta Arenas, but the town was not even in sight when two horsemen overtook him, from whom he received the sad news that the sailboat had capsized in the bay and the occupants had drowned. The collection, assembled over months at great risk, sacrifice of money and time, was lost. Finally, after another long stay, he managed to collect 28 large king penguins and a larger number of native geese, ducks, swans and other birds. Delighted to at least not return empty-handed, the traveller loaded the entire collection onto the deck of a Kosmos Line steamer. Everything went well as far as Montevideo, but two days after leaving there, a violent storm set in, which, within 24 hours, smashed all of the crates and cases and washed them overboard, with no possibility of rescuing anything.

Some time later, I again sat in my office and counted the results of that expedition to Tierra del Fuego. All I finally got my hands on were seven Maghellan geese, of which only three were worth consideration. The remaining four had broken wings and were worthless. The small expedition ended with a loss of 10,000 marks and a gain of three Maghellan geese. One must admit that these three geese were paid for rather dearly.

This little history of olden times, however, does not really count in relation to the difficulties and costs of the various great expeditions which I have equipped to Siberia and Mongolia.

One of the most interesting of such expeditions was that which was sent to Asia, at the suggestion of my esteemed patron, Sr. His Highness the Duke of Bedford, to attempt to bring live wild horses (Equus Prjwalsky) to Europe. Previous attempts had failed, with one single exception - the well-known animal lover and breeder Falz-Fein had managed to transplant some specimens of this rare animal from the Asian steppe to his Crimean home. At that time, we knew relatively little about the wild horse, and next to nothing about the exact geographical location of the trapping grounds, the habits of the animal and the manner of capture. One of my most reliable travellers, Wilhelm Grieger, was entrusted with the difficult task of finding out what was necessary and later leading the expedition to Mongolia, and he soon left for Russia with plenty of money. He held valuable recommendations and letters of safe conduct, one from the Russian Government, another from the Chinese Ambassador at Berun, and a third, which proved particularly valuable, we owe to the kindness of Prince Alexander of Oldenburg . This letter of safe conduct contained a warm recommendation from Grieger to a highly respected Buddhist lama then living in St. Petersburg, Dr. Radmai, who was a great connoisseur of the land and people of Mongolia.

First, however, Grieger was to accompany a delivery of animals to Mr. Fals-Fein in Ascania Nova in southern Russia, because the main task was to determine where to look for the wild horses. However, the animal lover in the Crimea, who was rightly jealous of his treasures, did not come out with the desired news, and it was only in a roundabout way that the traveller managed to find out that the wild horse trapping grounds were to be found near Kobdo, below the northern slopes of the Altai Mountains. This was a long journey, through all of Russia, western Siberia and Chinese Mongolia.

Having acquired this geographic pointer, Grieger happily travelled to St. Petersburg in order to start the journey to the wild horse trapping region from there. But the company encountered a new obstacle, which would take several weeks to clear. Dr Radmai, the Buddhist lama, with whom Grieger discussed the undertaking, turned out to be a real source of knowledge; he provided valuable information about the land and people of the Altai region and, above all, drew the traveller's attention to the fact that one could not travel there with the currency that is common in Europe. The currency is mainly a certain type of silver bullion, which must have been produced in the North German refinery in Hamburg, because the natives prefer this white Hamburg silver, as they call it, to the darker English silver. In addition, you pay there with pressed bricks of tea, which in turn, can only be exchanged on site.

It is a very special Chinese tea that is compressed into bricks when fresh, complete with branches and leaves. Twenty-seven tablets of this tea make a tunse, and three tunse make up a camel load of about 450 - 500 pounds. At the time of the uprising, such a tablet cost one ruble.

Woven woollen ribbons, the well-known kata, serve as small change, as cash, which are used on every occasion as a gift without having any practical value. These bands tend to be about a meter long, two inches wide, and solid blue or red; yellow ribbons are only half the value. Small silk cloths are also used as a kind of token, which have a purchase value of twenty to forty kopecks.

The Hamburg silver bars comprise large, flat pieces, weighing about eleven pounds, which the Mongols heat and then pound into small pieces, which are weighed out on a peculiar brass scale, to convert it into money. It is essential that the traveller in those regions be equipped with these two most important articles of exchange, silver bars and tea bricks, for the Mongolian nomads only accept in payment what they are short of. The well-informed Mongolian doctor even offered to equip a caravan to Kobdo himself for a fee of 15,000 rubles, but Grieger refused this, and instead ordered the necessary silver bars from Hamburg and, after a few weeks, when the shipment to St. Petersburg began, he began his long journey full of hope.

However, it was not, as the reader might suspect, by chance that the journey began in winter. And it was a true Russian winter, which had already covered town and country in the deepest snow, when the traveller left Petersburg, accompanied by a single assistant whom he had brought with him from Hamburg. The expedition had to be on the spot in early spring, when the young foals they wanted to catch were born, and they had to have left those inhospitable regions with the young animals before the onset of early winter. The Mongolian summer also places tough demands on a traveller. It tends to start in May but has the disadvantage of large temperature fluctuations throughout its duration. It is not uncommon for water to freeze at night after an average daily temperature of about twenty-two degrees in the shade on the Reaumur scale. Nevertheless, this summer brings its nuisances with it early on and makes life difficult for the traveller, who must then worry about his horses. For most of June, the banks of the Kobdo River are covered in billions of tiny mosquitoes. These sit in dense flocks on the drinking horses and prefer attack the tender skin of the stomach and genitals. A horse that has been exposed to this mass attack for half an hour is almost always done for. It succumbs to blood loss and inflammation.
[The Reaumur, or octogesimal, scale is a temperature scale on which the melting and boiling points of water are 0 and 80 degrees Reaumur respectively. The scale is named for René Antoine Ferchault de Réaumur, who first proposed a similar scale in 1730 ]

First, we must take the Siberian railway via Moscow to the Ob, from the Ob a sledge about 250 versts to Biesk, a place about 75 versts east of the Altai. Up to this point, it is still possible to get meagre food at stations that were far apart from each other, to add variety to the consumption of the canned food you take with you. The hardships of the journey are only now beginning in earnest. Guides and mounts are hired by native tribes to carry the travellers to the interior with their luggage, their foldable tents, their cases of food, and most importantly, money. Partly on horseback, partly on camels, but always in the saddle, they cover about 900 versts in deep snow and in severe cold via Kashagach to Kobdo. The sterilized milk, taken in fifty crates as the first food for the captured wild soles, arrive naturally frozen in a cold of up to thirty-eight degrees Reaumur below zero.
[1 verst = 3,500 feet]

It is true that Kobdo was, so to speak, the base of operations, the base camp and resting place for all further expeditions - but what could this distant pocket offer! Kobdo is not only a city by name - it has about 1,500 inhabitants – it even has a Chinese fortress and seat of the governor. It is at the end of the great caravan route from Beijing, which the camel caravans reach from there in 2 1/2 months! Next to the governor's palace (!), the most important building is the prison, in which the unfortunate victims of the cruel Chinese justice system rot alive with chains around their necks. Around three quarters of the population is made up of Sardens, a Mohammedan-Tatar tribe from Turkestan; the rest are Chinese merchants who deal in Mongolian articles.

Finally, they reached the valleys of the Altai chain, where the wild horses actually live, and Grieger made himself at home, filling the time during the foaling period with studying the natives, recruiting assistants and hunting.

The landscape on the banks of the Zedzik-Noor, bounded by the Altai in the south, is not exactly sparsely populated, but rather is populated by various nomadic Mongolian tribes, each of whom obeys a tribal chief or prince. Grieger found a friendly reception among these tribes. Admittedly, the days he spent in his dwelling were not pleasant at first. His dwelling consisted of a tent erected in the snow, affording little shelter from the severe cold; even blankets and furs proved insufficient when one day the thermometer dropped to thirty-eight degrees Reaumur. Fire was not available. The only fuel these nomads use for fuel is dried cattle dung, which is very scarce at times.

They prefer to take the excrement of horses and stack it loosely. They grind a piece of it into fine powder in their hands and set it on fire with steel and tinder. When the wind blows, the Mongols leave it to the wind to stir up flames in the glowing mass. Otherwise, he sits in front of it and patiently blows and puffs into it until fire erupts. The travellers had no shortage of food, however, although there was little variety. For four months the food was almost exclusively mutton, which was always available of course. Like the natives, the also drank tsamba, a mixture of tea, butter and salt, highly valued as a national drink in Mongolia and Tibet right up to the Chinese border.

The Mongolian woman pours the tea, which had previously been pounded in a wooden mortar, into boiling water and at the same time mixes in salt and butter made from sheep's or goat's milk. Boiled milk is then added, then salt again, and finally the whole mixture is boiled again. One can become more accustomed to the taste of this drink, so painstakingly and patiently produced, than the way in which the Mongols often offer it to their guests. Before filling the drinking bowl, he looks at it, but is not embarrassed if he finds it dirty. He then spits in, rubs if necessary with the greasy corner of his coat and then fills the thus cleaned vessel. A second favourite drink of the Mongols is arka, a brandy made from the residue of evaporated milk.

The Mongols, being tough sons of nature, are not particularly choosy when it comes to their choice of food. Healthy cattle are only slaughtered when they are in need, only animals that have become weak and sick are killed, and the corpses of fallen cattle are not scorned. Except for what is forbidden for religious reasons, absolutely everything is considered suitable for eating. The intestines of the animals, after you have pulled them through your fingers and emptied their contents, simply go into the cooking pot. The traveller observed strange customs among these nomads. They simply throw their dead out into the steppe and irreverently leave them in the hands of dogs, crows, and vultures, who immediately pounce on the corpses.

Farming is not practiced here. The Mongolians of these regions devote all their work to animal husbandry. Everyone is mounted and armed with older system rifles, from flintlock to percussion shotguns. Men and women wear trousers and high boots. The trousers are usually made of blue canvas, the wide soles of the boots are made of layers of canvas that are sewn together to a thickness of two centimetres. The Mongolian’s greatest pleasure is tobacco, and that is his first request. That is why he attaches great importance to the fittings of his pipes and judges the status of the owner by his pipe. The pipe, a straight wooden stick about a foot long, is adorned with a mouthpiece made of an agate-like stone. The larger and more refined this mouthpiece, the richer and more distinguished the owner.

The area between Kobdo and the Kara-Ussu (Black Water Lake) is an ancient volcanic area. The plateau, covered by short steppe grass, is interspersed with evenly shaped, conically cut mountain peaks and only in the valley gorges is there beautiful and strong tree growth.

The Mongolian is very hospitable but not very talkative. The form of repetition of the idioms used in the non-speech is characteristic of his conversation. A conversation starts something like this:

Mongolian: "Mendi." (God be with you.)
Traveller: "Mendi."
Mongolian: "Malzuruck mendi baina?" (Is your whole estate, home and yard, healthy?)
Traveller: "Mendi baina."
Mongolian: "Tana del chabana?" (What are you doing here?)
Traveller: "Manna chuduludu gores." (I buy game here.)

Each Mongolian tent is guarded by a flock of very vicious jackal-like dogs. But the owner quickly and kindly shoos the yelpers away from the newcomer and takes the horse from him. The animal is immediately tied by three feet and led out to pasture. The guest enters the common tent, and day or night, the Mongolian woman immediately does for him what her simple household effects enable her to do, above all she prepares tea and a bed for the stranger.

When early spring came, and the snow melted and the rivers thawed, Grieger was able to freshen up his kitchen a bit. The Zedzik-Noor was literally full of trout, and of a large, tasty kind. They swam so densely in the flowing water that one could have scooped them out. The traveller turned to fishing, and in a single afternoon he caught a hundred fish, which he boiled, fried, and attempted to smoke. The smokehouse failed on the first attempt; the fish fell into the fire and only their heads stayed on the poles. But if at first you don’t succeed . . . The second time, he found the trick of cooking the previously salted fish using moderate smoke. The natives watched these events with horror and disgust; they do not enjoy fish, which, in their natural history, are assigned to the snake tribe and are considered unclean. That's why the trout had multiplied so enormously, it was always a closed season for them until Grieger came. From the good meat roasted in the traveller's tent, however, the Mongols would have gladly taken a small tribute, and many beggars and loafers gathered in front of the tent. Grieger defended himself in an amusing way. He secretly peppered a morsel of meat and handed it out, resulting in violent spitting and sneezing and a hasty escape. Pepper was unknown to these nomads, and anyone who had tasted the bitingly hot food of the strange European could not be persuaded to accept it a second time. Grieger also dabbled in making sausages, using lungs and livers, which the natives, oddly enough, disdained. Now and then the hunt provided a feast for the table. The large wild sheep, known as Argali, proved extremely tasty, even when they were ten-year-old bucks. Wild onions, found here and there, were considered an exquisite delicacy. In the valleys of Kobdo, Grieger also shot a large collection of birds, including a completely new species of pheasant, hitherto unknown in Europe.

There were also large numbers of mountain or rock chickens, which the natives often find with the help of ravens. Where these strong birds are seen in the sky, local hunters know that there are game birds nearby. During these hunts for the various species of birds, Grieger experienced an appealing demonstration of the good spirit of the Mongols. One morning, as he was riding past some native huts toward the lake shore, his hunting-gun slung over his shoulder, a Mongolian came galloping up behind him, almost begging him not to shoot the females now that it was breeding season. This was not done out of a sense of hunting justice, for the Mongols did not hunt these birds, but out of compassion for the mother birds.

Throughout all of this the, purpose of the expedition was never lost sight of, and when the time for the hunt came,l preparations were made. Grieger had long since made friends with various tribal chiefs and, with their help, assembled a band of hunting assistants near the trapping site. The natives had never thought of catching animals alive, they only knew how to hunt for meat and had to be trained by the expedition leader. Eventually, whole hordes of Mongols gathered around the Hagenbeck people's camp, and when the time for the young foals came, the hunt could begin in earnest.

At first, the animals were watched from a great distance when they came to drink, in order to determine how far and in what number the young foals had been weaned from the mother mares. Since, of course, only the young animals were targeted, the hunt took place, as already reported, at the time of the foaling period in the first half of May. Three subspecies of the animal could be clearly distinguished. One species was found on a large plain to the east of the mountains, bordered on the north and south by the two rivers coming from the Altai, the Kui-Kuius and the Urungu. Both rivers enter a lake in the west. The other species was hunted about 300 kilometers south of Kobdo from a steppe surrounded by mountains, the third was found in a south-easterly direction from a large plateau in the Zedzik-Noor region. All three species showed the same conformation, but differed in colouration, which is not constant in infancy. All of them had wavy body hair, which also extended to the legs. The eye is blackish, the forehead strongly arched. The wild horses are not very numerous in this area either, they are found in small herds of twelve to fifteen individuals.

After the long period of preparation, the catch itself no longer presented any difficulties. The animals have the habit of lying down at the watering place for a few hours. The hordes of Mongols stalk their horses from under cover, and at a given signal the whole company, yelling and shouting, rushes at the reclining herd, which leaps up and gallops in terror across the steppe. You just stand in a big cloud of dust. But out of this cloud of dust individual dots gradually appear in front of the pursuing riders, they are the poor foals, who cannot yet run fast enough and soon, when their strength dwindles, will fall behind the herd. Standing still, their nostrils flared from shock and exhaustion and their flanks heaving, they are now caught with a noose attached to a long pole.

In the camp there are numerous tame Mongolian mother mares with suckling foals; these little creatures must understand that they will be taken away from their mother, because the mothers now have to be employed as wet nurses for the young wild foals. It takes about three or four days for the wildlings to become accustomed to their tame nurse, and the latter to them, but they become accustomed, and after repeated hunts the camp begins to fill. It fills up all too much as the nomads have learned something and are beginning to hunt on their own. Before long there are no less than thirty young wild horses in captivity, when the original order was for only six, and Grieger finds himself greatly embarrassed by this wealth, not knowing whether he can transport the whole catch to Europe. There’s nothing for it but to telegraph home. To accomplish this, he rides across 2,000 kilometres of land, sails four days, reaches the station, waits forty-eight hours for a telegraphic reply to Hamburg, and travels back to Kobdo, where he arrives again after a twenty-day absence. The horses were changed countless times along the way, first in the Mongol camps encountered, then at Russian post-stations.

During the traveller's absence, the Mongols have been industrious, and the stock of young wild horses has grown to fifty-two. The long journey home starts with a giant caravan, which includes not only the captured young animals, but also their wet nurses, as well as the animals for transporting the travellers and their goods, and thirty recruited natives. Deeply concerned for the lives of the young animals, they slowly make their way over mountains and valleys, in rain and sunshine, in heat and cold, towards the next point that is accessible to traffic. In some mountainous areas the temperature is thirteen to twenty degrees during the day, but at night the temperature drops below freezing point. For some of the young animals, the hardships of the journey are too great and despite every care they die along the way. In other respects, too, the march is full of incidents.

Already during the first day all the camels ran away due to the carelessness of the escort and must be laboriously recaptured. The escort was not the best calibre, for after a few weeks the traveller saw there was trouble brewing. True, one day a deputation approached him and declared on behalf of everyone that they want to give up their duties and leave the caravan, that the journey is too far, it is too difficult, and whatever other excuses there were. The money received in advance would be refunded to a certain merchant. In vain, and with all the art of persuasion, the traveller pretended to the people that the shipment is lost if he is deprived of the escort. Finally, after long negotiations, the leaders of the insurrection declare themselves half-willing to continue the service in return for a reasonable increase in wages. . .

At that moment the scene changed. Grieger had scarcely seen that this was nothing but flat blackmail when he grabbed his Kyrgyz whip and began to deliver the required bonus in powerful blows. With this tactic, the waves of indignation quickly calmed down, the ringleaders begged for mercy, and soon the caravan continued peacefully on its march, without a single man having deserted. Before the beginning of September, it reached more southerly areas and the Mongol escort returned home. The transport took a total of eleven months and brought twenty-eight out of the fifty-two wild horses captured alive to Hamburg. Three days after their arrival, they were weaned from their nurses and from then on fed oatmeal, warm bran and yellow carrots. This is how the first wild horses came to Northern Europe.

Of all regions, the vast steppes and forests of Siberia present the greatest difficulties in catching animals, and again and again the question has to be considered how the wild sheep, ibexes, deer, pheasants, tigers, wild donkeys and other representatives of the wildlife can be brought to the supply routes. It must overcome enormous distances, over which there are no actual paths. Provisions for humans and animals must be carried along since human settlements are far apart. Half of the animals usually die during transport. How does the old Tierra del Fuego expedition compare to a trip I equipped a few years ago to the Kobdo region just described? This time I had to bring young specimens of the Argali, or giant wild sheep, to Europe in order to try to cross these foreigners with large domestic sheep and thus breed a giant domestic sheep for agriculture. A failed expedition was followed by a second, which fared the same. Although more than sixty young animals were caught, they lived only a short time, and all died on the voyage of a diarrheal disease. These two unsuccessful expeditions cost around 100,000 marks.

Hunting snakes is the simplest and least dangerous. It's more of a gathering than a hunt. In the great swamps of India, the so-called Sundarbans, the natives, who know exactly where the reptiles are, seek out the snakes early in the morning during the cooler season. Shortly before sunrise the snakes are so frozen by the coolness of the night that they are either caught with long nets or grasped behind the neck with a forked pole and pressed to the ground, whereupon the defenceless animals can be easily captured with some dexterity. During the dry season, the snake districts are also surrounded with nets and the reeds are set on fire. To save themselves, the animals flee in all directions and get caught in the nets that have been set up. In fact, this latter method of capture is not about small species, but about the giant snake. I have often been able to observe traces of fire on snakes delivered to me from Calcutta; some had large burns, which heal very easily in these animals.

The great Bornean boa, Python reticulatus, is said to be stalked by the natives after it has eaten and has become sluggish. The snakes are then entangled in nets which are thrown over them and are transported in woven bamboo baskets. For onward journeys the snakes are placed in large square boxes, which are of course ventilated.

A very special kind of catchers are the Indian snake smellers. These people hunt early in the morning when it is still cool, and besides baskets and ropes, their main hunting tool is their own nose. They know approximately where the hiding places of the snakes are, but determine by smell alone whether the snake is currently in its hole. Mistakes rarely occur, snake smellers rely entirely on their nose. The animal is hastily dug out and, since it is still half frozen from the cold, easily tied up. A number of large species, including spectacled snakes and pythons, are captured this way.

In earlier years, snake tamers were very sought-after people, they performed in every circus and menagerie in Europe and America. The business was also a very lucrative one. At that time, I was importing Indian snakes, I guess you could say wholesale. One day I received 276 specimens, all of the dark species Pythov bivitatus, which sold like hot cakes, mostly to America. The so-called snake tamer is now almost a figure of the past, and snake prices are now so low that there is no profit to be made from importing them.

If I may jump from the hot south to the cold north, catching harbour seals and other seal species is also very tame. The seals usually sleep on sandbanks during the night, which, unfortunately, are made into veritable slaughterhouses. In the dark of night, the hunters sneak up to the sleeping quarters and cordon off one side with long, large nets. As a rule, several boats join forces for such a hunting expedition. While the nets are being set up, a second team goes to the other side of the sandbank and waits for a prearranged signal that the nets are in place. At the signal, the seals are startled and, trying to reach the water, rush straight into the nets. I remember a case where thirty seals were surprised at once in this way, the older ones, twenty in number, perished, the rest, ten young animals, were taken prisoner. The young animals are enclosed in netting bags to prevent them escaping. The fishermen or hunters wear long, heavy boots because the animals have sharp teeth. Difficulties usually arise when the seals are to be removed from the large water tanks, the so-called live fish tanks, which are built into the fishing smacks. You must seize the moment when a seal comes to the surface to breathe, then catch it with a large net or even with a rope noose.

Adult seals, and indeed all seal species, are very difficult to treat in the early stages of their captivity. They are homesick, so to speak, sad and depressed, and long for freedom. In the first eight to fourteen days their grief is so severe that the animals refuse to accept food. Younger animals get used to their changed conditions very quickly, they become trusting like dogs and may be trained to do all sorts of tricks.

So much has already been written about catching elephants in India that I will be very brief. As is well known, the wild elephants are driven into a so-called kraal, which is a wide, fenced-in place in the thicket, and the gate is closed as soon as a herd has entered the kraal. Now it's time to tie up the prisoners. For this purpose, specially trained, adult, male and female elephants, so-called kunkies, are used, each of which carries a rider or kornak. The animals are left alone for two to three days until their initial fury subsides, then the Kornaks ride on their kunkies right in between the wild elephants. A number of ropes are wound around the neck and body of each of the tame elephants, initially so that the kornak can find a foothold in dangerous situations. In addition, each Kunkie comes with a second tame elephant as a reserve, a kind of boxer who regales the wild elephant with jabs to its ribs in case it should attack its tame comrades. The Kornaks hand ropes to their mount, which it grasps with its trunk and throws over the wild elephant. Man and beast work together and soon the prisoner's neck is in a noose. The noose is speedily fastened to a tree, the Kornaks slip from their animals even faster and, while the tame elephants keep the wild ones in check, attach ropes to their feet with monkey-like speed in order to anchor these nooses to the next tree. The trapped animal is now tied up in such a way that it can only move a little. One must not believe that the giant creatures, who were otherwise the kings of their territory and recognized no enemy, calmly endured their shameful bondage. In their desperate efforts to free themselves, the ropes cut deep into the skin. A number of the animals perish, many with deep wounds. I had to treat some Indian elephants that came directly into my animal garden for weeks before their wounds healed.

In addition to this mass capture, individual capture is also practiced, which is very similar to hunting young elephants in Africa. Lean, agile Afghans pursue a herd and sneak up close in the jungle. A sudden cry causes the animals to flee, but the hunters follow quickly, and their dexterity separates the calves from the adults. Some of the hunters keep the herd fleeing with constant pursuit with screams and noise, while others sling an ox-skin noose around a hind leg of the abandoned elephant calf, then quickly tie the rope to a tree and bring the animal down. In this way, elephants from Ceylon are often caught by Afghans.

A high royal official gave me the following information about elephant trapping in Sumatra. Skilled hunters manage to separate the most beautiful, strongest and most splendidly tusked bull from the herd and then drive him into a swamp, where he soon sinks waist-deep in the morass and becomes defenceless. Now tragedy follows. One of the hunters, quite naked, armed only with a dagger about eighteen inches long and a two-foot sabre fastened by a thong around the waist, jumps onto the beast's back from behind, plunges the dagger into its flesh, to make a handhold, holds on to the dagger-handle and thrusts the elephant behind the shoulder blade with his sabre. The animal's fate is sealed, and it bleeds to death. The tusks are broken off and the corpse is allowed to sink into the swamp. This unsportsmanlike but original way of hunting was completely new to me, and I cannot assume that the story is nonsense, since I know the Sumatran official who gave the information to be truthful.

The "Reich Commissioner, the ‘Magazine’ and the Boer" could be the title of the episode that brought me into possession of the noblest and largest game that exists not only in the interior of Africa but, in my opinion, on earth - the eland.

It was some years ago when Dr. Carl Peters, in the interior of Rhodesia, after a long and difficult day's march under the burning South African sun, stopped at a Boer's large farm. The Boer told him about the devastation that tsetse fly and cattle plague had wreaked on his livestock. It struck Dr. Peters on his long forays that most farmers could no longer even think about tilling the fields because they didn't have any draft cattle. This Boer was trying to help himself in his own way. From the inexhaustible wealth of the African animal world some herds survived in these vast lands, though not in the same abundance as fifty years ago when they reached right up to the gates of Cape Town, or herds of many thousands of specimens the covered the steppes in the territory of the Boer Republic, but there were still stocks of several hundred specimens of each species. In the areas I am about to tell you about, kudu, hartebeest, wildebeest, eland and ostrich coexisted peacefully. They also used to graze together, albeit separated into groups of their own species within the larger group, but still sticking together. This Boer had the wise idea of reaching into nature’s well-stocked treasury to make up for the loss he had suffered in his domestic animal population. He told Peters this, and asked him if he would like to see what treasures he intended to start with. Peters wasn't too surprised when the Boer led him to an enclosure in which six mighty and magnificently developed eland were pacing.
"These animals," said the Boer, "I want to drive them now, plough with them, and I'll also try to see if I can use them at a trot in front of my wagon."
"If you succeed," asked Peters, "how much do you think such an animal would then be worth to you?"
The Boer named an amount that was none too small. However, Peters smiled, and the Boer didn't understand his smile. Then Peters took out of his pocket an illustrated English monthly which had been shortening the long evenings in the camp for a few days, and showed him a series of pictures from Carl Hagenbeck's institute in Hamburg.
"This man," he told the Boer, "will pay you more for the animals than they are worth to you now. Will you offer them to him?"

The Boers are all good businessmen, and this Boer was not averse to making easy money. I suddenly received a telegram: "I have 16 eland antelopes, offer them to you for so many thousand marks, wire decision and then acceptance in Rhodesia within six weeks." I was delighted to be able to make this magnificent addition to my animal stock, accepted by telegram, and sent my experienced traveller, Jurgen Johannsen, to Rhodesia. He soon proved to me that I could rely on him; not only did he bring me the 16 specimens I had acquired from the Boer to Hamburg after nine months - I often have to reckon with such long delays before I have my stock of animals in my hands - but he had also procured a large number of these valuable animals. And this is how it happened. He had been told by the Boers and Negroes how these animals were captured, and what he reported about it seems to me well worth repeating. About thirty splendidly mounted horsemen come together. After marches criss-crossing the country for several weeks, the location of a large herd of eland was discovered. The animals were carefully circled in a wide arc, and then the riders suddenly charged them from all sides. In such cases one never aims to catch the adult animals. An adult bull eland weighs approximately 2400 pounds; his strength is enough to throw several horses flat. Who would want to capture such an animal in the wild and transport it? Here too, as is so often the case, it is a question of choosing spring in Africa, which is actually autumn, when the young animals are only a few months old and not yet weaned from their mothers. As soon as the riders attack the herd, the herd begins a furious gallop. Soon the full-grown bulls and the cows that have no calves are out of sight of the riders. No horse could catch up with them. The young creatures also try to flat out for a while, but of course their clumsy long legs and young lungs soon give out. They stand still, completely covered in the sticky sweat of fear, trembling all over and screaming miserably. This is the moment when the rider seizes it, grabbing it by the tail from the saddle and thus causing it to fall. If necessary, the rider should also be able to grab the animal in the same way from the saddle as it is running. Now its hind legs are quickly tied, and the young eland is wrapped tightly in thick, warm blankets. This precautionary measure will seem very superfluous to the ignorant; but this is necessary for the following reason. The stress of being chased, and its life and death flight, completely exhausts the young creature. You can clearly see the hearts of these little creatures beating through their fur and ribs. In this state they need complete protection from any rapid change in temperature, hence the warm blankets. But something else happens, something even more startling. The native hunter, the Boer, now turns out to be a medicine man too. The animal, wrapped in blankets, is given a subcutaneous injection of a drug, the composition of which, unfortunately, my travellers were unable to tell me. I only know that a few minutes after injection a state of sedation sets in and the animal falls into a deep sleep. My guess is that this is morphine or something similar. The reason for this measure is similar to the reason the hunter wraps up the animal. The young creature’s fear of death is so great that in most cases in previous hunts where this medicine was not used, the young elands were in the hunter's possession alive for barely quarter of an hour. They all died of heart attacks. This outcome is now prevented by the injection. Once caught, the sleeping animal is wrapped in the blanket and taken to the camp, where it is laid down in a place that is as quiet and protected as possible. It remains in a stunned sleep for nearly twenty-four hours. In the meantime, the hunter has rounded up the milk cows that have been kept ready for a long time, and when the young eland awakes, the cow, which is to take the place of her mother in future, has its hind legs tied; then the young wildling is taken to the udder. The smell of the wilderness tells the cow that she should not let this calf suckle from her, and she would resist this were she not prevented from doing so by tying her hind legs. After a few days, the cow and the eland calf have become accustomed to each other, and the latter now follows the cow as it did its own mother. Transporting these very young eland antelopes from the interior to the coast would be very difficult, because so many cows would have to be marched with them at the same time. Moreover, a good traveller would not be satisfied with bringing home a few specimens of just one species of animal. For these and other reasons he keeps the young eland in his camp and uses the time during which the animals attain medium growth to continue his trapping expeditions in all directions. After a few months, these first wildlings are mature enough to survive the long march to the coast in good health, and there has been enough time for the leader of the expedition to have possession of a large number of animals, which will mean a valuable addition to my animal population at home. In the accompanying photographs the reader sees the eland antelopes raised in the camp in a long team of six and eight with oxen, mules and zebras together in front of the two-wheeled carts on the march to the coast.

The transportation of wild animals, whether newly caught or born in captivity, is a science which can only be learned through practice. And since it was up to me to actually bring this practice back to life, I also had to learn some expensive lessons. The art of shipping strange animals that all need to be treated individually, the technique of "packaging" that gives the animal air and a certain freedom of movement, the right food that guarantees health - everything is paid for with sacrifices. When transports from North and South, East and West land in Europe, new and different kinds of difficulties begin. The exotic guests are squeezed into railway carriages and shaken around. Leading them from the ship to a stable, from the stable to the railway, loading and unloading them, is fraught with accidents and adversities. I have already explained some of this in the history of the development of the pet trade. Nowadays we have some experience in transportation, even the routes are regulated, but there was a time when, for example, the shipping of an elephant was a kind of fantastical event.

One day in 1864 I received a letter from the old menagerie owner Kreutzberg in France, in which he informed me that he wished to sell his stock of animals. Would I go to Liege, where he would be arriving with his animals in a few days. So, on a beautiful autumn day I travelled to the old Walloon town, met Kreutzberg at the station and drove with him to Chene station, where he had sent his animals. But they weren't yet there, and we had to spend the night in Chene. But at the crack of dawn, we were pounded awake by a menagerie keeper and received the terrible news that one of the animal train's wagons had turned out to be too high in the last tunnel, its roof had hit the tunnel arch and it had collapsed. In this car, an open lorry with a roof, there was an elephant. Luckily this pachyderm had a stolidness corresponding to his thick hide, maybe it was also a philosopher, because when we arrived at the scene of the accident, we saw it standing quite calmly between the rubble, eating a bundle of hay that was thrown to it. It paid no attention to the scratches its skin had suffered. Except for these scratches, no injury was to be discovered on the animal when it was led into a stable in the company of a smaller elephant, about seven feet high. I will briefly say here that Kreutzberg, who had suffered great losses in France, wished to withdraw from the business and that I took his animal property from him. But Kreutzbetg didn't last long as a private citizen, after a year and a half the old wanderer got himself a menagerie again and went to Russia, a territory he was particularly familiar with.

The big elephant was a lady, the largest of her sex I have ever seen. The animal was nine and a half feet high and originally a gift from the Kaiser of Russia to Kreutzberg. Of course, this lady also had a past. Along with a male companion, she was as a gift from an Indian prince to the tsar, who housed her in Moscow. This quiet animal’s companion was a rowdy, however, who killed one of his guards in a rage, then freed himself from his chains and escaped, whereupon the quickly deployed military surrounded and shot him. So, the huge cow elephant became a widow and, after some criss-crossing of the world, ended up in my hands. I luckily took the big animal and also the smaller elephant to Hamburg on a large lorry which had a roof attached to the tent canvas.

Two Englishmen bought both elephants and took them to the Three Island Kingdom. The giant elephant, which was widely advertised, made them a lot of money in exhibitions. A buyer also came forward who offered a significant sum of money, but since the tour was not over, the bid was foolishly rejected by the owners. They later regretted this very much, because while the little elephant was sold after the show was over, they were stuck with the big one. As a result, my old friend, the big elephant lady, came back to Hamburg and was cared for for many months at my establishment on Spielbudenplatz.

Finally, a buyer was found in an American circus owner. And now comes an episode that is quite suitable to illustrate the transport difficulties at that time. The Hamburg-America Line, which is at the forefront of transport today, was very backward at that time, and taking animals on its steamers went against the grain altogether. After a lot of back and forth bargaining and haggling, it was finally agreed that the animal would be placed on deck at a cost of £250. (5000 Mk.). Since there was no possibility of loading the elephant elsewhere, the Englishmen had to resign themselves to agreeing to this enormous price. In addition, there was the animal's accommodation, a box fourteen feet long, ten feet high and seven feet wide, and the loading itself. The box was assembled at Steinwarder near Hamburg, from planks two and a half inches thick, fitted with huge iron fittings and fastened to the deck of the steamer next to the funnel. The elephant could now walk on board and then be forced into the box. For this purpose, a bridge had to be built from the shore to the ship. Strong trestles, whose the foundation was the bottom of a large barge, supported the bridge, and when everything was ready, loading began.

The loading turned out to be a true comedy. I arrived at the bridge with the animal on the first Pentecost morning. The elephant was extraordinarily calm and composed; I have never known a tamer and more good-natured elephant. In the long time that the animal had stood with me I had become very familiar with it, so I was able to take it by the ear and lead it onto the bridge while the keeper led it on the other side.

After carefully feeling the bridge with her forefeet, the elephant very calmly took a few steps forward, but then suddenly stopped and went back. Perhaps she had noticed a slight swaying in the planks of the pontoon bridge. In short, she could not be persuaded to cross the bridge. After various coercions I had a strong rope fastened to each of her forelegs and put each rope in the hands of twenty men, who together, forty men strong, represented the entire crew of the ship. I acted as a strategist myself, if I called "left" then twenty men pulled on the left front foot, if I called "right" then the other department went into action. The elephant put up with this calmly until it was only a few paces from the deck. Suddenly she pulled back her left front leg with a jerk and twenty men tumbled to the ground on top of each other. I was quite frightened, but unnecessarily, because the animal was completely calm and, after this show of strength, walked calmly onto the deck and into its box. The whole thing came across as a deliberate comedy, as if the elephant only wanted to show that the pulling wouldn't have been any use if it hadn't willingly wanted to go along. I think if elephants could laugh, this one would have laughed when it arrived in its box.

The shipment of this animal was an expensive affair, in addition to the high freight cost there was still a bill of 1600 Marks to be paid for building the box and getting it on board. My two English friends ended up getting a bad deal altogether. The worthy American had only paid half of the purchase price in cash, but had left the other half in bills of exchange which he never honoured, even though he did huge business in America exhibiting this elephant. Some readers will still remember this elephant, even if they have never seen her. Under her American name "Empress" my old acquaintance achieved enormous popularity at the time.


Some people may be amazed that none of the thousands of wild animals I have come into contact with have eaten me. True, it may be due in part to prudence and skill that no tiger has eaten me, no elephant has trampled me under its feet, no buffalo has run me through with its horns, and no serpent has crushed me in its coils. Admittedly, it was all too often a close call, and I shall have many a little adventure to relate. On the other hand, we do wild animals an injustice by having a bad opinion of their character, especially predators, which I can say are better than their reputation. Believe me when I say that among lions, tigers, and panthers I have had many a good friend with whom I have been able to associate as intimately and confidentially as with a domestic dog. And this love was by no means one-sided. The animals also showed a loyal attachment and long-lasting friendship towards me, which lasted even when the animals had long since found another home.

The memory of predators for people who have won their trust is quite amazing. About forty years ago I bought a pair of young tigers, one of which fell ill with a bad cold and developed a bluish film over both eyes, which blinded the animal. For months I cared for the sick tiger and made his lot as bearable as possible. Every day I had to crawl into my patient's cage because there was no other way to reach him. In this way, a familiar relationship was formed and finally my self-sacrifice was rewarded, because the animal became completely healthy again. Both tigers were later sold to Professor Peters, the director of the Berlin Zoological Garden at the time. They lived here for many more years and, until his death, the tiger whom I cured retained his most loyal devotion to me. I often didn't see him for a long time, but all he had to do, quite unprepared, was hear my voice from afar to get excited. As I approached, he began to moan and purr like a cat to get my attention. The animal was not satisfied until I approached and spent some time with it. An astonished audience sometimes stood around, not knowing what to make of this strange encounter. As a reminder of this tiger, I had a watercolour painted by the animal painter, Leutemann, which I still own today.

Scattered all over the world, always safe under lock and key, are a number of old friends from the animal world. Their lives do not last as long as ours, old age and death come quickly and accordingly most of these memories and animal friendships are a thing of the past. One of the veterans among my acquaintances is a lion who lives in the Cologne Zoological Garden. He was one of a pair which I bought with various other animals from a Belgian menagerie in 1890. The two lions were of North African descent and were five years old at the time. The animals were extraordinarily beautiful and as tame as cats; they only remained in my possession for two months, but that was enough time to form what I can call a friendship for life. I spent a good while with the two animals every day and only parted with them with regret. One ended up in the Zoological Gardens in Hamburg, the other in Cologne. The animal that stayed in Hamburg died several years ago, but the lion in Cologne is still alive. He is now old and frail, but he has not forgotten me. On the trip to Cologne I once made a bet in the train compartment, just as a joke, that the old lion would recognize me from afar just by looking at me. And so it was. The lion immediately and joyfully came to the bars and was not satisfied until I had greeted and stroked him.

A few years ago, I made a similar interesting experiment in the Bronx Park Zoological Gardens in New York. There live two lions and a Bengal tiger, who were once very fond of me, but had not seen me for a long time. The director, Dr Hornaday, doubted that the animals would recognize me, and with great excitement he accompanied me to the predator house. As soon as I stepped through the door and approached the stalls, the animals became alert and stared at me as though thinking about something, but when I called them by their names, as I do in Hamburg, they jumped up immediately and purred loudly and ran to the bars, where they let me cuddle and stroke them. Dr. Hornaday was amazed. More indubitable evidence of the good memory and attachment of beasts of prey can hardly be given.

Incidentally, one need not travel to New York to see examples of such attachment. Many a reader who perhaps finds these tales somewhat exaggerated can learn otherwise if he honours me with a visit to my animal part at Stellingen. Here, like so many thousands of visitors in recent summers, he can see for himself that even the wild animals know their master well and are devoted to him. On my tours of the garden, I always linger longest with the larger predators, and visitors watch in amazement as I call the animals by name to lure them out of the furthest corners of their dens. They crouch down by the bars, lick my hand and are happy when I sweet-talk them. It's true that I like all animals, it's in my blood, but the big predators are my special favourites, I've been involved with them from their earliest youth and thus become friends. Many of these animals, despite their expensive diet, I keep with me longer than I should in my capacity as a businessman, and sometimes I flatly refuse good bids because I cannot part with these affectionate and sincere friends.

In the open predator gorge in Stellingen you can discover an old lion that has been in my possession for eighteen years and is receiving charity. The old boy's name is "Trieste," so he was bought when he was imported through Trieste many years ago. "Trieste" is a large Somali lion, and was very handsome in his youth, and is still quite stately now. He is a performer by trade and has seen a good part of the world on performing tours. The world exhibitions in Chicago in 1893 and St. Louis in 1904 had the honour of hosting "Trieste" as a guest. Now his work is over, and he is in any case better off than some aging artists in the human world, but "Trieste" also deserves his good fortune. He is tame, loyal, and affectionate as a dog, and I deal with him as with a dog. One day last summer I noticed with regret that my old comrade was lame, and further observation showed that he was in pain and was losing weight. Upon closer examination, I found that the animal had two claws digging into the flesh on each hind foot. Now one might think that a difficult operation with bandages and gagging and great risk to the operators would have been necessary. None of that. "Trieste" is treated like a good sensible person. The lion was made to lie down, the claws clipped off with large, sharp pliers and the tips pulled out of the flesh. The lion kept very still during the entire procedure, which was by no means painless. The wounds were washed well for several days and healed. "Trieste" is on the rise again, is growing in size and living the existence of a noble old pasha.

As a counterpart to this lion, namely as far as tameness is concerned, we can consider a large Siberian tiger, which was sold in the summer of 1893 from Vladivostok to the Zoological Garden in Hamburg and from there to me. This tiger really was as tame as a pet. I could do anything with him and could have taken him into the living room with me. It was also a beautiful animal and since it was difficult for me to part with it, it remained in my care for over a year. As I found out later, the animal was raised in Vladivostok from a very young age, and according to reliable sources, it was said to have roamed free for more than a year without ever doing any harm. Every morning, when I made the rounds, I would visit my darling and cuddle him while he rolled over in joy. If, however, I hurried past his cage without greeting him, he meowed to attract my attention to the fact that I had not yet been to him.

Some of what I write here will seem paradoxical to many people. The predatory nature is associated with insidiousness, ferocity and cruelty in popular belief. But the animals are not cruel. Nature has made them hunt living flesh in the wild and they must kill in order to live. We all too easily forget how many millions of animals must be slaughtered, hunted and captured from the sea for mankind's sustenance, and that man too, who must kill his fellow creatures in order to meet his food requirements, could be accused of cruelty. Like us, the predator loves its young, it can be tender, grateful, affectionate, and loyal. Of course, one also encounters some rowdies, but then it is either a wild-caught specimen or a victim of poor upbringing. All beasts of prey without exception, if kept young and properly treated, can be raised as pets. So-called "wild nature" doesn't thrive unless you set out to enrage animals, and you can do that with animals that are tame by nature. As to what can be achieved by taming wild animals, I have gradually made more experiments than any of my contemporaries. Of course, one must also have the right understanding and an unprejudiced love of wildlife. Then one will be able to observe that in every animal, as in man, there is both good and bad, and that the good can be developed, and the bad can be suppressed. One will also discover some evidence of a deeper motion of the soul.

In the 1970s I received from the Egyptian Sudan, among various animals, a pair of lions that were about one year old. These animals had been kept outdoors and chained in the Seriba in central Africa. Among the many other animals that roamed freely in the Seriba was a monkey, a red guenon, which became friends with the young lions and became their playmate. On the journey to Europe, the monkey was always kept close to the lions, tied to the cage in which the lions were transported across the desert. As soon as the caravan made camp, the lions were taken out of the crate and tied next to the monkey. In such fashion, this little company made the journey to Hamburg. Here, too, the playmates were not separated; on the contrary, the two lions and the monkey were put in a common cage. It was a pleasure to see the animals play with each other. The whole group was sold after a few months to menagerie owner Albert Kallenberg, who kept the animals for another four years. The monkey always received a small piece of meat at feeding time and ate it, just as the lions ate their large pieces. The harmony was never disturbed. One day the little monkey, through his own cheekiness, was overtaken by the sad fate, which befalls those who want to eat cherries with great gentlemen[*]. The little monkey presumed to take a bone from His Majesty, the King of the Desert, and the King, in his initial surprise, unfortunately struck his poor court jester and killed him immediately. Regret and sadness followed. As Mr. Kallenberg himself told me, the two lions moaned and whimpered for days before they could forget their playmate.
[*"If you want to eat cherries with gentlemen, they throw the stalks in your eyes". A German proverb dating back to the late Middle Ages as a warning to subordinates against the whims of their masters.]

My father bought the very first group of different animals in the late 1950s. It consisted of a huge Bengal tiger, a leopard, and a dog, who lived in a common cage and were fed together without being separated from one another. This group, too, was sold to a menagerie owner who took them around for years without any disagreements breaking out.

Dealing with wild-caught beasts of prey is more difficult, you can teach them a certain polish with patience, but those predators caught as adults are of no use for the training that is now being demonstrated everywhere. If any animal tamer claims that he can train a wild-caught lion or tiger in the way young animals are now trained in kind training, that is simply nonsense. Many of these animals only become accustomed to humans to a certain degree. I received the wildest tiger I have ever seen from Calcutta in the early 1990s, it was also the largest and heaviest Bengal tiger I had seen. I might have been the wildest animal I ever met. It had only been captured a few months earlier and came into my possession through an exchange from the Zoological Gardens in Calcutta. In the first few days of its stay in Hamburg, whenever I approached the cage, the animal literally flew to the bars and stretched out its front paws as far as it could to catch me. I kept a respectful distance. However, the tiger’s wildness did not impress me very much and I showed him this. Every day I visited the animal, imitating the purring of a tiger as soon as I went near it, addressing it in its own language, so to speak. The animal became calmer from day to day, and although it still jumped out of its corner against the bars, soon it no longer lashed out with its paws. After eight days, I began to take a small piece of meat with me on every walk around the tiger; the way to the heart is through the stomach - and not only with the animals. After four weeks I could already dare to touch the animal, but extreme caution was necessary because every now and then these attempts challenged the animal to lash out with its paws at me. This tiger lived with me for about three months. Eventually, when he realized that no one wanted to do him any harm, he came to the bars voluntarily, lay down and let me pet him. He had forgotten his wildness, nor did his wildness return, because in the Dresden Zoological Gardens, where the animal was housed, it finally became so tame that director Schoepf and the keeper were allowed to touch and caress it calmly.

I experienced another case of rapid taming, this time by a private individual, in my garden in Stellingen. In the summer of 1905 I received from my brother John Hagenbeck of Colombo a wild-caught leopard which had only been in captivity for a very short time. I gave this leopard as a gift to the Swiss sculptor Urs Eggenschwyler, who created the beautiful rock sections of the Stellingen Animal Park. Eggenschwyler is an exceptional animal lover, always keeping a few lions and leopards himself for his own enjoyment, so he was delighted with the gift. He assured me that it would be less than a fortnight before he had trained the leopard to roll over in its cage several times on command. The artist had previously taught this trick to some wild-caught animals in Zurich. He was successful this time too, because it wasn't even four weeks before he got his panther to the point where it rolled over eight times in a row. Of course, there was always a piece of meat as a reward.

To the audience watching the animal tamer demonstrations with secret horror, it may seem as if I'm sharing trade secrets, and that the predators are really just some kind of carnivorous lambs. However, I am only writing the truth, in my chapter on performing you will see that the matter is not that simple after all. But many a person who has dealt with them professionally owes their life to the carnivores' good nature.

I can think of a strange nocturnal adventure, suitable to make even the bravest shudder. At the beginning of the 1960s, I left Cologne for Hamburg with a large animal transport that came from France and Belgium. Among the animals was a four-year-old lion that I exchanged with Dr. Bodinus from the Cologne garden, which was still new at the time. All the animals were packed in barred crates and loaded together in a wagon. The then inspector of the zoological garden in Cologne, named Druard, who had previously been head keeper in Christian Berg's menagerie, went with it as a companion. When everything was settled firmly and securely, Druard made himself comfortable on a box in the carriage and pushed the door shut.

The train rolled through the night. Druard lay in a deep sleep, perhaps having a beautiful dream. Suddenly he felt a heavy pressure on his chest and woke up. In the darkness two greenish lights shone close in front of his face, hot breath blew over him and, tentatively reaching out, he grasped the lion's shaggy mane. For a second the terrified man lay very still, hoping it was all just a wild dream, but it was real. The lion had freed himself from his box and paid a visit to the lonely sleeper. Accustomed to dealing with animals, Druard composed himself quickly, he knew the animal to be good-natured, it was important not to show fear. Until the next station he had to share space with the lion, God was of no help there. Everything depended on keeping the lion in a good mood and at the same time making sure that he was confined somewhere so that no quarrels could break out between the confined animals and the freed lion. If this happened, then the man was lost too. Calmly, Druard untied a silk sash from his waist and looped it around the lion's neck like a rope. Then he felt his way through the rolling and shaking dark car to the door and tied the lion to a handle. The minutes that Druard spent in his dangerous situation may have seemed like hours. At the next station he made a noise, had the conductor hand him a lantern in the carriage and succeeded in getting the escapee back into his box, in front of which a number of other heavy boxes were pushed. Only in Harburg, where the animals were unloaded, could the lion's cage be nailed up. Thus ended this bloodless adventure, which might easily have cost the neck of a fearful or foolish man.

Luckily, instances of humans being attacked and mauled by captive predators are rare. Fights between the animals are more frequent if they are not carefully observed and separated if necessary. As in the human world, it is mostly said here: 'cherchez la femme.' In a group that Heinrich Mehrmann demonstrated in Chicago, Berlin and other places, there were the large imported cape lion "Leo" and the royal Bengal tiger "Castor". The lion was a bachelor, but the Bengal tiger had a very beautiful Bengal tigress wife. More practical than humans, the animals only mate at certain periods of time. When one such time approached, the lion desired the tigress and a tense relationship developed between the two rivals, which was accompanied by a great desire to fight. The tiger was as jealous as a Turk, the lion, fully aware of his strength, did not care and defiantly courted the striped beauty. Then, one morning, as I was walking in my animal park at Neue Pferdemarkt, I heard a terrible roar from the large outer cage. I immediately rushed to the field of battle. That's right, a bloody duel was taking place between the lion and tiger. Both stood on their hind legs and slapped each other so violently that fur flew about in the cage. I shall never forget the sight of the two great beasts facing each other in a fighting stance, both aware of their strength and ready to fight to the death. But the animals were too valuable for this jealousy affair to end with the death of one of them. The keeper of this group, who happened to be nearby, quickly jumped into the small front cage and from there boldly into the large cage, where he drove the rivals apart by shouting and cracking his whip. Numerous tufts of hair and traces of blood were evidence of the fight that had taken place.

All predators, especially lions and tigers, become very agitated during the mating season. In training groups in which there are both lions and lionesses, it is often necessary to isolate the males completely from the group for a long period of time. If the trainer fails to do this, he runs the risk of the males retaliating and getting smacked himself. I've seen my best four-footed friends get grumpy and unapproachable during this time. During such periods one must be careful in different ways. The animals’ infatuation reaches a kind of boiling point, and the jealousy of rivals is even greater than the tenderness towards the object of affection. The love-struck lion sees everyone who approaches the lioness as a rival. Strangely enough, he is not only jealous of his own kind, but also jealous of people, including the keepers, as soon as they approach the lioness.

In my experience, lions can easily live to over thirty years if they are well cared for. It is obvious that sometimes animals come into my possession whose close acquaintance I have previously made, perhaps years ago. For example, in a menagerie I bought several years ago, there was a lioness that I had owned twenty-four years earlier. Of course, it was difficult to find a buyer for this matron. At that time I had just delivered a lioness to the Cologne Zoological Garden for breeding purposes, but Director Funk, who was in charge at the time, was not entirely satisfied with the specimen. I invited him to come to Hamburg and choose another animal. The old lady lion received a very flattering advantage on this occasion. She was well preserved, was of rare beauty, had her full set of teeth, and when I approached the cage, she jumped to and fro with such joy that one could not tell how many years she had been around. So it came about that Director Funk chose this old woman from among all the lionesses. When I drew his attention to the facts, impolitely towards the lion lady, but honestly towards the buyer, he didn't believe me and said that I just didn't want to sell him the beautiful specimen. If I had let him go, he would probably have had little success in breeding this lioness. According to my observations, they are still capable of breeding up to the age of sixteen, but not after this time. The director, whose error is excusable due to the lioness’s youthful appearance, received another animal, which has also proven itself excellent.

Lions can be considered to reach breeding age as early as two and a half years old, but to obtain vigorous offspring it is advisable to wait another year. According to my observations, tigers in captivity do not become capable of breeding until a year later. The reproductive capacity in all cat species lasts about twelve years, so it ends at the age of sixteen or seventeen.

My first experience in this area dates back to the 1870s. Back then, a Hungarian traveller brought two pairs of adult giant jaguars and a colossal male puma back from Paraguay. The jaguars, which the Hungarian himself had caught there, were quite old animals. Although I would have liked to own the animals, I had to refrain from buying them because of the high price. On the other hand, they were bought by the menagerie owner Manders, who at that time owned the largest menagerie in England, and he bred various litters from the animals, which were also raised excellently by their mothers.

I myself, among many other successful attempts, in 1906 raised two beautiful cubs from a pair of wild-caught snow leopards, which were tenderly cared for by the mother. The parents were cripples, both missing a hind foot. Since these animals were hard to sell, I provided them with a private hiding place in a wagon cage, and placed the cage in such a way that the animals could not be disturbed in any way. After barely two months there were signs of mutual affection, and in mid-May my keeper reported that two young had arrived. Of course, peace and quiet was now even more important, in the afternoon the animals were fed and watered, and the wagon was cleaned, the rest of the time the animals were left in peace. After four days, I removed for a moment the flap that shut off their hiding place, and now I saw two pretty youngsters in a nest, which the old ones had lined with their winter fur. Unfortunately, we found the father of this litter dead in the cage four weeks later. The mother and the boys are still alive today.

The lions and tigers that occupy the predator canyon of my animal park which, as is well known, is unfenced and only separated from the public by a ditch, are let out into the open every day, summer and winter without exception. The weather doesn't bother the animals very much, they romp about outdoors much more in winter than in summer when it's hot. Every morning the sliding door between the cage and the canyon is opened so that the animals can go out, but they are always free to retreat back into the inner space. Nature comes to the aid of the animals and enables them to adapt to the climate. We have observed that exotic animals that are not locked indoors in winter get a thicker coat that protects them from the cold. If my young ones can be allowed outdoors in the spring, then I am fully convinced that lions can be transplanted into any climate; also I suppose that such lions, like the Siberian tigers and leopards, would eventually grow a woolly undercoat in winter.

Since, as I have already said, love affairs between lions, tigers and other cat species occur without human intervention, it is obvious to attempt to cross. I have bred cubs from lions and Bengal tigers several times and still have a five and a half year old male hybrid, and male and a female hybrids both three and a half years old. The father was a small Somali lion and the mother was a small Bengal tiger. However, the products resulting from this misalliance are significantly larger than the parents. One male hybrid is so large and has such a colossal physique that he weighs as much as the two parents combined. The hybrids are beautiful: large, extremely powerful, very faintly striped animals with a strong head. Anyone who sees them first thinks they are looking into a distorting mirror and at first does not know whether they are looking at lions or tigers. The animals are extraordinarily tame and have a mild temperament, but according to previous observations they are unfortunately unable to breed.

A cross between a leopard and puma was made at my instigation in a small English menagerie. Several young were obtained, but all perished except one, which was not remarkable in size or appearance. Also, something had developed between a Bengal tiger and a female leopard in the garden, but the cub was born too early and was not viable. I also know of a happy union between a lion and a female leopard, which occurred in a small German menagerie among animals that came from my collection. The leopardess gave birth three times, but unfortunately she turned out to be a monster without any maternal feeling, because she immediately ate her cubs. On one occasion the owner managed to take the cubs away from the uncaring mother, but unfortunately he couldn't rear them and he threw away their bodies instead of conserving them in alcohol for science.

Very interesting hybrids were bred by Mr. Nill in the zoological garden in Stuttgart, which is unfortunately now defunct, namely hybrids from brown bears and polar bears. Recently I saw some of these animals, which are now in the London Zoological Gardens. They are very large and heavy, though no larger than the parents. One is a very comical fellow, that is to say a piebald, his fur being half grey-brown and half white. Like the lansquenet mercenaries of old, he appears to have a mismatched doublet and mismatched trouser legs.

The difficulty of dealing with predators in captivity only starts with training, because here something is demanded of the animals that is foreign to their nature. Education, however, study of the animal’s character and speculation on the good that lies dormant in every being, will triumph in this area too.


I can confirm the general opinion that the elephant is one of the most intelligent animals. More than most other animals, elephants have individual idiosyncrasies that give each specimen its special character. Their memory and quick comprehension are amazing. In mentality, these animals are not pachyderms. They are make careful decision in matters of love and hate, carefully selecting on whom to bestow their favours; among their own kind this selection takes definite directions, especially in matters of love. Darwin marvelled that a certain English stallion did not take all the mares that were brought to him, preferring some and scorning others. The elephant is far ahead of the horse and has a distinct ability to differentiate, almost akin to human feelings.

In this respect I have often had the opportunity to make the most interesting studies. It can be said of these animals that they fall in love in the real sense of the word. Not falling in love in general, but falling in love with a particular individual and becoming completely preoccupied with them. In my elephant park a few years ago, a bull just coming into maturity fell in love with a young female. The affection was mutual, and it was very interesting to see the two animals caress each other tenderly. I tried, by all means, for the sake of science, to drive a wedge into this marriage, but the relationship succeeded, although I employed truly ingenious means. On one occasion, the his beloved was kidnapped from the pasture, and another, very desirable, but somewhat older, elephant cow was put in her place - but he spurned her and behaved in despair.

Just as great as the love between spouses is the love and tenderness towards the young. I was also often able to observe the interaction between parents and offspring. But I found it far more interesting to see that other elephants, not belonging to the family, also play with the young, and quite evidently have a similar tender feeling for the children of their world as we do for the children of our own. The elephant calves are as lively and playful as goat kids. They are up for all sorts of mischievous tricks and teasing, crawling underneath and poking strange elephants in the stomach, and performing all sorts of movements that one would hardly expect of such an ungainly animal. The elephant calves sometimes performed formal wrestling matches with my Indian Kornaks, and if a man was pushed down to the ground by his opponent, the delighted little victor trampled on him with all his feet.

Based on the family life, if one can call it that, of elephants, it follows that they are intellectually highly developed animals. I can remember many elephants with very specific characteristics as if they were human. Numerous elephants have passed through my hands, and I have come to know their species characteristics as well as their individual characters well, while elephants have put me in mortal danger on several occasions. Clever animals are temperamental, which cannot always be taken into account during transit, and bulls are unpredictable and dangerous at certain times. As early as the late 1960s I came close to being killed by an elephant. At that time, I had bought a menagerie in Trieste, which included an eight-foot-tall female elephant, a quite good-natured animal that only had occasional quirks - like all females. However, it didn't take long for me to become friends with "Lissy", I never walked by without handing her a handful of food, and the lady looked at me with adoring eyes. With an innocent heart, as I have always dealt with my animals, I had no idea that this was a case of blatant hypocrisy. The elephant used to perform a trick which consisted of lifting his keeper up with his trunk on command, and then slowly lowering him back to the ground. The command that preceded this trick was: "Lissy Apport". One day, around noon, I found the elephant lady alone in her stable, the keeper was not there. Then the devil got into me and give me the urge to be embraced and lifted up by this beauty in the same way as she did with her keeper. So I went up to Lissy, flattered her, fed her with some old bread rolls, then grabbed her by the trunk and called: "Lissy, Apport". What the hypocrite now did with me is downright mean and can spoil one’s belief in the female sex. Incidentally, it wasn't a joke at the time, it was life-threatening, and I almost believed her. Lissy complied with the order immediately, but I noticed right away - admittedly when it was already too late - that didn’t have good intentions, because she hugged me very roughly. The next moment I was floating in the air. But instead of setting me down again, Lissy slammed my body onto the wooden barrier in front of her with such force that I almost fell unconscious into the menagerie. Here I lay, believing that every bone in my body had been broken. But, fortunately for me, Lissy had abused a part of the body that could endure something. Had I hit the barrier sideways, the incident would have crippled me at best. After a while the old warden Philipp appeared; he first helped me and then rightly reproached me for my carelessness. For weeks after, I hobbled around with pain in every part of my body and bones. I don't know whether the stupid elephant cow secretly laughed about it. She had forsaken my love.

An equally serious, perhaps more dangerous, incident happened to me with an elephant nearly six feet high, which had tusks eighteen inches long. At that time, I had to send a large shipment of animals to America, which included this large male elephant. Since I myself was busy at the Hamburg Sternschanzen railway station, because the animals were then sent to America via Bremen, I left it to the guards to bring the animal from the stable to the railway station. While I was busy putting boxes away in the wagon, the elephant, which was very restless, was brought into the wagon and secured in a corner. The people went away again to get other animals and I was left alone with the elephant and only one of my people. While I was unsuspectingly busy, I suddenly received a terrible push from behind, saw the elephant's tusks gleaming on both sides, and realized in a flash that the animal was trying to pin me to the wall. The blow was violent, but luckily my body was caught between the tusks, which pinched me terribly, and at the same time I was pressed against the wall, but I probably instinctively made a violent twisting movement and the next moment I was lying on the ground moaning. The man in the car pulled me away from there. The moment I fell I thought my lower back was broken, such was the terrible pain in my back, but once again I had escaped with just a black eye. The medical examination revealed abrasions and bruises, but no serious injuries. The tusks had gone through my coat and trousers on both sides of my body, the beast had pinned me to the crate so that its tusks had cruelly passed alongside my ribs on both sides. Had the beast gone even two inches to the left or right, it would have speared me, and I would have been done for.

I want to tell you about a third malicious elephant that I owned in the mid-1980s. It was a seven-and-a-half-foot-tall male working elephant whose character deteriorated to such an extent that I was finally forced to sign his death warrant. The animal had repeatedly given evidence of viciousness and a dangerous temper, but had been spared. One day it suddenly lashed out at one of its guides, so that he was thrown to the ground and only saved by the intervention of a keeper who was quite familiar with the elephant. Under the encouragement of this keeper, the elephant seemed to calm down a bit. I got turnips and bread to feed the animal, but strong ropes were also brought. The guard attached one to a front foot and another to a back foot. The animal was now led slowly and carefully to the stable. I went ahead and fastened the front leash to a large iron post, around which I wound the rope until the elephant finally stood in his allotted place. As quickly as possible, the keeper fastened the rear rope to a ring attached to the wall and now wanted to sneak away behind two other elephants who were standing next to the one who had gone wild. At that moment the giant's anger broke out again. As the ropes held him, he threw himself sideways with such colossal force against the female standing beside him, who was as tall as himself, that the animal fell flat on its side and almost took another one down with it. I had seen many examples of elephant power, but this athlete's piece was the pinnacle.

It is difficult to decide to kill a precious anima, but, in this case, I made my decision quickly. The elephant had to be got rid of, I couldn't wait for an accident to happen.

But the execution had to be postponed a little, because I was going to England the next day. While there, I happened to tell the story to Mr. Rowland Ward, who stuffs animals and prepares heads for a large circle of sportsmen. Mister Ward made me an original proposal. He wanted to buy the animal when it was cheap, thinking he could easily find a sportsman who would pay fifty pounds sterling to shoot an elephant. In fact, through the mediation of my acquaintance, a Mister W. got in touch who wanted to travel to Hamburg within a week to shoot the big game on the spot. In fact, the two gentlemen arrived in Hamburg with a whole arsenal of different guns, and the next day the strange hunt was to take place in my establishment on the Neue Pferdemarkt - in the stable. The shooter was due to arrive at ten o'clock in the morning and in the meantime all the necessary preparations had been made. The police were informed and sent some of their representatives. To aid the matter, I had the elephant led outside and fastened to the wall behind the elephant house in such a way that it could not break loose; the wall itself was covered with planks two and a half inches thick to make it impossible for the bullet to bounce back . The big moment was approaching, the clock struck ten and everything was ready, only the shooter with his rifles was missing. When an hour had passed, I rushed into town and picked up the gentlemen. At twelve o'clock we were finally there. And now a strange tragicomedy took place. Although this sportsman had brought all his murder weapons with him, he could not bring himself to shoot at the elephant. The intoxication of the hunt seemed to have gripped him and made him nervous. One of my travellers, who happened to be present, offered to fire the shot, but the buyer of the elephant would not agree to this either. Finally, I suggested to him that the animal should be strangled, and he did not object to this. The condemned was now led back to the stables, where I had a noose around his neck and the other end of the rope around a winch which was attached to a crossbeam under the ceiling. I had six of my men line up for the execution. When everyone had the rope in their hands, I commanded "one, two, three", and with the third pull the elephant floated with its front feet above the ground. Almost immediately, its head snapped sideways, and the giant lost his footing and collapsed. It took less than a minute for the animal to die. The dissection revealed that the animal's neck was broken. That's how this Goliath ended his life.

Such an easy and painless death is not granted to all elephants that die in captivity. A downright cruel death befell the first elephant that came into our possession. My father bought the animal in 1860 from an English animal dealer for the price of 1600 Marks. The reason the elephant was so cheap was because it was totally paralyzed on its right hind leg, which made it difficult for it to walk. The animal remained with us for almost a year, but instead of getting better the ailment got worse and finally the animal became so weak that it had great difficulty getting up from the ground after lying down. One day we couldn't get it back up at all, the animal lay groaning in its stable for two days. My father realized that there was nothing to be saved here and sold the elephant to the Hamburg Museum. The managers of the museum took it upon themselves to kill the animal, but this wasn't as easy as you might imagine. They tried injecting it with poison. Although it was given enough to poison pretty much the entire population of Hamburg, it had no effect on the pachyderm. To put an end to its torment, the animal's trunk was bound and the elephant was then stabbed like a pig.

But let’s consider happier things! Among my elephant acquaintances, the bad characters and invalids are exceptions; a far larger number are engraved in my memory for their intelligence, good nature, and loyalty. The most docile and amiable elephant I have ever owned was a beautiful seven-foot male that I received from a Hamburg merchant about twenty years ago. This specimen was graced with tusks two foot long. When this elephant was offered for sale to me, it was still sailing, still in transit. According to letters shown to me, it was an exceptionally tame animal. I don't generally like buying male elephants as they can become vicious intermittently after reaching a certain age. However, a visit on board after the ship had arrived showed me that it was indeed a tame animal.

It was late autumn. The poor passenger was stowed on deck, in the open air, and trembling all over from the cold. In addition, the weather was miserable, and the animal was in a deplorable condition. It was ailing, as I could see from the nature of its excrement. With the consent of the seller, I first brought the animal to Neue Pferdemarkt to see whether the elephant's state of health could be improved. A good, warm stable, a nice bed of straw, and careful care, personally supervised by me, worked wonders. The animal recovered noticeably and after only eight days I was able to buy it permanently. The animal's intelligence and good nature were immediately apparent. I have never seen a more affectionate elephant than this one. After only a few days of nursing him, he would call me by trumpeting as soon as he heard my footsteps or voice, and would then beg for the extra bite I used to give him. In a short time, we were best friends. I named the elephant "Bosco" and it was by this name that he later played a major role in the circus world.

Very soon, after just four weeks, Bosco found an admirer in an American menagerie owner who was about to embark on a long journey, for the American's circus was in Buenos Aires. However, the buyer demanded that Bosco first be trained to perform various tricks. For this I asked for a period of six weeks and meanwhile sold the guest a group of beautiful, trained lions that was already available as a show piece for his circus, which were sent to Buenos Aires on one of the next steamers, accompanied by their tamer. Bosco’s buyer stayed in Hamburg to take the elephant himself. We began training Bosco and experienced miracles. All elephants are intelligent, but the ease with which this one understood everything that was asked of him was simply fabulous. It wasn't just brains, it was talent. Within a few days he learned the usual barrel work, such as used to be shown in all menageries. We taught him to sit down and lie down in one day. The slightest suggestion was enough, the animal literally accommodated us. Four weeks had not yet passed when Bosco could walk on bottles, stand on his hind legs and on his front legs, sit down at a set table, pull the bell and have a monkey serve him, drink from a bottle and take food from a plate. In short, he had become a consummate artist. After about six weeks the American left delighted with Bosco and had such extraordinary success over there with this animal that he always played to a full house and earned a lot of money. The group of lions also brought him a rich income. Four months later, the happy owner of Bosco was back in Europe with his pockets full of money. He wanted to make more purchases. I helped him to do that and he left satisfied

I saw my friend Bosco again, and in the most surprising way. Two years had passed when I returned from a trip one day and was immediately informed that Bosco had meanwhile returned from America and was standing in our stable. It was already quite late in the evening, but I felt as if an old friend had come to visit, I could not contain my impatience and went straight to the stable, holding some bread rolls as a welcome gift. It was almost dark in the menagerie. At the door, I called out a loud "Hello, Bosco," and the answer was a joyful shout from afar. As I approached, the elephant made those contented gurgling sounds one hears from these animals when they are excited, and when he could reach me, he grabbed my arm, pulled me very close and licked my whole face while gurgling. It was really touching to see the animal's joy when it met its old master again after a two-year absence. If, however, one considers that Bosco was in my possession for only six weeks, albeit in the most intimate contact with me, this reunion scene is striking evidence of the elephant’s long memory.

My friend, the American circus man, was a very smart fellow. After Bosco stayed with me for a year, his master came, bought a female elephant with a baby, and returned to Buenos Aires with all three elephants. Here he had previously launched the crazy but effective advertisement that Bosco had been specially sent to Europe to get married here. Now he would come back with his wife and child to present himself again to the honoured public of Buenos Aires with his family. As a result of this happy speculation, the American again made a roaring trade.

The docility of elephants is amazing. Many years ago, I received an order from a Breslau theatre director to deliver a young elephant that had to be trained for riding. The animal would take part in a show and be delivered in about a fortnight. Unfortunately, I had just embarked on a journey that had kept me away for longer than I had anticipated. I only returned two days before the deadline was about to expire. At that time, I was still business owner, traveller, correspondent, and trainer all in one. I immediately started training my elephant. The first two hours were arduous work, but not without results. After two more hours I had trained the animal so far that it lay down on command, let me climb on its back and got up again on command. That was a day’s training. At two o'clock I got him ready to be ridden up and down the menagerie, and that same evening the animal was loaded off to Breslau, accompanied by a keeper who had helped with the training. My pupil did not disgrace me, he performed his best in public, too.

When I exhibited my large Nubian caravan in the Berlin Zoo in the 1970s, there were also five freshly imported African elephants five to five and a half feet high. Professor Virchow, who visited me one day, said it would be great if these animals could be trained like Indian elephants. At that time people still held the erroneous belief that African elephants were neither suitable for work nor for training. To Virchow's astonishment, I replied that I would show him the five elephants, with whom no attempt at training had ever been made, on the afternoon of the next day. The elephants were then supposed to let Nubians ride on their backs and carry loads on command. The professor shook his head in disbelief, but promised to be there at five o'clock the next afternoon with some friends. There was no time to lose, I wanted to keep my word at all costs. Virchow had hardly turned his back when the training began. The elephants were paraded and some of the most skilled natives were promised a reward if they could manage not only to mount the elephants but also to stay on top. Here we go. At first the elephants did not put up with the equestrian feats. They found it unpleasant having a burden on their backs; they hooted and trumpeted and shook themselves so that all the riders, except one, flew into the sand. After the animals had calmed down a little and had been treated to bread and roots, the riders went back to their work, and lo and behold, by evening three elephants had understood the matter so far that they could be ridden quite comfortably, without shaking off their attendants. The others caught on to the good example and, the next morning, after another hour of practice, the other elephants also gave in. Now I had won the game. Since the animals no longer resisted carrying a load on their backs, I had some sacks filled with luggage and these, connected by large straps, hung over the backs of the animals. They initially found the sacks on the very unpleasant, but here, too, they quickly got used to them. By coaxing, cajoling, and constant feeding, I achieved my purpose by noon. The elephants carried loads and let themselves be ridden.

Professor Virchow was there at five o'clock in the afternoon with a few gentlemen from the Geographical Society and was not a little surprised to see the wild African elephants transformed into mounts and beasts of burden after just a few hours' training.

In my chapter on the development of the animal trade I have already related a great deal about all sorts of experiences during the transport of elephants. But here I have another sad recollection from the year 1868, which really shows how the Goliath of the animal kingdom can also fall victim to David. I had arrived from Trieste with a large African animal shipment, the journey had taken a full nine days, including a two-day stay in Vienna, people and animals were tired and exhausted. It was already late in the evening when I had housed all my animals, including several young elephants, in the various stables and, after a final inspection, was finally able to go to bed myself. All seemed well among the animals, though they were exhausted; the elephants lay down to sleep as soon as they had eaten their food. The poor animals had been confined to a narrow space in the railway carriage and had had little rest during the journey.

In the middle of the night, probably around two o'clock, my senior keeper woke me up with the report that one of the elephants was making rattling noises and seemed to be sick. I was startled and intended to see what was going on immediately, but tiredness got the better of me and I fell asleep again. An hour later another keeper knocked and brought a very similar message. A few minutes later I was in the stables, but I was too late: one elephant was dead and two others were dying. On examination, it turned out that the soles of the dead animal's feet had been eaten through in three places, and blood was still trickling from the wounds. "Rats," said my senior keeper. And so it was, the marks of their sharp teeth were clearly visible in the horny skin. The dying elephants showed the same wounds, I could not stop them from bleeding to death.

Who would have thought of such a danger! You only learn through loss. There were wooden floors in the stables, and they had been there for a long time; the rats had made their lair under these boards. In a raid the next morning, nearly sixty of the assassins were hunted down and, of course, the wooden floors were removed.

Many a larger animal dies from rats. My father once had fourteen rare Australian parakeets killed by rats in one night on Spielbudenplatz in the 1950s. Two ostriches died in the Cologne Zoological Garden after rats had chewed their oil fat glands above their tails during the night.

Unfortunately, my elephant memories culminate in a dangerous catastrophe, which some readers will still remember, but which fortunately belongs among the greatest rarities, and is, perhaps, unique. It is about the Munich elephant panic, which broke out on July 31, 1888, during the pageant at the centenary celebration. An unfortunate coincidence was the cause. A construction of a dragon began to move and spat fire between the elephants, which were startled and bolted amidst the throng of people. Contemporary accounts, in which the excitement about the incident still resonates, best illustrate this event. Therefore, at this point, I include a newspaper article and a statement that I made to the press at the time.

Telegram in the Magdeburgische Zeitung [Magdeburg Newspaper] of August 1, 1888:
"The elephants provided by the Hagenbeck Circus for the pageant became restless during the long procession and shied away from the Prince Regent in Ludwigstrasse just after the parade. Well, the drivers immediately engaged vigorously. But the maddened elephants, which the Cheveauxlegers drove back with their sabres drawn, trotted on down a side street, broke through the wave of people on Brienner Strasse and onto the Odeonsplatz, and caused a terrible panic. Everyone fled screaming in a frantic rush. Horses ran away, even the gendarmerie and military could no longer hold out. Some elephants got lost in the pillars of the Residenztheater and then stormed the decorative temple building in front of the Hoftheater, where they smashed some mountain women to the ground. The elephants were chained at the front legs but seem to have broken the chains. Four elephants were then brought home with the help of cavalry. Another panic was caused by pickpockets whistling. On the Marienplatz there was a general flight with terrible excitement.

In no time hundreds of spectators were on the ground; other fugitives fell over them. The elephants scattered in two groups, spreading new panic in the adjacent streets. There were numerous broken legs. The passers-by, who were driven against the wall at Residenzplatz, desperately hit the elephants with umbrellas, thereby increasing their wildness. Fifteen wounded are lying in the Luitpold-Palais, and numerous seriously injured people in the Odeon. The excitement in the city, where about 150,000 strangers are staying, is tremendous. A woman has been reported dead to the police."
[Cheveauxlegers - light cavalry. In Bavaria they formed the medium-heavy cavalry from 1813 until the end of the monarchy.]

My own statement in the Münchener Allgemeine Zeitung [Munich General Newspaper] of August 2, 1888:
"Having been traveling almost continuously for three months, last Thursday I received notification in London from my brother-in-law Mehrmann, who runs my circus company, that the big national pageant in Munich was to take place on July 31st. As I am a great lover of art and like to attend extraordinary festivities, I made it possible, although my business did not allow it due to a travel tour which kept me on the road for three days and three nights, to arrive here shortly before nine o'clock on the Strasbourg express train on the 31st. As I intended to return to Hamburg the same day, I left my luggage in the depot at the train station and immediately set out to find my people with the elephants, which I managed to do just before they had formed up to take part in the procession. I found everything in the best of order, except that one elephant found the high saddle uncomfortable; I did the same with two other elephants who seemed uncomfortable with the blankets. The procession, which was gradually moving, had gone well to that point, and my animals were as calm as sheep. When they arrived in front of the court box, the elephants lined up at the command of their trainer and bowed. In some narrow streets, where there were pauses, the animals were literally bombarded with bread and fruit in such a way that if you had done this to any other animal, it would not have remained as calm as my elephants. The animals behaved in an exemplary manner, so to speak, until we met the returning train as far as the dragon. The dragon, which had been standing still, suddenly started moving in spite of the people's previous warning to let the elephants pass first, and sprayed its steam between the rearmost elephants, frightening them so much that they rushed forward. I immediately threw myself at the last four elephants to stop them, and I could have done this with the help of my men if the crowd had kept quiet, but the shouting only made the animals more alarmed, and they rushed forward. It was lucky that they were divided into two departments of four each. I had brought my four elephants to a standstill four times, but the pursuing crowd, beating them with sticks, umbrellas, knives, etc., always chased the animals forward again along the road. After the elephants had come out of the theatre again, I jumped between the two foremost, which almost flattened me. However, I stood my ground, brought them to a halt, and at the same moment jumped in front of the animals; but it only lasted a few seconds because the streaming crowd chased the animals away again with their screams. I then followed as far as the Tal where I collapsed. The four animals were herded into a house by two of my men and stopped. After resting in Tal number 73 with the master baker, who received me kindly, I drove to the circus, where I was told that four elephants were already on their way to be taken to the circus, where they soon arrived."


When Mowgli, the hero of Rudyard Kipling's famous jungle tales, confronts the ancient rattlesnake that lives here in that subterranean chamber between sunken treasures, he says that he wishes to have nothing to do with the 'poison people.' Mowgli is the voice of nature. Humans and animals avoid the venomous snake people and extend their fear to those species that are not venomous. The snake stands a little apart in creation, no spiritual bond connects it to other creatures, it only encounters enemies who pursue it or fugitives who avoid it, but no friends. Once, in the summer of 1874, a giant snake got free in my menagerie and all the animals became extremely agitated. The fugitive was a fairly weak specimen of Python sebae that had arrived from Africa in poor condition. The snake was given a warm bath in tub that stood in the predator house which, at that time at Neue Pferdemarkt housed all sorts of other animals, monkeys, birds, etc. in addition to the beasts of prey. The vat had a flap and was also covered with a blanket. After everything was secure, I went to my office to do some paperwork – and was roused from this two hours later by the terrifying news that the snake had escaped from its vat and was now crawling about on the cages of the monkeys and parrots. I rushed to the animal house and found a great commotion among the animals. All, without exception, were in a state of dreadful excitement, and those that could see the reptile only had eyes for it. The leopards, lions and all the other predators jumped about madly in their cages, slapping at the bars, hissing and roaring; the monkeys and parrots screamed with all their might - it was a dreadful uproar. None of the animals seemed to want anything to do with the snake.

Recapturing the snake was no easy task. It was useless to throw a blankets over it, the animal had become so lively in the bath that the speed of its movements mocked all our efforts. Whenever you thought you had caught it, it shot out of the blanket again. In the meantime, I had asked a keeper to fetch me one of those large nets which I use to get monkeys and smaller predators out of their cages, for I knew how to use this contraption very well. I went after the snake with this net and soon brought it over its head, which made it so angry that it bit into the sack. Now I had the upper hand, I quickly grabbed the snake behind the neck and, with the help of the keeper and using some strength, within a few minutes brought it all the way into the net and then out of it into a safe box. The excitement among the residents of the predator house gradually subsided and peace returned.

The fear shown by the animals is justified. In dealing with wild animals, it is snakes that require the greatest caution. This goes without saying among the poisonous species; among the non-poisonous species, the large ones have tremendous muscular strength, and all are extremely aggressive and snappish when irritated. Their gluttony is fabulous, but that's another matter. Many animals have put my life in danger, but no species as often as the snakes.[*] I have suffered many bites and scratches, and they are from all sorts of animals. But the snakes also hold the record here. I have made the intimate acquaintance of thousands of snakes and got to know their character, their habits, their lives in detail. I have sometimes fought real wrestling matches with large specimens. I am completely convinced, based on personal experience, that a snake 18 to 20 feet long, if it can only wrap itself around a person properly, will crush him to death in no time. I was told that in Borneo, natives are often seized and eaten by snakes. From seeing captive snakes eating large amounts of game, I have no doubt that an adult Bornean python can quite well swallow a human weighing 100 to 125 pounds.
[* In 1913, Carl Hagenbeck died from a snake bite, probably from a boomslang.]

There have always been many fables about the size and gluttony of the great snakes. Several years ago, there was a polemic in English papers, revolving around the assertion that there could be snakes from thirty to forty feet in length. One sender offered to produce such a giant specimen within a year if he was paid £500 for it. On this point I joined the polemic, and my reply appear via my English friends, in which I undertook to pay not £500, but even £1,000 for a thirty-foot snake if the animal were brought to Hamburg in a healthy, viable condition. To date, no such snake has arrived. Nor was it very likely, as the largest snakes hitherto caught or seen alive were no more than twenty-six feet in length. Animals of this size, namely Borneo boas, Python reticulatus, are in my possession.*

[* When I wrote these lines, I did not believe that there were any snakes larger than the giant specimens in my possession. But since then I've been taught better and it confirms once again the old experience that man never stops learning. My traveller Leo Stern, who roamed Sumatra and Borneo for me, brought twelve boa constrictors to Stellingen in June, 1909, among which was a Python reticulatus, fully thirty feet long and weighing two and a half hundredweight. This monster, a fine specimen by the way, shed its skin eight days after arriving at my zoo and ate a large goat weighing 88 pounds a day later. This feeding performance was over in 20 minutes.]

Stranger still are the fables told about the feeding powers of snakes. A newspaper notice was sent to me years ago, a true model of accurate scientific reporting. The note reads:

"A horse devoured by a snake. Mr. Gardner reports an amazing fact about what a boa constrictor can devour in his ‘Travels through Brazil.’ The boa is common throughout the province of Goyaz and is particularly found on the wooded shores of lakes, swamps and streams. Sometimes, so the author relates, the boa constrictors reach the monstrous length of forty feet. The largest I have ever seen was at this point; but it was no longer alive. A few weeks before our arrival in Cape, Senor Lagoeira's favourite riding horse could not be found, although it had been in the pasture not far from the house and the whole hacienda had been thoroughly searched. Shortly thereafter one of his vaqueros was walking through the forest and saw a giant serpent hanging from the crotch of a tree whose branches were drooping very low towards the water. It was dead, but had evidently been caught alive by the last tide and, being in a state of limpness, had not been able to pull itself out of the fork of the tree before the waters fell. It was dragged into the open country by two horses, and measured thirty-seven feet. When they opened it, they found the broken bones and half-digested flesh of a horse. The head bones were undamaged, suggesting that the boa had swallowed the whole animal."

Well said. Incidentally, one need not lose oneself in the field of hunter's tales, the plain facts that can be reported about the strength and appetite of the big snakes are completely sufficient. Not long ago I had a rachitic, and therefore worthless for collections, Chinese mini-pig killed and thrown into a box containing two large Bornean boas. The pig weighed approximately fifty pounds and was placed in the box at six o'clock in the evening. An hour and a quarter later it had been devoured by one of these snakes. This case was very interesting to me because I had never thrown such large animals as food to the snakes before. I decided to continue these experiments as soon as suitable animals perished in our garden. First to be considered were two young Nilghau antelopes which were eaten by a snake during the night, although each weighed about twenty pounds.

Shortly thereafter, I observed a very special case. A twenty-five feet long snake ate a twenty-eight pounds billy goat. One might have assumed that the serpent was full. It didn't seem so, however, for when a few hours later when I threw it a thirty-nine pounds buck that had been spurned by three other snakes, it grabbed that one as well and devoured it within half an hour. But my eating artist had not shown her best with this huge performance. Eight days later, when an adult Siberian rock goat weighing seventy-four pounds died, I cut off its horns and threw the animal to the snake. The keeper said that such a large animal could hardly be swallowed down by a snake, and I privately thought the same. But after an hour, as I made my way anxiously into the reptile house, I found to my great astonishment that the same snake that had eaten two goats only a week before was already about to devour this third goat, this time a full-grown one. The head had already disappeared into the beast's jaws. I immediately sent for a photographer to take a flash photograph of the interesting spectacle. When the photographer arrived after about an hour, half of the goat had already been swallowed. This obviously caused the snake a lot of work; it moaned quite audibly from time to time, something that was also new to me. I waited until about two-thirds of the prey had been swallowed before taking the photo, when only part of the hindquarters was sticking out of the throat. In this situation, I had the photo taken. A minute later, the snake regurgitated in just thirty seconds the victim it had taken almost two hours to devour. The photo flashlight had obviously startled it.

This incident provided an opportunity to examine the effects of the muscular power of a large snake. For this purpose, I had the goat, which had been regurgitated, dissected the next day. It was then found that the goat's neck was completely dislocated. All the bones, even the ribs, were pushed out of the vertebrae. From this, one can form an approximate picture of the tremendous muscular strength of large snakes.

A snake kills living animals very quickly. It always grabs the head, and with lightning speed the upper part of the snake’s body is wrapped around the victim, whose neck it dislocates. It doesn't start swallowing until the animal is dead. It holds the victim in a hug until it can no longer feel the prey move, only then does it begin to swallow the victim. If the animals are larger, the snake first entirely lets go of the food and makes the head of the prey slippery with saliva so that it can slide down better. When swallowing, the lower jaw expands like a rubber sack. You can have absolutely no idea of this stretchiness unless you have observed a snake devouring large prey for yourself. As the snake swallows, it wraps its meal in its tail from behind and slowly pushes the victim down its throat while moving its upper and lower jaws back and forth. Now and then, there is a recovery period of up to twelve minutes, as was also observed in the swallowing of the large rock goat. Despite this, it only took the reptile two hours to make the prey disappear. Later on, another snake even ate a large eighty-four pound goat in about an hour and a half.

If you see big fat boa snakes lying still in the warmth of their cage or crawling around lazily, you can have no idea what strength, agility and speed these animals are capable of. Dealing with them requires the utmost caution, and even this caution cannot prevent danger. I have literally had hundreds of boa constrictors of all sizes and varieties pass through my hands on arrival and departure, and I had to fight many of them in the process. I have been bitten countless times, but the bite of the giant snake is not dangerous. Anyway, I didn't care if a snake grabbed my hand or arm with its jaws, it was almost taken for granted. Usually some of the needle-sharp teeth remain in the wounds, and of course they have to be pulled out immediately and the wounds washed and bandaged. Once, when one of my customers wanted to choose a snake for himself and handled it awkwardly, a snake bit his hand so strongly and securely that I had quite a task to get the man out of his dangerous situation. I immediately pulled out the stuck teeth myself and treated the wounds with water; but since the bitten man took the matter lightly afterwards, he had to seek medical treatment and was unable to use his bitten hand for weeks.

The snake's muscular rings are much more dangerous than its jaws. It is only thanks to my cool-headedness and, I dare say, my dexterity, that I managed to escape alive from many critical episodes involving snakes. I saw one of the most dangerous fights about fifteen years ago, when, with the assistance of a keeper, I was moving four dark pythons, each fifteen to eighteen feet long, from one box to the other. As always for this task, I had armed myself with a large woollen blanket to protect my face, because this is what the snakes always choose as their main point of attack. They strike at your face with their jaws at breakneck speed, and you will suffer serious injury if you are not careful. I had already transferred two animals without much trouble, but while I was busy with the third snake, a fourth one, which had been lying on top of the shelf, attacked me with open jaws and with such vehemence that I would have been seriously wounded had I not foreseen the attack and parried it with my soft felt hat, which the animal bit into furiously. When the snake bit into the hat, I grabbed it by the nape of the neck using my other hand and hastily ordered the keeper to help me with the net. The man acted a little awkwardly in his excitement, wasn't fast enough, and before I knew it the animal had wrapped the end of its tail around my right leg, pulling itself tighter and tighter around my leg and trying with all its might to entangle me from underneath. I fought back desperately. If the snake had reached any part of my upper body, it might have killed me. Suddenly I saw the very end of the tail on the ground and stomped so hard on it with my left foot that the snake, out of pain or shock, let go of me at once. It then came at me again at lightning speed from above, but I was now armed and parried the attack with the woollen blanket, in which I wrapped the reptile and, despite violent struggles, got it safely into the box. Luckily, the remaining snake had unravelled itself calmly during this episode and watched the battle as a neutral power with slitted eyes.

An even more serious fight, which unleashed the full ferocity of these beasts, took place in Stellingen in the early summer of 1904, and my eldest son Heinrich almost fell victim to it. This was indeed a wrestling match. The big animal attacked him, but he also grabbed the snake that was trying to wrap itself around him. There is little doubt who would have prevailed in this unequal struggle, had not energetic help been at hand. The victim, myself and a guard fought the monster for several minutes, using all our strength, before it was forced to give way. On June 18 four large specimens of Python reticulatus, between twenty and twenty-six feet long, were to be packed for the St. Louis World's Fair. It was as if the four beasts had all conspired to launch an attack. Heinrich had hardly made the preparations and opened the cage when all four charged at him with gaping jaws. I was there immediately, as well, and equipped with the now familiar woollen blankets, several sacks and a long bag net, we tackled the snakes. After a fight in which we had to call upon all our strength and dexterity, two of the beasts were rendered temporarily harmless by covering them. The task now was to tackle the leader, a wild monster weighing around 200 pounds. It was now on its guard. When it saw its opponents approaching it shot up onto the beams in the cage, attaching itself with the end of its tail, and exposed its upper body, and darted forward with its jaws wide open. We'd been prepared for such manoeuvres for a long time. The net was swung into action and, sooner than we could have hoped, the snake's head was in the sack. I then tried to force it off its perch, but had to enlist the help of my Inspector Castens before the animal's muscular rings could be loosened. The real fight was yet to come. Suddenly the snake, with its free tail, grabbed Heinrich's right leg and began to entangle it with terrible force, irresistibly winding itself higher and higher. The situation seemed desperate. We literally threw ourselves on the monster, a struggle for life and death ensued, and only after a minute of extreme effort did our combined strength succeed in overpowering the monster and forcing it into a sack.

Overpowering all four of these fighters cost us some drops of sweat, but finally they all lay defeated in the padded transport boxes.

Skill in dealing with these dangerous reptiles is built on long and varied experience. The knowledge gained through observation was preceded by clumsy groping and experimentation, sometimes with happy endings, sometimes not. I could tell many a peculiar episode about this. At the beginning of the 1970s, a captain from Brazil brought two boa constrictors to Hamburg. To inspect the snakes, I went to the port and on board. A steward immediately informed me that the snakes were lying lifeless in their box, they were certainly dead. In the captain's cabin, in an open cage with wire bars on top, I found the two snakes, one about seven feet long and the other perhaps nine feet long. The steward was right, the animals were lifeless. The condition of the animals was by no means puzzling. It was mid-December, the night had been very cold, and the snakes had been left unprotected in the unheated, freezing room. The snakes just froze. The captain, who had meanwhile stepped up, was already giving the steward the order to throw the animals overboard when I intervened. I offered to at least try to bring the snakes back to life. The sailor laughed and gave his consent, but I wrapped my two lifeless snakes in a blanket, put everything together in a sack and left. I quickly caught a cab and drove to Spielbudenplatz, where we lived at the time. My father laughed too when I shook the two snakes out of the sack near the stove. "If you can bring those snakes back to life, you've done wonders," he said. My attempts at resuscitation were very primitive; I simply left the snakes in front of the stove, went to the office and later to my apartment, which was on the upper floor of the house. After an hour I got the message that in the bird shop - where the stove that was supposed to defrost my snakes was located - there was a terrible uproar among the birds. How could my snakes really have come back to life? I hurried to the bird shop. Truly, the place in front of the stove was empty, the snakes nipped off. The screeching of the birds made it easy for me to discover where my dead snakes were leisurely strolling. – What strange tricks chance sometimes plays! While I was busy chasing the escaped snakes, the door opened and in came Father Kreutzberg, the old menagerie owner, who had just arrived from Russia. He immediately joined the hunt, and in ten minutes we located the snakes. I happily told old Kreutzberg this strange snake story, to which he replied no less cheerfully: "It suits me perfectly that you brought them back to life, because I am looking to buy some snakes for my menagerie." After another ten minutes the two animals passed into Kreutzberg’s possession for the price of eighty Prussian thalers. Two people were still in for a surprise, my father who, that afternoon, found the dead snakes alive and sold at a good price, and the captain, to whom I handed half of the proceeds, forty thalers, the next morning. To him, that was like finding money.

It later turned out to be not uncommon for stiff snakes to arrive, but I didn't always have the same luck with resuscitation. The worst case I had was in 1883. In England I had bought 165 boa snakes representing a value of over £1,000. These snakes were sent with a companion by ship to Hamburg in March. On the way, a severe north-easterly gale arose, which forced the ship to turn back after two days' voyage and steam back to London, as the coal threatened to run out. At Gravesend the steamer took on coal and set out again for Hamburg. The snakes, accustomed to tropical warmth, had to spend seven days on board in a month that was still cold, and I had an unpleasant premonition that things would not go well. Unfortunately, my worst fears were confirmed, the snakes froze on the way and all arrived lifeless in Hamburg. You can imagine that I hurriedly brought the animals to my establishment and used all the means available to bring the snakes back to life. In vain! Not a single animal could be saved. All the money invested for these snakes, 20,000 marks, was lost, in fact double that amount, because the animals had already been sold to America for a corresponding price. Under the circumstances my grief for the dead was genuine, believe me.

I soon learned thorough respect for poisonous snakes, so thorough that to this day I always make sure that such animals, if I accidentally get them with larger transports, are handed over to some institute as quickly as possible. Puff adders play the leading role in my first encounter with the "poisonous people." It was in the 1960s, in the summertime, that these animals, in a large, flat box, wire-covered on top and boarded up, came into our house. Since the animals could not remain in this box, I made myself a more practical one, in which an opening with a slide remained free at the top next to the wire netting. The next difficulty to be solved was how to transfer the dangerous snakes, whose habits I was not quite familiar with at the time. Everything had to be done on spec. Thinking I could just dump the snakes from one box to the next, I unclipped a board about six inches wide from the shipping box and bent back the grate underneath - and just shook the box. To my great horror, and almost too late, it turned out that I had gone started the saga incorrectly and neglected the necessary caution; the animals darted their heads at the opening at lightning speed but made no sign of sliding into the new box; on the contrary, they turned sideways, and two of these poisonous reptiles nearly escaped. Even today, a shock runs through my system when I cast my mind back to that situation. With quick resolve, I began to shake my box and move it backwards at the same time, causing the animals to snap back into their cage. To prevent them escaping, I quickly put the new cage on the opening and was glad when, with the help of a keeper, I had nailed the opening back up. I had had enough for one day; I needed to recover first and think about a practical way of transferring them from one cage to the other. I found a solution the next day. With a sharp saw, I cut a square hole, about three inches square, in the box which contained the snakes, and I placed the gated opening of the new cage against this hole. I removed the boards from the old cage, leaving only the wire mesh in place, so that the inside of the old box was light, and the new box was dark. I knew that snakes like to withdraw into the dark, and this was confirmed when, after less than an hour, all eight of the puff adders had slid over into the new box, which I then quite simply closed with the sliding door.

Since that time, I have had an unholy fear of venomous snakes. Despite all caution, I nearly died from a rattlesnake bite about eight years ago. One summer's day in 1898, when - just back from my trip - I was inspecting the reptile house I noticed a strong smell of putrefaction. When I looked, I found a wired cardboard box in one of the large snake cages, in which there were two dead rattlesnakes, already rotting, among several living ones. These carcasses had to be removed immediately. I took the box out and tried to get the dead animals out from the side where there was a small sliding door with a hook made of strong wire. To do this I had to bend my face close to the box while inserting the hook with my left hand below. In this way, I quickly managed to first grab one of the carcasses and slowly pull it out. The second carcase was more difficult to reach as it was lying below two live specimens. I had no choice but to track down the snakes and they both took it very badly, especially the larger one. Just as I was lying with my face close to the grating for a better view, and shielding myself from the glare of the sun with my right arm, the snake unexpectedly, and at lightning-fast speed, entered the grille with its jaws wide open. I jumped back in fright and waited a little until the animal had calmed down, but then unsuspectingly went back to my work, which I now completed without incident.

It was not until the next morning that I realized that I’d escaped terrible danger and a close encounter with death. As I was dressing, my wife drew my attention to a series of stains on the right sleeve of my skirt, which she took to be smudges. A single look at the supposed stains made me shudder deep down. They were all small, fine, greenish iridescent crystals. When the snake bit into the grille, it had squirted all its venom at my face, and it was only because my arm formed a protective shield that I had escaped ruin. The skin on my face was cracked in many places from being in the open air, and had the poison found free access to my body I would have perished miserably. The rattlesnake’s bite has a terrible effect. I have observed guinea pigs and white rats dead within a minute of being bitten.

Of course, there are no hard and fast rules, and it sometimes happens in nature that a large, heavily armoured animal succumbs to a smaller, more agile one, if the latter belongs to a brave species. I have seen a rattlesnake succumb to the rat that was thrown to it for food. To our great astonishment we found the large rattlesnake dead on the floor the morning after feeding time, and the rat sitting comfortably in a corner of the cage. The rat was unharmed, indeed she had even eaten the flesh of her enemy. The tracks showed that the rat had jumped on the neck of the great snake, grabbed it here, and killed it. She had eaten a large chunk out of the back of her neck. It was a pity there were no witnesses to this interesting fight. With all due respect to the courageous rat, we were careful not to use wild-caught rats as snake food again.

Fights between snakes are not uncommon, they fight over prey, and it happens that, during this fight, the smaller snake is eaten by the larger snake along with the disputed prey. All snakes are accused of stupid, almost automatic voracity. I received a very peculiar proof of this in the early 1870s, when we still occupied our establishment on Spielbudenplatz in St. Pauli. There, our snakes were kept in large, dark boxes, which were warmed from below by hot-water bottles. In addition, the animals were covered with a large woollen blanket, which was only removed when feeding them. One day, along with several other animals, we received a fairly large boa constrictor, eleven feet long. It is quite a respectable length for this species; at least I have never seen such a snake measuring more than thirteen feet. I only mention this in passing, because the boa constrictor is often considered to be the largest of all pythons. In the evening immediately after this specimen arrived, I put a large rabbit in its box, which was eaten during the night. Since I assumed that the snake would have had enough for the time being, I did not put another rabbit in the box the following night, but left the snake undisturbed, covered with the woollen blanket as usual. And what happened? During the night the snake began to swallow the blanket down its throat but was only able to force the bundle halfway. The next morning, I found the animal dead with the blanket in its mouth. It had literally suffocated.

I have never experienced a similar silly accident, except for one snake devouring another and there were fierce, even savage, fights over the prey. About ten years ago it so happened that a yellow python nine feet long devoured another seven feet long, along with a rabbit that had been caged with the two snakes the night before. After later observations I concluded that both snakes had grabbed and killed the rabbit at the same time. When it was swallowed, both tried to choke the rabbit down, one from the head and the other from behind, whereby the larger snake also grbbed the smaller one and swallowed it. The next morning I could clearly see the smaller snake lying lengthwise inside the body of the larger one.

Since then, I have often had the opportunity to observe the fury and perseverance of snakes fighting prey. Four boa constrictors of considerable size once all rushed at each other, anxious for a dead rabbit thrown before them, in a wrestling match that defies description. The smallest of the snakes lunged at the victim first but had hardly grabbed it when the largest of the snakes wrapped itself around its rival and squeezed it so that it had to let go of the prey. Only for a second did the victor enjoy having possession, as the two other large beasts rushed upon it, and in a moment the three beasts had become an inextricable knot, rolling wildly back and forth in the cage. When the head of one of these snakes got caught in the jaws of another, I tried to separate the combatants, but they all lunged at me with their jaws open, and I had to let things run their course. After a three-hour struggle, the animals seemed exhausted and let each other loose. The smallest of the reptiles, who had been idly watching the fight, seemed to have been waiting for this very moment, for it ventured out of its corner and attacked the rabbit again. The snake had already begun to choke its victim when a rival shot up again, wrapped its tail around its neck several times and squeezed it so terribly that it not only let go of the rabbit, but was completely unable to fight. The large snake clutched the smaller one with its coils, grabbing the rabbit and choking it down. Only when it was done with that did it let go of its opponent, which now wrapped itself around its tormentor with a lightning-fast movement and squeezed it so forcefully that the big animal made moaning noises. Before long the four animals were again involved in a chaotic fight, and every attempt to separate the enraged creatures failed. The quarrel began at eleven o'clock in the morning and was still going on at ten o'clock in the evening when I retired for the night. I was quite prepared to find a few bodies the next morning - but there was no sign of a fight, each of the four snakes lay curled up in a corner as peacefully as if nothing had happened. Up till that fight, in 1892, such a stubborn and long-lasting snake fight had not been observed in a zoo. In the case described it was of the large Indian species Python bivittatus, which is one of the largest constrictors, adult specimens being up to eighteen feet in length.

But even these fights are tame in comparison with those fought by the great Bornean boa, for the latter is not content with merely entwining its opponent, but ruthlessly uses its needle-sharp teeth. They bite each other like dogs. Jealousy over prey incites them to extreme anger. I recall a case in which two smaller specimens of these snakes, one about nine feet and the other about twelve feet, fought over a dead rabbit. Suddenly the larger snake grabbed the smaller one by the nape of the neck with its jaws, then wrapped its body around the rest of the animal's body and ripped a large chunk of flesh from its victim's throat. The significance of this feat of strength can only be appreciated by those who are aware of the tremendous toughness of the skin of a great snake. The terrible wound occurred before I could separate the animals. When I finally managed to separate them using a pointed stick to handle the monster, the accident had already happened. That same day I had the injured snake photographed in order to preserve a picture of the colossal bite wounds. The wounded animal died within a few days.

I've seen similar fights quite often in my Stellingen zoo over the past few years. Right now, as I write these lines, the reptile house is home to twelve of the largest boa constrictors ever brought to Europe, or perhaps ever seen. The smallest of these snakes is twenty feet long, and the larger ones are from twenty-five to twenty-six feet in length. (Up to 30 feet long since June 1909.) These animals have, on various occasions, fought for the food thrown at them - dead animals, by the way, for that's what I've accustomed these snakes to. During one of these fights, one snake tore a large piece of skin and flesh from the back of its rival. The wound, about half the size of a man's hand, has healed well and the animal is doing well.

A few days earlier, an even wilder fight took place, which did not end with injuries, but with the complete exhaustion of the opponents. A heavy American turkey, weighing twenty pounds, had been thrown to three large snakes, two of which were twenty-five feet in length, while the third was only fifteen feet. Only the two big snakes took part in the fight, the smaller one remaining a spectator and perhaps thinking: "When two people quarrel, the third one is pleased", or: "He who laughs last laughs best". One of the large snakes immediately lunged at the prey and wrapped itself around it, but the second one was there almost as quickly, bit its opponent and coiled itself around its opponent and the turkey. The first snake found itself in an unenviable embrace. There was constant writhing, squeezing and squirming. After half an hour both animals were totally exhausted and let go of each other. The body of the turkey was also released and there was peace in the cage. The two fighters remained motionless, including the turkey, of course, which was merely a kind of edible still life. The third snake lurked on a tree branch, looking at the prey with slitted green eyes. I did not watch the interlude for very long, but I expressed the opinion to some gentlemen who had watched the fight with me that the smaller snake would now probably have a go at the turkey. This was confirmed the next morning. The little snake had actually eaten the turkey and then, as snakes tend to do after eating, retreated into the pool of water.

It is obvious that with the type and size of the food, the metabolic forces metabolism must be very special. I have already explained what individual snake specimens are able to do when eating. The most interesting thing I've experienced in this direction happened about ten years ago in my zoo at Neue Pferdemarkt. Here a dark Indian python, only fourteen feet long, devoured four Heidschnuck lambs in twenty-four hours, each weighing eleven to seventeen pounds and having horns three to three inches long. On the second day the snake became so swollen by the gases that had developed inside it that its skin burst open a foot in length and gaped two inches wide in places. It completed the digestion of this meal after ten days. The woolly parts were excreted in thick balls, the soft parts in dark-coloured excrement, the bones in white excrement, while the claws and horns were not digested. That was on the tenth day. On the eleventh the snake took another Heidschnuck.

This ten day digestion time contrasts with much longer digestion duratiosn. A boa that had eaten a pig produced its first excrement four weeks later and the last droppings were ten weeks after that. So a pig seems to be a rather difficult morsel for the giant snake to digest. I have further proof of this. Two very large Borneo snakes came to my garden directly from Singapore. One was 25 feet long and weighed 223 pounds. From the wildness of the animals, I concluded that they had not been in captivity for long. Eight days after their arrival, the tusks and claws of a wild boar were found in the cage among the excrement. At any rate, this wild boar must have been the last food that the snake had caught in the wild a relatively long time ago.

Hopefully any tender hearted folk who may have been appalled by the snakes’ unaesthetic feeding habits will find some reassurance in the knowledge that these animals can go hungry for a very long time and sometimes do so voluntarily. Very gluttonous animals, which usually ate food every week for three to four weeks in a row, suddenly stopped without any visible reason and didn't touch anything for more than half a year. In this way, nature brings about a balance. In the wild a long time may sometimes elapse before the great serpents can catch suitable prey. Their system seems to be set up for this. Many years ago, in the Zoological Gardens in Amsterdam, the director Dr. Westermann, who has long since died, had a snake that hadn't eaten for two full years, but which then happily went back to eating and lived with him for many more years. This was a Brazilian water snake, Eunectes murinus.

I once owned a similar extreme example in my zoo. This starvation artist was a dark Indian python, about sixteen feet long, which had come to me thick and fat, but then ate absolutely nothing and starved for a period of twenty-five months. It drank nothing but water; whenever the basin was cleaned, it drank rather large quantities. However, fasting did not suit this snake as well as its colleague in Amsterdam. Eventually, the animal shrank completely and was just a skin-covered skeleton. At this point, I intervened. The suicide candidate was force-fed a killed pigeon, which meant I had to soak the pigeon in warm water to make it slippery, grab the snake at the nape of its neck, open its jaws, and push the pigeon about a foot down its gullet. The snake took care of the rest itself. I could observe how the food gradually slipped down into its stomach. Appetite is awakened by eating. That same evening, I put a live pigeon in the cage. After a short time, the snake had caught and killed this victim and began to choke the animal down. Unfortunately, it had thought about feeding itself too late and was already so weak that it couldn't do the business of swallowing by itself. So I helped, and with the help of a stick I slowly pushed the pigeon further down the snake’s throat. Another pigeon was put in the crate that same evening. But the snake's strength was exhausted, because the next morning we found the snake dead in its crate with the pigeon in its mouth. It had suffocated while trying to swallow its prey.

Snakes prefer to eat, and do so most readily, when the weather is bright, while they rarely eat anything when the air is oppressive. The main condition in their treatment is that they are always kept warm and housed in well-ventilated cages. The normal temperature in a snake cage should not be below eighteen degrees Reaumur, but the snakes more cosy when the temperature goes up to twenty-five degrees Reaumur and higher. If the animals are not given the right temperature, they cannot be persuaded to eat, and they also get mouth rot from catching cold. If you then give the sick animals a fairly warm cage with a large water bath, they will heal themselves. The animals lie under the water for weeks so that only the tip of their nose protrudes to breathe, the water loosens the suppurating bits of the pharynx and the animal removes them by whipping its head back and forth. At times we would use a feather fishing float to help remove the gangrenous bits, thereby curing snakes that had whole bits rotting loose off their jaws.

Rarely does the snake cage become a nursery - the conditions for mating, the incubation period, rearing, etc. are not yet clear enough. However, I am strongly considering the idea of breeding snakes myself in the next few years with the help of the new facilities in my Stellingen Tierpark. There are two ways in which snakes give birth to young. Our Boa constrictor and the various Indian snakes, whose joys and sorrows have been recounted in the preceding pages, lay and hatch eggs; the water snakes, on the other hand, give birth to live young. About fifteen years ago I had the opportunity to observe what was going on in such a nursery. They were born to a Eunectes murinus mother, this being the largest species of snake found in Brazil. There are supposedly specimens twenty feet long, but I haven't seen any. The one I owned was fifteen feet long and exceptionally fit. After a few months, no fewer than forty-eight young were born. A rich family blessing. I couldn't give the lucky father the good news because he remained behind in the forests of Brazil. The story also had a catch, because the young, who were each in a transparent sac, were unfortunately all dead.

The egg-laying species also produce large numbers of offspring. I remember a dark python that laid a goodly number of eggs during the voyage. Despite all the unrest, she remained true to her motherly duty and incubated the eggs. As I roused the animal from the eggs it was wrapped around, I saw three or four hatchlings burst out of their parchment-like eggshells with their heads at me. The nursery was housed in a large, suitable cage. Out of about fifty eggs, the snake had hatched twenty-one, and the rest had dried up. The young used their eggshells as living pods, they would crawl out now and then, but would soon withdraw back into their shells. Some didn't come out at all. The question of nutrition initially caused difficulties. Frogs were not accepted. On the other hand, young white mice seemed more to the taste of the small reptiles, the prey being seized, killed, and devoured in the same manner as the adult were wont to do. Eventually I sold the whole family to the Jardin Zoologique d'Acclimatisation in Paris, who did good business out ofexhibiting these animals. Unfortunately, the young did not have the proper care and soon died. They were stuffed, put back into the eggshells, and anyone who wants to can still see the little animals in the Jardin d'Acclimatisation in Paris.

Another breeder had no luck either. Towards the end of 1904, my brother John Hagenbeck in Colombo, Ceylon, received a very large Python reticulatus from Singapore, which laid no fewer than a hundred and three eggs on the journey to Ceylon. Of these she hatched eighty-eight. I bought the whole family, but only thirty-three of the boys, measuring about fifty to fifty-five centimetres, reached me. Another dozen of the weaker animals refused food and died. Finally, after a few more specimens had been given away to private enthusiasts, I was left with sixteen which I began to give whatever care I could to bring them up. The animals were given sparrows and mice and thrived very well. Unfortunately, all this effort was in vain. Within a few days, they all died from spasmodic convulsions, and the illness only lasted a few hours. It was a real pity. The animals had eaten excellently until then, three of them already measured 1.35 meters and one even 1.65 meters. How easily I could have studied their growth. I assumed the cause of death was insufficient fresh air. For all living beings without exception, fresh air is the main condition of health and development.

The longer and the more I observed snakes, the less I understood why the snake has become a symbol of wisdom. Gluttony, laziness, and under certain circumstances inexhaustible anger, were their main expressions of their life and, in my opinion, this sums up the essence of snake life. Nevertheless, of course I am not claiming that snakes lack any talent that could be trained to perform certain tasks. I would be disproved by the fact that it is so common to see snake charmers or snake tamers; but I doubt that snakes can be trained to perform any feats remotely similar those of higher order animals, or that the snake tamer can enter into friendly relations with his subjects in a similar way to that of the trainers of the known groups of large carnivores, apes or ruminants. Also, my view of snakes is general, that is, I make little distinction between speaking of a boa, a grass snake, or a venomous snake. By the way, nor does the snake charmer. It is an equally erroneous and widespread opinion that most snake charmers perform with the cobra, the Indian spectacled snake. While this is the case with native Indians, snake-charmers of white race who appear in the western countries work - I beg their honourable guild's pardon for revealing the secret - almost exclusively with young specimens of the boa, either the Indian python or the South American boa. No matter how often the general public may have seen snakes, they have the same ignorance about snakes as they have retained about many other animals. I often hear exclamations in my park like this: "Look, what magnificent peacock feathers this ostrich is wearing"; or as I heard in Trieste when transporting the first small African rhinoceros that ever came to Europe, one farmer said to the other: "Look at the little elephant." - "Oh, nonsense, can't you see that he doesn't have a trunk?" - "You numbskull! He's still growing," I could bet that among the hundreds of spectators only very few would be able to judge what kind of snakes they have in front of them. The trainer also does the rest, insofar as the creatures are to be subjected to his treatment, to even out the differences made by nature. He will never work with virulent poisonous snakes, i.e. those whose venomous apparatus is in perfect working order. Before exhibiting himself with them, or before he trains them, he will have made sure that their fangs are broken off. Despite this caution, the trainer is not entirely safe, for the fangs grow back and he is obliged to periodically examine his animals to be on guard in time before the poisonous apparatus works again. It needs no further explanation that a venomous snake, which lacks fangs, is not even as dangerous as an ordinary young boa, let alone an adult boa. As already mentioned, a constrictor of about eighteen feet long is capable of encircling and squeezing a strong man in such a way that he is in serious danger of suffocating. In addition, the dentition of the constrictor is much stronger than that of the cobra. But I have never seen a snake of any kind perform real tricks. The entire trick that can be performed with them is to suddenly bring the snakes out of the darkness in which they have been kept, into the daylight or spotlight, provoke them into springing up and seeming to threaten their master, who soothes it with music. As I state again and again, there is no creature that music doesn't influence in some way. While I'm not suggesting that a hungry boa would get along better with the Moonlight Sonata than with a rabbit, I think there's no doubt that snakes, like most other animals, like music.

Since we are about to talk about venomous snakes and their use in demonstrations, I would like to tell you what I have learned about the extraction of snake venom. I recently received a visit from a learned Indian, Mr. Docton, now employed at the Bombay Zoological Gardens, formerly employed at the Calcutta Zoological Gardens, who made the following experiments.

With an iron rod, the far end of which ends in a round hook that opens upwards, he pulls one snake out of a cage full of poisonous snakes by pushing the hook under its body. The serpent is lifted up in this way and remains attached to the hook like a dangling cord. This situation is all the more remarkable, since one could not perform such an experiment with every snake. However, the poisonous Indian snake, the cobra, or so-called spectacled snake, which is the animal in question here, lacks the ability to coil itself around a smooth stick, or even if it does possess the ability under certain circumstances, it does not do so in these instances, which may be a question of temperament or might be traced back to other causes. Now Mr. Docton lays the snake on the ground with the staff, and at the same time clamps its head at the back of the neck with a forked stick; the pressure exerted on the neck with the fork can now also be reinforced with the finger perfectly safely. At the same moment the assistant is at hand with a mussel shell, which he has previously covered with the fresh, green leaf of a plant. The moment the assistant holds the shell in front of the snake’s jaws, the pressure on the back of the snake's neck is increased. The effect of this increased pressure is that the snake opens its mouth wide and bites the leaf. While a venomous snake that strikes prey only injects a minimal quantity of its venom supply into the wound when it bites, in the process described all the venom is emptied from the gland due to the special pressure. The venom runs through the holes which the venom fangs pierce in the leaf, and into the shell held in front of it. The amorphous venom obtained from a hundred cobras in this way yields four grams when dry. This minimal amount shows how incredibly powerful and potent the venom is, for these four grams would be enough to kill several hundred large mammals or thousands of people. A snake whose venom has been expressed in this way can replenish its store of venom in eight days.

The theory or practice of making individuals immune to the effects of poisons by gradually increasing doses of various poisons can also be confirmed by the use of snake venom, as Mr. Docton has experimentally established. Zoologists know that monkeys, more than any other animal species, react to procedures in a similar way as humans. After all, it is well known that monkeys’ blood cells show only very slight microscopic differences from human blood. Nevertheless, after six months, the Indian monkeys in question were made immune to the venom of this snake species by very gradually increasing injections of snake venom, which were initially extremely small. It has not yet been proven whether immunization with a specific snake venom also protects against the venom of other snakes. It is very doubtful that such general immunization against snake venom is possible, because the interesting evidence has been adduced that two snakes of the same species, if they bite one another, suffer no harm; but on the other hand, if two venomous snakes of different kinds bite each other, both are bound to die. I am faithfully reproducing this report based on the information provided by the learned Indian, and I firmly believe that I can declare it to be reliable. The main buyers of the snake venom obtained by Mr Docton are medical Dr Fraser of Edinburgh and medical Drl Moller in Australia. Hopefully I will be able to publish reports from these gentlemen in a later edition of my work. The amorphous dry snake venom is yellow-green in colour and composed of crystalline bodies.

This effect, observed among snakes themselves, makes it seem probable to me that the peoples of the Orient have been, it is said, practically testing the principles of modern science for millennia. The story of Mithridates, the king, who gradually made himself immune to all poisons known at the time by taking increasing quantities of poison, seems to me just as credible as the fact that in India, in addition to snake charmers who work with poisonous snakes whose venom fangs have been broken off, there are also those who handle real venomous snakes in full possession of their deadly weapon. In the latter case I believe the explanation that these people come from families in which immunization against snake venom has been, so to speak, hereditarily continued. From a very young age, these people are immunized against snake venom, to some extent, with snake serum, so that even the bite of a full-grown cobra with a fully effective venom apparatus no longer harms the adults. The immunization of these people may go so far that their saliva contains sufficient amounts of an antidote effective against snake bites. It is said that they can save those bitten by snakes by cleaning the fresh bite wound with their saliva. Of course, I pass on this report with all caution and accept no responsibility for its absolute correctness.

In this chapter about my experiences with snakes, I would also like to refresh the memory of a beautiful Provencal woman that gave me a lot of joy at the time. It was still early in my career as an entrepreneur of animal training and circus-like performances. At that time there was a man among my people who performed a brilliant act as a ceiling runner. He was able to cling to the ceiling of the room like a fly and walk along it in front of the amazed audience. His secret was a pair of specially constructed suction shoes, whose soles were deflated and therefore attached themselves to the surface. This performance made such an interesting show that after several years the man had amassed quite a handsome fortune. But he was now tired of work, possibly having fallen on his head once or twice; in short, he intended to retire. Then fate put a colleague in his profession in the form of the beautiful Provencal woman I now want to talk about. She was a girl with an extraordinarily delicate figure, with large, magnificent, dark eyes and long, unusually black curls. He married this girl and caused her to find a source of income that would bring them ample profit for many years to come. She became a snake tamer and devised her own method of training and safely taming her animals.

She had nets made of fine rubber threads that looked very similar to the very fine hair nets that women wear. She put these rubber nets in front of her trainees as a kind of muzzle and fastened them behind the widest part of the neck. In this way, the animals were prevented from opening their mouths and could therefore not bite. After a few days the snakes saw the futility of resisting and allowed themselves to be touched and placed in the desired positions. Music accompanied these rehearsals in the usual way. My Provençal employee adopted the melodramatic name of Naladamajante and achieved a kind of fame under that name in America. She joined the great Forepaugh circus for many years and drew huge fees from this entrepreneur. This woman actually managed to make the snakes reliable companions. But it's also safe to say that she didn't let them leave her side day or night. She had snake boxes put together according to her own ideas and took them with her to the bedroom. Naladamajante used to achieve the greatest effect in front of the audience by allowing some snakes to slide onto the stage at the end of the performance, provoking them by holding out sticks and letting them jump at her with their jaws wide open to the sounds of a wild march. Enough years have passed since then that I cannot harm my beautiful Provencal woman by revealing that these snakes, which seemed to threaten their mistress so terribly, no longer had poisonous fangs, or were often ordinary Pythons were. The only interesting thing is that even the comparatively stupid snakes saw through the trick that was repeated again and again. After four to six weeks, even the most bad-tempered of these reptiles got fed up of being teased and could no longer be tempted to spring with their jaws open, which was so effective. Naladamajante therefore very often needed new snakes and was my best customer for years. About every other month I had to send a whole boxful of new snakes over to her in America. I don't know what she did with the philosophical snakes that could no longer be used, but I suspect that she sold them on for a profit.

I cannot close this snake chapter without recalling a strange memory. It's not an American "Snake Story". Nor is it a story of a snake that accidentally slipped into a gold wedding ring and escaped with it, only to have a whole new species of snake emerge years later; each one being born with a small gold ring around its waist. Nor is it a pump-line snake, open at the front and back, which could be used as a hose to water the fields. No, my story is different and is about a strange assignment. Many years ago, I was commissioned by a professor in Switzerland to get him two rattlesnakes, but they had to be drowned in a keg of olive oil. The order seemed a bit strange to me and I therefore asked for the purchase price to be sent in beforehand. When the money came in, I had no reason to doubt the seriousness of the person ordering from me, so I procured two rattlesnakes from New Orleans, slipped them through the bunghole into a keg upon arrival, filled it to the brim with olive oil, and sealed it and sent off the "rattlesnakes in oil". To this day it is still a mystery to me what purpose these oil snakes were supposed to serve. I haven't heard anything from the professor up to now.
[Translator’s Note: Possibly related to "snake oil" – meaning a fake health product - which was supposedly extracted from snakes.]


There are no set rules for dealing with wild animals. You cannot communicate with them in one language, you must devise other means of persuading them to do what you want. Also, there are no specific modes of transportation where you can say that this is best for a giraffe, and this is best for a hippo. One animal is tame and the other unruly; while one specimen of the same family can be led leisurely by the hand, another must be tied up and transported by cart. Everything depends on the circumstances and becomes a question of practical sense. Dealing with untamed animals requires, above all, presence of mind, because all these creatures are guided not by thought but by impulse, and every moment can bring a surprise. The most insignificant circumstance, quite unnoticed by humans, can frighten an animal and lead to utter confusion. The kind of intervention at such moments and calming beasts that have become nervous or angry is a matter of the moment. In short, all contact with animals is based on laws which are indefinite and dictated by necessity.

For example, if you want to get a rhinoceros to walk off the ship across the gangplank onto the quay, it is not enough to simply say, "Oh, my dear rhinoceros, would you be so good as to come over here." The rhinoceros does not understand this language, and as a pachyderm it is insensitive to such great politeness. However, if you put a rope around the animal's neck and pulled it while someone else helped it from behind with a club, it would understand this language no better. It's not pachyderm enough to be regaled with rudeness and it would probably run over the man with the rope. And yet even this beast has its weak spot: its stomach. With the help of this weakness, you can use an international and cosmopolitan language, which animals also understand. If you hold a handful of food in front of the rhinoceros' mouth, you can forget about any other pleasantries.

I knew this wisdom from an early age, and following it once led me on a perilous adventure with a rhinoceros. At that time there was one of those moments when every means of communication fails and only force, the ‘ultima ratio’ in dealing with the animal world, can help. The adventure took place in 1871, at a time when I was not very experienced in treating rhinoceroses while travelling. William Jamrach had arrived in London from India with various elephants and rhinos, as well as several other animals destined for me. I found myself in the English capital for this purchase. Among the animals was a large female rhinoceros, seven to eight years old and almost fully grown, housed in a huge cage set up on the deck. Of course, since this crate was not portable, the animal had to be transported in some way from the ship to the wagon that would take it to the stables. A bridge was attached to the rather low wagon and covered with straw. The difficulty to be overcome lay in the rather long distance between ship and wagon; the long sheds of the East Indian Docks had to be crossed over a distance of 500 metres. Jamrach suggested that the animal, which was very calm, could simply be guided the whole way by the hand, and I finally agreed without fully realizing the enormous dangers of this method of transport. Imagine an adult rhino getting angry and escaping in the docks crowded by thousands. But before we started, I was able to convince myself that it was in fact an exceptionally calm animal.

The preparations were soon made. Our rhinoceros had a strong rope placed around its neck, and a longer one around one of its front feet. A number of other ropes were taken along as a reserve. And now we started. This rhino was not able to resist the international courtesy that has already been mentioned. Jamrach's attendants slowly fed the animal by hand, moving backwards as they did so, and the rhinoceros followed, walking calmly down the gangplank to the wharf. I gave the long neck rope to six guards and instructed them, as soon as they arrived at the wagon, to pull it through the slats of the side walls at the front and fasten it to the shaft so that the animal would be held on the wagon. I took the rope attached to the forefoot in my own hands and walked briskly ahead through the long docks, accompanied by a not inconsiderable crowd of spectators. The rhinoceros followed without reluctance, and the whole story seemed child's play, not worth worrying about.

We were already close to our wagon when I noticed a locomotive with a freight train approaching, and I was terrified that the animal might shy away from this steam-spitting monster at the last moment and run off. With the speed that you can only muster in moments of danger, I jumped onto the wagon, pulled the animal behind me and also infected the guards with my haste, so that before the train even reached the wagon, the rhinoceros was secured according to the plan. It was immediately apparent how immensely lucky this was. The engine driver, who had observed the hurried final phase of the transport, permitted himself the silly joke of letting the steam whistle sound shrill and long at that moment. Shock and fear immediately put the animal in a terrible state of agitation, it began to puff and snort, and scarcely fast enough, but at the right moment, I was able to tie up the beast's free forefoot with the reserve ropes. The work I had to do here was life-threatening, because the animal's agitation increased as a result of the constant whistling and the noise on the quay to a kind of berserker rage that was looking for a way to escape. The nearest thing was the coachman's box, which was mounted quite high in front above the carriage. To bang its head under that trestle was the work of a second. The shock was so violent that the whole of coachman’s box flew out of its frame, spun in the air and fell to the ground with a crash. Luckily, it didn't fall between the horses - otherwise an incalculable misfortune would have resulted. The angry rhinoceros now tried to break through the front wall of the wagon, but now I was there again, swung myself onto the wagon’s drawbar, grabbed a thick rope end and began to thrash the animal between the ears with all my strength. It had to believe that here was a power that would not flee from its own. Eventually, both my unruly friend the rhinoceros and I got tired. It slowly came to its senses and calmed down. We were finally able to drive off, but we still had the difficult task of unloading ahead of us. The stables were close to the road, so we could back the wagon up to the door. The animal now had to walk backwards along an attached bridge, which these animals dislike doing. Here, too, only force could help. Ropes were put around each hind leg and pulled through a ring in the stable wall, the ropes around the neck and front legs were also put through rings so that we pretty much had the rhino under control. But when she was about to get out of the wagon, she threw another fit of rage, fuelled by the tumult of the crowd that had gathered. She slammed herself into the side walls of the wagon to the right and left and would not budge. I first had to badger her from the front with a stick, exposing myself to angry attacks, but we finally got the animal into the stall. I had had enough of this kind of transport and ordered a large ready-made box for the onward journey to Hamburg. The adventure ended well, but if the animal had escaped from me at the critical moment on the quay and if I hadn't been able to secure it in the wagon at the last moment when the locomotive approached, I would probably have had to tell you about a great misfortune and many a lost human life in these memoirs.

Besides the common Indian rhinoceros and the African rhinoceros, Rhinoceros bicornis, I also obtained the true Japanese rhinoceros, Rhinoceros sondaicus, towards the end of the 1870's. Also, on four separate occasions, the Sumatran black rhinos came into my possession, but I have had bad luck with these animals; since all five specimens I bought died of intestinal inflammation. Unlike the Indian rhinos, all of which are caught young and raised on milk after the old ones have been got rid of, the Sumatran rhinos are caught in pits. Such animals have often been traded via Singapore, but did not survive in captivity and perished from the same disease that killed mine. As far as I know, one of these animals is said to still be living in the imperial zoo at Schoenbrunn near Vienna, the only one that has endured captivity for a long period of time. Another rarity is the Rhinoceros lasiotis, a specimen of which was brought to London Zoological Gardens about thirty years ago and has lived there for more than twenty years. The common Indian rhinoceros and the African rhinoceros both do very well in captivity and in our climate. I know several of these animals that have lived in zoos for over thirty years. They are also not very delicate. Several times I have seen rhinos tear off their horns without suffering damage; the horn soon grew back and in the course of a year reached a quite respectable size. When still young, the rhino is easily habituated to humans. The young animals, which I received earlier from the Egyptian Sudan, were simply led quite freely through the desert. As soon as they arrived at the Seriba, they were given their own black guard and got so used to him that they followed him like dogs wherever he went. In the Nubian caravan, which I showed in the Zoological Gardens in Berlin in the seventies, there were three such young rhinoceroses, which roamed around freely in the exhibition area and gave the public a great deal of amusement. The visitors were delighted when the keeper hid himself for fun and the animals began to look for him, making whistling sounds.

In the early 1870s, one of my travellers, Cassanova, already known to the reader, brought the first rhinoceros to Europe. When I received it in Trieste and went so far as to put £800 on the table for the animal, I still thought I had made a very special catch. My hope was quickly dashed, however, because the London Zoological Gardens, from which I had expected to get a high price, after much back-and-forth bargaining, only gave me £1,000, for which I had to deliver the animal, still healthy, to them. I didn't even get paid the purchase price in cash but had to take half of this in animals as part exchange.

Incidentally, this rhino also made sure that I remember it fondly. Although it was only 80 centimetres tall, since it was still a youngster, one day it turned out to be an athlete that further earned my admiration because it challenged me to a match. On the transport from Trieste to Vienna, I stayed with the animal in its special compartment to monitor it personally, because I thought I had a very exquisite treasure. Sitting in a corner, I had just dozed off when I was awoken by a jolt and noticed that the animal had the tail of my coat in its mouth and was sucking it quite comfortably. With all politeness I wanted to remove my coat-tail from the mouth of the little monster, but the animal took this very badly, got mad in no time at all, took a step, made a whistling sound and attacked me. I'm happy to admit that I didn't risk a fight; on the contrary, I jumped over boxes and sacks with a mighty leap to get to safety. A 150 pound sack rolled into the rhino's stall; this sack was obviously unable to defend itself and was thrown into the air by the enraged animal as though it were a small ball. You can imagine that I quickly escaped so as not to give my African guest an opportunity to play catch-ball with me. Later, on the trip to London, I had another opportunity to observe the animal's impetuousness. An extra strong box had been built for its transport by sea, and everything went well as far as London. But the unloading and the transfer of the box from the ship to a wagon must have irritated the animal, because it got nasty and struck the front wall of its cage so hard that the thick boards splintered like the wood of a cigar box. Only because I immediately wrapped the whole cage in canvas and thus put the animal in darkness was misfortune averted.

An even more delicate animal than the rhinoceros is the hippopotamus, the thickest-skinned and plumpest of all pachyderms. And yet one of my travellers once transported such an animal in a suitcase. Admittedly the story sounds like humbug and is reminiscent of the American traveller who travelled through the country with a sample case full of telegraph poles. Oddly enough, a long time ago, a fantastic drawing appeared in a German witty newspaper, depicting an alleged traveller of Hagenbeck's with numerous animals, all of course in the strangest packaging. You can satisfy yourself about the draftsman's humour by looking at the reproduction. But it's just as if the illustrator had alluded to the little episode I want to mention here. In fact, I once received a hippopotamus as a piece of luggage. The keeper I had sent to Bordeaux to receive the animal simply transported it in a large suitcase, which he checked in as luggage to Hamburg. The animal, a female, came from the west coast of Africa, but weighed only eighty pounds. It is still in the zoological garden in Hanover.

An even smaller species of hippopotamus, and the smallest, comes from Liberia. In the 1860s a juvenile of this species, weighing not quite thirty pounds, was taken to Dublin via Liverpool, where it lived only a few weeks. It was the first and only pygmy hippopotamus ever brought to Europe. The largest hippopotamuses, on the other hand, come from East Africa and Sudan.

These large beasts, like their relatives the rhinoceros, are prone to get angry and are no joke. One of these animals once turned me into a fast runner. It was a large adult female that I acquired from Kaufmann's menagerie in southern Germany about 25 years ago. It had just arrived in Hamburg and was to be taken from its wagon to the stable. But the lady was stubborn, she not only had thick skin but also a thick head, and she didn't want to get out of the wagon at any price. If you held out her food, she would put her foot on the gangway and snap at the treat, but then pull back. For a few hours I put up with the whim of this fat beauty, then my gallantry failed and I lost patience.

After everything was well prepared and the short distance from the wagon to the cage was cordoned off on both sides, I instructed my men to give the animal a powerful push from behind with a board, so that the shock would drive it forward. The barrier on one side was a large wire-covered wooden frame, which was braced and was also held up by two of my men, who of course were behind the fence. I stood at the bottom of the gangway and lured the hippopotamus with a handful of food. Once again it took two steps forward, snatched it and tried to retreat. At that moment I called out to the keeper to uninhibitedly punch the lady in the buttocks. But oh dear! Misunderstanding this caress, she flew forward with her jaws wide open and with such vehemence that the bridge collapsed beneath her. Then she angrily turned sideways against the people who were standing behind the fence, and attacked the fence, which fell over and buried the two people under it. Snorting with rage, the animal now attacked the defenceless men, and things could have turned out badly for them if the lifesaving thought hadn't suddenly occurred to me. I stood sideways into the enclosure into which the animal was to be herded and took in the dangerous situation at a glance. If I didn't succeed in distracting the animal from the fallen people, then it would be certain disaster. Without thinking, I gave the hippopotamus a full-force kick with my right foot, and the effect was amazing. With lightning speed, it spun round and sprang at me, jaws open. I was on my guard and running, running like I've never run in my life. With the enraged beast behind me, I sprang across the enclosure, over the pool, and out the other side through the iron gate, the bars of which were about a foot apart. Once back outside, I ran madly back around the enclosure and closed the door - the hippopotamus was trapped. The whole spectacle was watched from a safe distance by the director of the London Zoological Gardens, Dr. Slater, and by the director of the British Museum, Professor Gunther, who happened to be present. It's a pity there was no photographic equipment, or better still, a cinematograph, present - my flight through the cage with the hippopotamus hot on my heels would have been a first-rate sensational piece.

The same female hippopotamus had a visitor a short time later. Had Kipling been able to observe this visit, he would have immediately turned it into a novel. Next to the hippo's stable lived a giant kangaroo, which one evening resolved to visit its imposing neighbour with the Junoesque figure. The door being locked, it performed a true gymnastic feat, leaping over the six-and-a-half-foot wall. When I was called by the keeper, I was presented with the strangest spectacle. The kangaroo stood in front of the hippopotamus and continuously rained down hard slaps on her large snout. And the hippopotamus didn't fight back. With a kick of her foot, or with a powerful swing of her enormous head, she could have destroyed the kangaroo, but she just stared, speechless, amazed at the incredible impudence of the intruder. A similar astonishment seizes the most unsuspecting respectable man when he suddenly has to endure the impertinence of some scoundrel. Afterwards, when he has come to his senses, it seems incomprehensible that he didn't just kick the rascal into the air. The hippopotamus may have experienced something similar, in the appropriate spiritual gradation of course. In this interlude I was treated to one of the funniest animal shows I have ever seen. But it was important to remove the uninvited visitor as quickly as possible before he aroused the wrath of the hippopotamus, for that would have resulted in certain death. I quickly had the seal net, with which I used to catch seals from their basin, fetched, built myself a trestle, which I mounted nimbly, and now operated over the wall so fortunately that in a few moments the kangaroo was entangled in the net and could be pulled out.

Hippos do well in captivity and have bred in many zoos, including in London, Amsterdam, Antwerp and St. Petersburg. Courtship and mating take place in the water. These animals are capable of breeding at the age of five. It is an interesting sight to see a mother hippopotamus playing in the water with her young, or to see the young resting on the mother's back when tired. The individual animals have different characters of course. Some become quite tame, many retain a vicious and excitable tendencies throughout their whole lives. In a circus in America, I met a pair of large adult hippos that were quite tame. At the great parades or processions, which American circuses are known to undertake, these animals always walked freely alongside their keeper on the street, without any misfortune ever happening.

I would now like to tell you a little about much more uncomfortable company. These are animals you can't make friends with, on the contrary, you must always be three or more steps away from them if you don't want to get hurt - I'm talking about crocodiles[*]. Perhaps it's fortunate that in my youth I received a lesson from a crocodile that inspired me with sensible caution for the rest of my life. I was bitten on the index finger of my right hand by a crocodile only two feet long, but I didn't take much notice. And that was where I went wrong. After three hours I felt terrible pain not only in the bitten finger but in my whole arm, my hand started to swell and the swelling was spreading up my arm. Only now, on my father's advice, did I wash the wound with ice-cold water and bathe my arm throughout the night; sleep was out of the question anyway because of the terrible pain. The doctor who called in the next morning described this cold water treatment as very fortunate, since my arm was in danger. The swelling slowly subsided, but the memory remained.
[* Note: Hagenbeck uses the terms "crocodile" and "alligator" interchangeably.]

Since then more than 2000 crocodiles have passed through my hands and, as you can see, I have not been eaten by any of them. In spite of all my caution, however, I experienced an instance where I came very close to becoming a meal for the crocodiles. I was busy packing twenty alligators that were to be displayed with a large collection of reptiles in the zoological garden at the time of the penultimate Düsseldorf exhibition. These alligators were six to ten feet long. I had already safely removed six of the animals from the pool when something very strange happened, which would have meant certain death in a thousand cases. The whole thing happened much faster than I can describe it here. When I was about to remove the seventh specimen from the water, I suddenly received such a violent blow from its tail that I fell headlong into the pool, lengthwise between the other crocodiles. It is incredible how quickly people can think and act at the moment of danger. Thought and deed are like a lightning strike. Even faster than I fell in, yes, with lightning speed, I was out of the pool again - unharmed. The crocodiles hadn't even come to their senses. If even a single animal had grabbed me, I would have been irretrievably lost. I know from experience that at the same moment all the other animals would have grabbed me, turned around with their jaws latched on, and torn their victim apart. It would not have been fun.

Luckily, I wasn't involved myself, but I have seen alligator fights, which I didn't feel entirely comfortable with, because what was destroyed in those fights was of value to the business. These animals are relentless in their anger, like ants they bite each other and won't let go even if their whole heads are shattered. I witnessed one such fight in the 1880s. At that time, we received one of our largest shipments of these animals, almost 300 alligators of various sizes. Most were only one to four feet long, but there were also six larger animals, ranging in length from ten to eleven-and-a-half-feet. The animals, which had been sitting in transport boxes since their capture, had become very vicious, their angry snorting sounded something like an engine letting off steam, the animals had built up a huge amount of anger during their close confinement, so to speak. It was therefore doubly necessary to be cautious when unpacking them. The boxes were individually pushed into the enclosure, which contained a large pool for them. First, I opened the boards at the head end of the box, then provoked the animals at the other end with a stick and in this way easily got them moving. Everything seemed to be going well. The first animal climbed out of its box and disappeared into the pool. Some of the others did the same and went straight into the water or stayed on the edge of the pond. When the fifth and sixth alligators appeared, the animals charged at each other like vicious dogs for no apparent reason, and in a few moments all six crocodilians were in a single rolling ball, snorting and snarling, diving up and down, their tails whipping wildly in the water. The animals raged in a horrible way. They grabbed each other in their strong jaws and wrestled almost to exhaustion, then, without letting go, the stronger one spun around in the water, the jaws of the loser breaking with a crack and crunching sound. The water splashed high into the air and slowly turned red with blood from many terrible wounds. There was no jumping in to separate them, we could only watch the fight helplessly. The only thing we could do was to fill the pool to the brim so the animals could find more shelter under the water.

The next morning, when the water was drained again, the scale of the damage became apparent. Almost all the fighters remained at the battlefield, although only four of them were still alive. Two had their lower jaws and also part of their upper jaws in pieces and these two animals had already suffered. The front legs of two other animals were totally twisted off, they were only hanging by the skin. A fifth had lost an eye and finally these friendly comrades had torn off a piece of the tail of the sixth. In a word, everyone was horribly beaten up. After eight days only one animal out of the six remained alive, the one with the mutilated tail, it was slowly recovering and I was able to monetize it later, but it was small consolation for the great loss.

Fighting as such was nothing new to me, I had often observed the unfriendliness among smaller specimens of these animals. However, the great loss made it obvious that I should take adequate precautions to prevent similar life-and-death struggles in the future. I began putting muzzles made of thin rope on all the newly arrived crocodiles. The procedure was performed while the animals were still in their cages and great care was needed to remove our hands from the cage with the skin intact. Once the muzzle was in place and secured behind the neck, I let each animal crawl out of its box and into the pool. In this way I have muzzled many hundreds of crocodiles during my practice. If several animals got into the pool at the same time, they rushed at each other full of fighting spirit and a great struggle began, but they could no longer harm each other because their terrible jaws were closed. After just six to eight days, the animals always completely calmed down and I was able to start removing their muzzles. The tool I used was a sharp knife attached to a long pole, with which I cut the rope at the back of the neck from a safe distance. By means of a long hook made of iron wire, which was also attached to a pole, I then took the noose down from the nose. Of course, the animals were not all freed from their muzzles at once, but several days passed before they could all enjoy their freedom. They then got sufficiently used to each other that fights like the one described no longer occurred.

After the animals were safely put into the pool and calmed down, the issue of maintenance and nutrition came to the fore. There was no need to hurry because, like snakes, crocodiles can survive for months without food. Very gradually I began to get the animals to feed. For feeding, I avoided the hottest days where possible and preferred the evening hours. Armed with a pail full of chopped-up lungs from cattle or horses, I went to the pool and, at short intervals, threw the pieces into the water in such a way that they smacked the surface. The crocodiles then stuck out their heads and snapped at the lungs. After they were acquainted with this way of feeding, another method came along. Meat, which was attached by wire to a wooden pole, was moved back and forth on the water until the animals grasped the food. They usually get used to this very quickly, too. Over time I got closer and closer to the pool and some of these wild-caught animals let me feed them out of my hand after only four to six weeks. Friendship between this reptile and humans is, of course, completely impossible. I am also convinced that the animals would have made little distinction between the meat held out and the hand holding the meat had not the necessary care been exercised. They took the food with hisses but without any real viciousness, and that was all.

After just eight days, I often got small crocodiles, animals about three or four feet long that were kept behind glass panes in the snake house, to the point that they came straight forward in response to a light tap on the pane and took the food straight out of my hand. By the way, these armoured lizards are extremely voracious. A nine-foot specimen, which is not a very large specimen, once managed to devour 43 pounds of meat in one meal before my eyes.

With good care, crocodiles grow very quickly. In the London Zoological Gardens several years ago, there was an animal about eleven feet long, which eighteen years earlier had been bought as a three feet long animal. From what I have observed so far about the growth of alligators, and have learned from various sources, I suspect that these animals are approximately fully grown between the ages of eighteen and twenty years. When fully adult, alligators are twelve feet in length. It is true that animals of fourteen feet are said to have been shot, but I have never seen a specimen larger than twelve feet, and I saw this five years ago at the Zoological Gardens in New York.

Most of the crocodiles I imported were of the common species, the aforementioned alligators, Alligator mississippiensis, which come from the southern states of the Union. The first consignment of these animals was brought to us very early, around 1856, by an old Hamburger named Tischer, who lived in New Orleans and was engaged there in catching crocodiles, turtles and other animals which he sold to private enthusiasts. Tischer had come via Bremerhaven with a whole transport of animals, which were in a freighter in the port of Hamburg. Of course, my father took me along to see it, as he always did. I still remember exactly the sight of this old animal transport. On the top of the little vehicle were thirty boxes containing a motley jumble of large and small alligators, various species of terrapins, bullfrogs, rattlesnakes, and American vipers. The sales negotiations lasted the whole day, because Tischer demanded a fairly high price, namely 2000 Marks cash, in today's currency about 2400 Reichsmarks. Eventually my father acquired all of the animals for the price of 600 Prussian thalers, but I received an alligator about three-and-a-half-feet long as a gift from the happy seller. My alligator was blind in one eye, but you don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I was delighted with the gift.

At that time, in the old museum booth in St. Pauli, the facilities for taking in animals were still very primitive. Some of the alligators were housed in empty seal tubs. The tortoises had to be left in the transport boxes for the time being, since there were no containers for them. Almost all of them were sold to the Hamburg Museum. Kustos Siegel, later superintendent at the Hamburg Zoological Garden, was a precise expert on such animals and sold a large number to various other European museums. It was much easier for us to place the crocodiles, which at that time were still quite rare animals for menageries and museums. My father did a good job despite the high price he thought he had paid. I also. I sold my one-eyed alligator for eight Prussian thalers - a fortune for a twelve-year-old boy like me at the time. In the next three to four years, Tischer also arrived in Hamburg with similar transports, then he disappeared from the scene. Other sources of supply were opened. We heard later that Tischer had died over there from a snake bite.

Compared with the large Indian crocodiles in the Ganges and in the Brahmaputra, the American alligators are only dwarfs of the family. Kipling made one of these giants the subject of a magnificent animal narrative, "The Undertakers," where the hero is one of those great gavial crocodiles, gavialis gangeticus, a giant twenty-four feet long, lying in the stream below an Indian village and the village has been pillaged for as long as anyone can remember. This is the "Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut". The monster lay "cased in what looked like treble-riveted boiler-plate, studded and keeled and crested; the yellow points of his upper teeth just overhanging his beautifully fluted lower jaw." I think Kipling is pretty close to the truth. Two hides of this creature came into my possession fifteen years ago, one fourteen feet and the other sixteen feet long. My traveller Johansen, at that time first officer of a steamer, brought the skins to Hamburg and gave them to the conveyance company, from whom I acquired them. I later took the two Gavials to the exhibition in Vienna, and they are still in the Imperial Museum there. The size of these hides did not match Kiping’s great mugger of course. On the other hand, the aforementioned Johansen told me the following: Three years ago, when he was going down the Brahmaputra in a large barge from Assam with a convoy of elephants, he observed two gavials, whose length he estimated to be at least twenty-five feet. He even shot the animals without be able to get hold of them. Since the crocodiles had been hit, Johansen offered the barge's captain 300 rupees if he would stop so the prey could be taken on board. But it was in vain because the strong current made it impossible to stop the vehicle. Johansen claims to have seen crocodiles on his journeys, which he estimates to have been a good thirty feet long. On a new trip to India, the traveller was tasked with looking out for large gavials and bringing at least the skins home. Catching and transporting live gavials that size would be difficult. I have tried to import young specimens on various occasions, but they all perished on the journey. In my opinion the Ganges crocodile is the largest of all species of crocodilians, but crocodiles up to twenty feet in length are said to occur, according to some of my travellers, in the White Nile and in the great African lakes. Will such giants ever be seen in captivity?

Perhaps no animal once caused such a stir in modern civilized countries as the giraffe. These animals have now become so well-known through the Zoological Gardens that some big-city lads see them more often than cows and pigs, and one can hardly imagine how the incredulous public was astonished by the first such animals to arrive in Europe. The grotesque shape of this mammal, reminiscent of prehistoric giants, made the astonishment fully justified. At first sight this animal seems quite unfit for captivity, like Gulliver in Lilliput, in a culture designed for much smaller creatures. One can imagine that the first transports of these animals faced many difficulties. If you didn't want to let the animals spend the night in the open, you had to find suitable accommodation them - but how and where? All the stables proved to be too narrow and low. Even in such stalls, which were not selected through lack or alternatives and could be considered well suited, there were strange and painful incidents. The giraffe may carry its head high in the wild, as it needs its long neck to reach the leaves of the trees, but in captivity it can become an obstacle for it. Years ago, in the summer of 1876, I lost three giraffes at once, all three perishing through a strange incident despite careful care. The three animals were found helpless on the ground one morning, still alive, but all three with splintered necks. The barn was high and wide enough, but the animals must have banged their heads against the wall, perhaps during a scuffle, breaking their delicate cervical vertebrae. I experienced similar cases twice more, and in all of them there was nothing I could do but kill the animals at once.

A peculiar disease afflicts young giraffes, it is now pretty much established as an acclimatization disease related to the changed diet. The animals get swollen knees, eventually the front legs become crooked and lame, and they usually die within a year. Certain animals make it through, for example, there is still a giraffe in one of the Duke of Bedford's English parks, which has been afflicted with the disease for three years. Despite not clearly understanding the causes of this disease, we managed to get it under control by introducing a different feeding method. Since then, at least we have not lost any more specimens to this ailment.

Besides, giraffes cannot be regarded as delicate or overly sensitive animals. Various menageries, including that of old Kreutzberg, have had giraffes for years. A specimen which I sold to Barnum withstood the rigours of traveling with circus for a full eight years, and would certainly have endured much longer had it not perished in an accident. In many cases the animals have also reproduced in the Zoological Gardens, I know this from London, Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, Berlin and Hamburg. The latest young giraffes were born recently in Berlin, Cologne and London.

In the summer of 1827, the first giraffes to reach Europe were sent by the viceroy of Egypt to the governments of France and England as gifts. One specimen was housed in the Zoological Gardens in London, the other in the Jardin de Plantes in Paris, both attracting an enormous influx of the public. In the years that followed, giraffes only made their way to Europe sporadically. The Imperial Menagerie in Schoenbrunn and the Zoological Garden in Amsterdam could boast of having giraffes. The largest number reached Europe in the decade 1867-1877, I myself imported no fewer than thirty-five specimens in 1876. But I wasn't the only importer. At the same time, a competing firm imported twenty-six giraffes from Sudan, and the inevitable consequence of this bulk supply was that the price of the "goods" went down tremendously. They were practically given away. A year later, I sold the last three little giraffes from my stock to an Englishman for the ridiculous price of 150 pounds sterling. The excessive importation of giraffes ended a few years later due to the outbreak of the Mahdist war, but unfortunately, as the reader already knows, all animal trapping in the Egyptian Sudan was paralyzed at the same time.

The strange beast, whose strongest points do not include cleverness, is docile enough within its four supports. It is always interesting and entertaining when it looks down at the viewer with its large dark eyes, which lie under horizontal lids as if it were under two roofs, when it makes lively leaps in the enclosure with its stilt-like legs or picks up a leaf from the ground with its front legs spread wide. All that changes for those who have to lead a giraffe or even several giraffes freely across the streets. These creatures are easily scared, and their long legs, which carry them quickly forward, then become dangerous instruments. I could tell many tales about the large and small adventures that I encountered on giraffe transports, serious and cheerful, and sometimes cheerful with a bitter aftertaste. Much like the following episode.

In 1876 I sold, among other things, two large Giraffes to the Zoological Garden in Vienna, which I myself transported from the train station through the Tiergarten to their destination. As always on such occasions, there was a large entourage of curious people who enjoyed the jumps and antics of the animals. As long as people keep a safe distance and don't disturb the animals with mischievous noise, the entourage means nothing. Of course, there are always a few cheeky ones. So too here. A young, dapper gentleman with a top hat pressed onto his head always dared to get very close to the animals and could not be stopped by any warning, although the animals became restless. When the giraffes started to jump, the curious young man jumped close behind. Seeing the danger, I called out loudly to the careless man to stay back. But in vain. At that moment the animals suddenly stopped, and one lashed out at the pursuer with its hind hoof, though luckily for him the hoof struck the top hat, which whirled around in the air for a moment and then fell to the ground. I can still see the man who had started out so well, deathly pale before me and completely bereft of what little spirit he had, then snatching up his hat and quickly disappearing. That was what the Americans call "a close shave". If the man had been just two centimetres closer to the giraffe it would have knocked off his skull, not his top hat. A humorous episode, as you can see, but one with a serious aftertaste.

Runaway giraffes number in the dozens, and while it's not much use, you learn to run in the process. But of course you must have the giraffes on halters. Trying to run after such a long-legged beast to grab hold of its tail is like trying to hang on to the rope of a rising balloon. And yet I have seen something similar. That same year, on the way from the Sternschanzen railway station in Hamburg to my zoo at the Neue Pferdemarkt, a large giraffe ran away with me. The bounds you must make to keep up with a great giraffe can be imagined better than I can tell. With me at the time was the second director of the zoological gardens in Amsterdam, and in an effort to help me, this gentleman thoughtlessly grabbed the tail of the animal, which immediately acted on it like an electric wire. Once he had caught it, he could not let go of it and had to bound grotesquely after the fleeing animal until it hit the ground, but fortunately he escaped without serious injury. It must have been a sight for sore eyes. Oddly enough, the animal painter, Leutemann, was also present and, as you can see, he immortalized the scene in a drawing.

Far be it from me to make fun of this episode, it was a product of the moment, and I'd always prefer people who act at once without reflecting than those who ponder until action is useless. Besides, I myself have been in a similar position more than once, and sometimes even through my own imprudence. I can recall a little episode I experienced with a giraffe in Suez when I had to transfer it from the stables to the train station. The animal had been standing in a stable in Suez for a long time and, like horses when they hadn't been moved for a long time, was particularly bold. It was also a strong animal. I took two people with me to help. But the mistake I made was this: I foolishly wrapped the long rope which was attached to the animal tightly around my arm several times. The two auxiliary guides went to the other side of its neck. At first the animal calmly walked about twenty paces, then it suddenly straightened up and bolted. My two helpers, who of course weren't tied to it, were thrown to the side, but I had to go with it, I wasn’t the one leading the giraffe, it was leading me; I was dragged along next to the animal in giant leaps and, at first, I had only one thought: not to fall. If I fell, I would be dragged to death. It was a Mazeppa ride in altered form, the Mazeppa followed on foot.

The giraffe, and myself with it of course, raced across Suez in a terrifying gallop. First it went through and over a veritable mountain of broken bottles, then through the streets, around nooks and crannies, into the midst of a crowd that scattered, probably for about two kilometres. I was fortunate to be nimble and flexible, but eventually I ran out of breath and made a last, desperate attempt to free myself from the rope. It finally worked and I fell flat on the street. In the next moment it would certainly have gone badly for me, because now that I was lying down, I was so out of breath that I couldn't get up again. The giraffe didn't seem to feel any different, it only ran on for about fifty yards and then stopped near a telegraph pole, where it calmly let a Negro boy tie it up. That was the end of the adventure, and I avoided repeating it by immediately sending out half a dozen strong Arabs, who, together with me and my own people, totalling nine men, thwarted the enterprising giraffe's further escape plans.

Despite such occurrences, self-transportation of such large animals, that is by their own legs, is still the easiest way. I have also often had the opportunity to see the other side of the coin. Ten years later. The giraffe-poor time has begun, nothing like that is in stock in the animal trade, not even here. But it is enough to know where to find what you are looking for. One day, there was a telephone call to ask whether a giraffe could be delivered straight away, a rich Brazilian wanted to buy one of these animals to give to the zoo in Rio de Janeiro as a present. Here it was necessary to act on two sides. I knew that the director of the Frankfurt Zoo was not averse to selling his giraffe or exchanging it for a small elephant. When I sent a wire, I received confirmation that they wanted a small elephant and a few thousand marks in cash. On this condition I had the animal transferred to me by telegraph. I offered the giraffe to the Brazilian's agent for the price of 20,000 marks and gave him eight days to come to an understanding with his client. A few days later the deal was complete and even the ship with which the giraffe was to be dispatched had already been decided. A trip to Frankfurt concluded the deal on the other side.

Now it was time to transport it, which required special care, because the animal had been in its stable for ten years and was used to a calm life. First, I went back to Hamburg after I had commissioned a large box for transport in Frankfurt. Six days later it went back to Frankfurt with a keeper to pack and load the giraffe. Six full hours elapsed alone before I had lured the animal to its cage in the wagon. It was a large male giraffe, a good twelve feet tall, and rather heavy, so that the transport box occupied nearly three-fourths the space of a small railroad lorry. This giant box now had to be transported from the Zoological Garden to the railway station; despite the proximity of the station, it was a distance of more than five hundred meters. The monster couldn't be loaded onto a cart, so there was nothing for it but to slowly move the box on castors underneath.

The giraffe survived the journey across the pond very well, but before it was permanently installed in the zoological garden in Rio de Janeiro, there was a small incident. As the traveller who accompanied the giraffe explained, the enclosure intended for this African guest was only fenced with ordinary wire of the kind used for chicken coops. When the animal was let out of the stall again shortly before sunset, it was happy to have regained its freedom and began to make the usual jumps and collided so violently with the wire fence that the wire gave way and broke. With a mighty leap the giraffe jumped over the resulting gap and galloped towards the forest and disappeared into the shadows. Although the keepers immediately gave chase, nightfall dashed any hope of finding the animal. Then my traveller came up with a brilliant idea. He hung a burning stable lantern on his chest and a bundle of hay on his back, and then wandered into the forest. The giraffe must have noticed the light at once because the man soon heard the pounding gallop of the animal and after a few moments the giraffe came into view. Now the ingenious animal catcher turned around and presented his back with the tempting fodder to the giraffe. The animal immediately began to eat, and the traveller slowly walked towards the zoological garden, the giraffe always on his heels and snacking on the hay. In this way, the fugitive got back into his stable, and the fact that it was better kept after that probably needs no assurance.


A more humane time has also dawned for the animals that are transferred from the wild into captivity. What used to be understood as training did not deserve that name at all, one could rather have described all those procedures as animal cruelty, while today's training really deserves the name of a school. The tools of the animal tamers of earlier times were whips, sticks and red-hot irons. One can imagine that the animals never trusted their masters, but only feared and fiercely hated their tormentors. Of course, there was never any mention of selecting individuals for training.

The whole trick consisted in frightening the animals so much by beating and prodding them with the hot iron, that at the mere sight of these frightening objects they fled through the cage, jumping over any obstacles blocking their way. But by the time the animals got that far, they were usually badly battered. Many years ago, at an auction in England, I saw four "trained" lions with all their whiskers singed off and their mouths horribly burned. Of course, it was not uncommon in those days for animal tamers to be attacked and mauled or torn to pieces. The lions and tigers who became cannibals in captivity when treated that way are not at fault, their better selves had been utterly repressed, they had been reduced to an intolerable existence, and finally they acted only in self-defence when they attacked their tormentors. The basic character of predators is not malicious, they are receptive to friendship and benevolence, and return trust with trust.

When I was young, I had many opportunities to observe this wild animal training, both in England and in Germany, and even then I had a keen desire to replace this pointless way of treating the poor animals with a more reasonable one. In Hamburg, this type of predator training was first demonstrated many years ago by the trainer Batty in the Renz circus. If I'm not mistaken, this brave man - that's how animal tamers of the time should be described, given the real danger they were putting themselves in - worked with six lions. But his whole training consisted in driving the lions about in the cage after they had been made wary of these frightening objects, and they then jumped over barriers that were pushed in from outside whether they wanted to or not. Eventually, Batty stood near the exit, fired several shots from a carbine, and retired from the circus wagon through a curtained safety cage. The whole miracle of such a performance consisted in the fact that the animals did not pounce on the tamer.

Of course, there were also different opinions in training wild animals, although the system generally remained the same. There were people among the trainers who treated their animals well, as far as the system permitted, and at least refrained from unnecessary cruelty. Batty's successor, Cooper, who still lives in England today, living off investments, belonged to this category. He also worked with a large group of lions, so successfully that the American circus owner, Myers, included both the group of lions and the trainer in his tent circus, and he toured Germany and Austria-Hungary with this circus. Through clever observation, Cooper had already come to a move that is almost the law in training tame animals. Just as one removes animals not intelligent enough for training from the performing groups in good time, Cooper removed those animals that had become too vicious and unpredictable. Out of this very commendable custom, the animal tamer had a bad adventure with some lions that I had supplied.

One day I received a request from the circus owner Myers, who now also owned the Cooper group, if I could come up with some lions. It so happened that I had just bought a whole collection of animals from the menagerie owner Traben, which included a few lions that were always used for performing purposes. Cooper came to Hamburg himself, inspected the animals and, once the purchase was complete, took them with him to Brussels. There, he made a mistake. He put all the lions together, his old ones with the new ones, instead of slowly getting the animals used to each other. The new lions had not yet worked together with other specimens, they only knew each other and the lady who had hitherto been their mistress, and this new state of affairs irritated the animals, making them, as they say now, nervous. When Cooper tried to force the shy animals to perform his wild tricks with a whip, disaster struck. The most good-natured lion among the new animals attacked Cooper and mauled him viciously. Through mutual misunderstanding, a humane animal tamer was harmed by a tame lion. Cooper had to go into the infirmary to heal his wounds.

Meanwhile there was a nice little interlude between the circus owner Myers and me. The day after the accident I received a telegram from Myers, postmarked Brussels, in which one of Cooper's new lions was made available to me, allegedly because the animal was ill. When the telegram arrived, I didn't know anything about the accident, otherwise it would have been clear at once that the attack had not been good for the lion either. Besides, I didn't take the telegram seriously anyway, I had delivered the lion to Cooper in Hamburg in good health and had received payment for it, and as soon as I read the telegram I had a feeling that something must have happened. Of course, I telegraphed my refusal to accept the return of the healthy lion. The next day I received another telegram, the text of which read:

"Your lion is dead; what shall I do with him?"
Without thinking further, I telegraphed the following reply: "Pickle him, if you like."

A few weeks later, when I had almost forgotten the whole thing, a barrel containing a salted lion actually arrived in Hamburg by train as freight. The crazy guy really had salted the lion and sent it to me. He probably believed that by carrying out my ironic answer he would have the law on his side. Of course, I immediately sent the consignment note back to the train station and refused to accept the salted lion. Myers tried to file a lawsuit, but fell foul of it, because when the lion was dissected it turned out that the animal had died from the abuse it had suffered. The fur was streaked with blood on the finest parts of its body, and the body also showed the marks of severe beatings, which must have been carried out with iron rods and thick clubs. When the tamer was grabbed by the lion, the animal received the beating from the people who went to the rescue of the victim.

The old German animal tamers like Kreutzberg and Martin, also Kallenberg, Preuscher, Schmidt, Daggesell and Kaufmann, who mainly travelled in Germany and Austria, differed considerably from those who performed with completely wild animals. They all trained and presented only those animals that had been tamed from youth. Some of these people gave very interesting demonstrations, as far as they could be performed in the narrow boxes of the menageries. Just imagine the difference, the narrow, semi-dark box and the airy, large arena that is now used for performances. I still remember very well old Kreutzberg from my youth, who, with the help of a young Swede, performed nerve-racking tricks with wild animals in his so-called central cage. In France it was Pezom, Pianet and mainly Bidel who attracted attention with their groups of predators.

Forty years ago, under old Kreutzberg's son, training experienced a strange development, if one can still call this wild offshoot training. Karl Kreutzberg was traveling in Spain with a group of seven lions that I had provided him with, and here he was asked to demonstrate a fight between a lion and a bull. Kreutzberg had a speculative mind and immediately responded to this suggestion. He also took an extraordinarily practical approach to the matter. Kreutzberg presented his own training tests in an oval wagon box, such as are still used. An extra-large cage was built for the fighting game, but the animals were not herded in without preparation. On the contrary, the saga was laid out in a very clever way. First a young bull was led around the cage of the tamed lion until its mouth watered, and of course it hadn’t yet eaten supper. Only when the beast of prey had become sufficiently hot and agitated, and when its bloodlust had reached its highest point, did the spectacle begin. The bull was brought into the great cage, and after a while, during which the audience’s excitement reached fever pitch, the lion was also admitted. With a roar he threw himself on the bull, which mostly forgot to defend itself, and pulled it down. The bloody spectacle delighted the Spaniards and also the Portuguese, whom Kreutzberg later entertained with this bullfight, the attendance was enormous and the entrepreneur earned a large sum of money.

Other animal tamers in Spain and southern France have tried to emulate this showpiece, but all have suffered a fiasco. They were not as ingenious as Kreutzberg had been, and their main failure was trying to do this bullfighting in a larger arena rather than in a cage. When a lion or Bengal tiger enters a large arena from its small cage, it is initially afraid and cowers. The juiciest roast could not tempt him, the feeling of self-consciousness suppresses all desire. I have delivered lions three times for such purposes. In two cases the lion didn't care about the bull, the bull didn't care about the lion, neither wanted anything to do with each other and the spectacle went like the Hornberg shooting[*]. In the third case, however, it was completely successful, but the other way around. The bull took on the lion and gored it so badly that the king of the desert, after a miserable illness lasting several weeks, departed for his fathers' hunting grounds.
[*Hornberg shooting: A well-known German expression "it will turn out like the shooting at Hornberg" means something announced with a lot of initial fuss and fanfare but which ultimately will lead to nothing; a damp squib.]
The times of violent training are over now, if only because violence cannot achieve a hundredth part of what can be achieved with kindness. For this reason, I did not introduce tame training at that time, rather, it was done out of compassion and the consideration that there must be a way to the animal's psyche. This path doesn't even go off the beaten track. There cannot be much difference between the treatment of a wild animal and a higher animal; their intelligence differs only in degree, not in kind. Animals have a fine ability to discern the way they are confronted, they are able to make friends, including with humans, and they have a greater or lesser degree of memory. Training relies mostly on this. I have already told the reader about the extreme dangerousness of wild animals in the section about predators in captivity. While it sounds paradoxical, I must reiterate that most large carnivores are naturally good-natured. However, training demands something from wild animals that is alien to their nature. It will not occur to a lion in the open forest thicket to ride a horse, or to a tiger in the jungle to leap through a hoop. Not every animal, not every lion or tiger is suitable for performing tricks. Some are clumsy, many never get used to obedience, and others are nervous and forget overnight what they have learned.

The selection of individual animals suitable for training is actually an achievement of the new method. What I had to fight for back then is now, so to speak, common practice, each animal represents a self-contained individuality, endowed with the general characteristics of its clan, but with its own unique character. Only those who have the gift of being able to observe this individuality in an animal have the talent and calling to become a trainer. In initiating tame training, my task was not only to replace the whip, club, and red-hot iron with kind, just treatment of animals, based on a system of reward and punishment, but also to study the character of each individual animal. This is generally the case with trainers worthy of the name. From the first moment the animals get into the trainer's hands, they must be observed, and their individual treatment depends on the results of this observation. Like children, some animal individuals require more encouraging caresses than others, some need to be treated with more severity owing to a stubborn though not vicious character. Since the animals are not guided in their actions by intellectual considerations but by impulses, their temperaments must be studied from the start. If you know this, then you have already gained a lot. Temperament, memory and talent are the three key points of all training.

The trainer must recognize early on which animals are suitable for his purposes and which are not. Those who have a dangerous temperament or show no talent must be removed without hesitation. I have previously related that in my first attempt to introduce tame training, only four out of twenty-one lions proved usable, and at that point I pointed out that there is probably no more blatant proof of the difference between individual animals. However, this selection is not as easy as you might think. There are animals that do well at first and only later, when they work together with many other animals, become nervous and can be dangerous to their handler if he does not notice this change in his pupils.

Let's take a quick look at the first hours in the training school. The animals that are to be put together in a group, all juvenile specimens, have been selected for their outward beauty and chosen for the profession of artists. Suppose there are lions, tigers, panthers, leopards, polar bears and dogs. Above all, it is important for the animals to become acquainted with each other, because if you let unprepared animals into a common cage all at once, a most dangerous scuffle would easily ensue. The animals are housed in a series of individual cages, which are only separated from one another by bars. Everyone can see each other and speak to each other in their own language. The trainer has time to deal with each of his wards and to get used to them through visits and caresses. After a while, the animals come together for their first lesson in a large arena, under the supervision of their teacher, of course. Just like a school for small children, there is no work here in the first hour, the animals are only now getting to know each other better, play with each other and with their teacher, and familiarize themselves with this new location.

From the very first moment of this get-together, the trainer keeps a watchful eye on every single animal. He often has occasion to prevent arguments between the animals with a friendly reminder. All young animals, all animals in general, have a great inclination to play, but they can also easily get angry with one another. Here, a polar bear clumsily approaches a lion and wants to tug at its mane. The lion misunderstands the touch and slaps its northern colleague in the face. The tamer is there immediately and, with a well-intentioned nudge in the ribs, draws the lion's attention to the fact that one has to be polite here. A tiger, who is perhaps a little rowdy by nature, thinks of hitting the leopard trotting peacefully next to him with his paw, the leopard hisses furiously and crouches to pounce, but the teacher is already there and separates these fighting cocks. Even at this first meeting you can get a superficial picture of the individual animals’ characters and distinguish the peaceful from the aggressive, the obedient from the obstinate. In training, however, it is not just the character that counts, but also mainly the talent. In the second hour, the equipment and decorations are already set up in the arena, because the plan for the performance must, of course, be ready right down to the last detail before training can even begin. A group of vaulting bucks is set up like a staircase, at the side is a barrel on which one of the tigers is supposed to learn to balance. The tamer is equipped with a whip and a stick, but much more important is the leather bag that he has strapped around his body, because it contains small pieces of meat. The animals are let into the arena and look at the imposing construction with amazement. But the training starts immediately, because the trainer can only make a firm judgment about his animals when he is at work. A lion is told to stand on the top step of the pyramid of wooden blocks. On the two second highest two tigers, below that two leopards and in front of them the polar bears should sit on two blocks, while the dogs jump over the leopards. It takes infinite, indescribable patience to get all the different animals to take their places, to remain there calmly and not to dismount until they receive the order to do so. It takes no less patience to make the tiger understand that he has to keep his balance on the rolling barrel and not jump down.

From the very beginning, every step that any animal is to take must be calculated. For the performance later on is based on habit, which must be firmly rooted in the animal. From the moment of selection, the four-legged performers have been given names by which they are called and each time something is asked of them they are told their name so that they get used to the sound. First, after the animals have entered the arena, it is important to give each a fixed place. For this purpose low trestles are set up against the walls, which inevitably have to be in the same place in every performance. Every animal must be taught to sit down from its designated buck and to return independently from that buck after each trick it performs or after each scene it has taken part in. The trainer approaches one of the lions, speaks soothingly to him and offers a piece of meat, with the help of which he tries to lead him to the buck. Hi might also use stricter measures and grab the pupil by the skin in order to lead him to his destination in this way. But the reward is not yet earned, the animal has to climb onto the buck, and only when it has done so does it receive a piece of meat. It still has no idea that it must remain seated on the buck and its countless attempts to get off and run around freely are followed again and again by laboriously luring it, leading it back and putting it on the buck until the animal finally understands and does what is asked of him. And in this way each individual animal belonging to the group must first become accustomed to its place. An assistant helps the trainer and pays some attention to the animals when the trainer turns his back, but the main thing is up to the trainer who, after all, works alone with the animals in public performances and with his own two eyes, so to speak, must see both in front and behind him. During the work and training, it slowly becomes clear which of the animals are useful and which are not. Animals that are vicious by nature and attack the teacher, bad characters if you will, must be removed from the group, punishment would only make them more stubborn, and the others would be ruined by the bad example. The basis of all training is obedience, and the trainer must never be content until his orders have been carried out.

When at last, after much effort, all the animals in the group have been persuaded to sit on their bucks and remain there, a new difficulty often arises. Usually in any large group there are a few troublemakers who cannot sit still next to their comrades. These troublemakers must also be replaced by other animals in order to keep the peace. We can now finally progress to a more advanced class; the elementary lesson, which consists in sitting down and behaving properly, is over. Only now does it become clear which pupils really have intelligence and talent. It usually only becomes clear during higher training which animals must be ushered out. In any case, much has already been achieved that the animals, like domestic animals, listen to their names, obey every word and, while they are not needed, stay in a certain place. In the work of building up the various phases of the living pyramid, or in attempting to get the tiger onto the rolling barrel, everything starts all over again and each step must be repeated a hundred times, although the animals’ intelligence and memory are a great help. The more patient and kind the trainer is, the more trust the animals will have in him, but if his kindness is not paired with a strictness that knows how to force obedience, then the performance will be unreliable. The pupils' fear of their teacher must not be eliminated; at all times the animals must remain dimly aware of the fact that rebellion against their master’s will is impossible. If you now consider the many movements which the numerous animals in a large group must carry out, and that each step must be studied with kindness and patience and through endless repetition, then perhaps you will get a glimpse of the angelic patience that a modern animal trainer must have. Needless to say, this patience is found only in those who love their animals. But no matter how tame the animals have become during training and no matter how well they get along with one another, they are always wild animals by nature, whose character is to a certain extent unpredictable, many of whom will become dangerous with increasing age. A good trainer must notice the changes taking place in his animals in good time if he wants to avoid coming to any harm.

With careful observation of a few cardinal points and personal courage, which must always be tacitly assumed in all branches of our business, the danger for the trainer is now as good as eliminated. Yes, effect pieces with wild animals which are reminiscent of the times of wild training are practiced in all friendship. Who has not observed how, at times during a performance of trained predators in the circus or in the arena, some seemingly angry lion or ferocious tiger, roaring and hissing, lashes out at the trainer with its paw? Many a tender soul jumps at the sight and sees some terrible catastrophe before their eyes. But wrongly. It's all just "show" and training and not at all dangerous as long as the trainer keeps his calm.

My own practice shows best how safely you can work when the animals are handled skilfully and carefully. Many trained animals, and in particular many large training groups, have gone out into the world from my school, and out of hundreds or thousands of performances there were actually only two accidents, and I can account for one of these two as it happened to a man from the audience, who entered the predator's cage without my prior knowledge and against strict prohibition. I once heard of an Englishman who travelled to a circus for years for the sole purpose of witnessing the moment when a certain lion tamer was mauled by one of his lions. This type of incident is not so rare, it occurs in the most diverse variations. At any rate, in this class belongs the case of the young Englishman who, during the Chicago World's Fair in 1893, felt a burning desire to visit a group of caged predators. Since he couldn't do it the right way, he resorted to cunning. During the lunch break, he made it possible to open the cage and slip inside unnoticed. The visit went badly for the poor man. He had hardly entered the cage when he found himself in the claws of a lion. There was a loud roar, which fortunately summoned the group's trainer in a flash, and this circumstance saved the victim, because the trainer managed to dissuade the lion from his prey. The young Englishman paid for his visit to the beast cage with a three-month hospital stay. He was released completely healed and perhaps still feels like a hero today, but I think he will have lost interest in such visits.

My brother-in-law Heinrich Mehrmann, who was known to be one of the first and most competent of those who carried out tame training, suffered an accident that could be held to our account. Mehrmann demonstrated a large, mixed group of predators during the Berlin Trade Fair in 1896. In this group there was a black bear, which I had already noticed as a somewhat awkward customer. I was of the opinion, and told Mehrmann, that the bear should be removed from the group. Whether it was that Mehrmann was still postponing this off as inconvenient, or whether he didn't give sufficient grounds to my perception is irrelevant, after six days we had a right mess. The bear attacked his master and inflicted several wounds which put him in hospital for four weeks. But that is all that has happened in terms of accidents in the immediate operation of our establishment during trained animal performances, and many readers who imagined the matter to be much more terrible will be surprised by this confession. However, I can also attest to the fact that I am very careful with the composition of my animal groups. The relationship of the material to the final selection is still approximately the same as when I created my first lion group, which the trainer Deierling worked with. A few years ago, I selected eighteen animals from a pool of sixty and combined them into a group with which Mr. Richard Sawade is still working. A good trainer comes with a good group. Sawade is one of the safest workers I've seen; an animal trainer as he ought to be, bold and energetic, and a master at treating his animals judiciously.

My brother Wilhelm Hagenbeck is also one of the first among the trainers of wild animals to work according to the modern system. Due to his exceptional calmness and his many years of dealing with animals that come into consideration for training purposes, he has achieved mastery in the treatment and training of wild beasts. Most of the groups of animals that are now being shown for his account he put together and trained himself, and in recent times with the help of his son Willy.

Many years ago, Wilhelm brought a great act to the public, a magnificent ring display, namely a young lion riding on a horse, performing a bridge jump and various other tricks. This new act was first shown at the Hippodrome in Paris, where it attracted a full house and good earnings for many months. The training performance, with which the animal tamer Seeth achieved such a great effect in his time, also came from Wilhelm's hands. Seeth brought not only the necessary calmness and skill for his job, but also a famous character. He has done pretty well in all of his shows, except for one where things could have gone badly. It is now a number of years since Wilhelm and Seeth, who co-owned the group then presented, received a request from the Paris Hippodrome to have their lions participate in a great Roman pantomime. When my brother spoke to me about this, I had all sorts of concerns. I thought that in the large arena of the Paris Hippodrome it would be difficult to keep the animals, used to working in a small space, under safe control. Wilhelm Hagenbeck and Seeth were of the opinion that there was nothing to fear in this regard given the animals' exceptionally good natures. Unfortunately, I was right. During the first rehearsal, some lions in the large, unfamiliar arena got scared and hid below a room that was close to the hippodrome. Since the animals would not willingly leave their hiding place, Seeth tried to drive them out by force, venturing into the narrow space that allowed him no defence to do this. One of the lions, now completely irritated, jumped at Seeth and wounded him so badly that he had to stay in his sick bed for a long time. When the wounds healed, the show went ahead, but a smaller cage was used, similar to those used in circuses now.

It is Wilhelm Hagenbeck who first introduced large groups of trained polar bears to the circus. He really did something significant in that regard. Through him it turned out that the polar bears, which used to be considered untameable, finally turned out to be really docile fellows through patient and good treatment. It is only when the mating season approaches that the animals become unmanageable to a certain degree, they are then extremely restless and unpredictable, and it takes great care and all the energy of the handler to keep the animals under control.

All other bear species, the Russian, American and Indian species, can also be used quite well for training, but only in their first years of life. Once they reach three or four years of age, these animals become capricious and dangerous. It can be said that most of the accidents in which people have been injured or mauled have been caused by bears. A very amusing fellow in the large bear clan is the Indian black bear, which is always absent in training groups because of its funny movements.

To be honest, I would like to mention that I am not very important as a real trainer, nor have I appeared publicly in any way, apart from my Chicago debut. On the other hand, many trainers who practice their profession with skill and success have come from my school, they have worked for me from the bottom up and have received training from me on how to treat animals according to their natures. However, I got to know most of the groups that I put together and that were trained under my leadership. I almost always went into the cage myself and got to know the animals.

A little episode comes to mind that still makes me smile when I remember it. On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I received a visit from a company of officers and their ladies in my restaurant at Neue Pferdemarkt, and I took them through the entire animal park. That's how we came to the arena, which contained a group of twelve young lions. The animals were destined for the Chicago World's Fair, but had not yet been trained. As I approached the cage, the lions, as was their wont, came to the bars to allow me to caress them. Then one of the officers said: "Well, well, with the bars between you and the animals, the feat isn't particularly dangerous, but you wouldn't go in!" The animals were destined for a new taming performance, they know me and would certainly not harm me." There were incredulous faces all round me. Some incredulous Thomas in uniform said something like, "Talking and risking are two different things." This was a direct challenge, to which I only replied: "If I hadn't feared that the new suit I'm wearing right now would get messed up I would have been in the cage long ago. Watch out."

With those last words I was already at the cage door, opened it, entered the cage and locked it behind me. While outside the bars the faces grew long, my twelve lions surrounded me like so many dogs. It was difficult for me to avoid their clumsy caresses, soon I had the company under my command and now, empty-handed as I was, I performed a few tricks with them, elementary things that the animals had already been taught. As I had foreseen, this visit to the lions didn't do my suit any good; the animals were just about to moult and I soon began to look like a lion myself. When I went back to the animal park, I was bombarded, as so often happens, with a hundred questions about animal training.

I made my debut as an animal tamer in the mid-1970s, but not publicly. At that time, I sold three young lions and three young Bengal tigers to the Negro Delmonico, who had a great reputation as an animal tamer in England, which Delmonico trained for three months in a specially built wagon cage at my house. Delmonico believed that no one would dare enter the cage but him. But when he teased me on the last day before his departure with the question whether I didn't want to say goodbye to my friends, he miscalculated. Although I was far from having the experience I have today, I knew exactly how far I could trust the animals. Without further ado, I left the safety cage, went to Delmonico's animals, ordered that the props be handed to me from outside, just as Delmonico had been given the equipment, and now I showed the amazed animal tamer the whole perormance which he had rehearsed himself with his animals.

It is not completely out of the question that such a venture will go wrong, even with the greatest care and cool-headedness. From time to time I also experienced a sample of this, though as you can see, I always escaped with my life, even if my skin was not intact. Around the time of the Delmonico episode mentioned, I had offered a number of young bears, hyenas, and lions to a French animal tamer, who accepted them on condition that the animals would be made accustomed to one another. Since business was generally a bit sluggish at the time and I really wanted to get rid of the animals, I immediately got to work myself. Initially, the animals were housed in cages that were adjacent to each other and separated not by wooden walls but by bars. The animals could therefore always see each other without being able to get to each other. After a while I brought the bears and hyenas together, and after a little growling from one side and a little howling from the other, they became quite good friends. Thinking it was time to let the lions in, I went into the bear and hyena cage one morning and had a keeper remove the lattice wall that shut off the lions. The animals seemed pretty calm, as always, but it was just the calm before the storm. To this day I do not know whether what followed was not based on a "misunderstanding". The bears ran towards the lions, maybe with the intention of provoking a fight, but maybe just to greet them or to play, anyway the mischief-makers attacked the lions, but the lions didn't understand the joke and in no time all the animals - lions, bears and hyenas were a single roaring, howling and hissing tangle. The situation in which I found myself was by not merely unpleasant, it was life-threatening. If I fell among the senselessly fighting beasts, you could bet ten to one that I would be badly wounded. I quickly squeezed myself into the farthest corner of the cage and called out to Winter to push out the grating as quickly as possible and shut me off from the animals. Fortunately, the manoeuvre worked immediately and from the outside we separated the troublesome brothers and directed them into separate cages for the time being.

The first group of different animals I put together in the 1970s consisted of two striped hyenas, two dogs, two brown bears and a young sloth bear. These seven animals had been put together at a very young age, they didn't know life any other way than in one another’s company, and when animals get used to each other at an early age they can also befriend animals that would seem to be their natural enemies. This group later became the property of a Mrs. Steiner, who went traveling with the animals after six months of training, which she carried out herself. As a tamer, Mrs. Steiner called herself "Miss Cora" as her nom de guerre, and she was very successful under that name. She travelled chiefly in Spain and France, and in Paris I had occasion to admire her on several occasions. Miss Cora was had tall and beautiful, stately appearance, which did not fail to impress, but she was also one of the best workers I have seen, and this is all the more telling as she exhibited her animals in a comparatively small room.

From time immemorial there have been excellent and cool-headed workers among the ladies who have devoted themselves to animal training. The first tamer I knew was the Swede, Cacilie, who was in the service of old Kreutzberg. Sometimes she worked together with Kreutzberg, sometimes on her own. The group consisted of lions, tigers and bears, and it took observation, skill and coolness to work safely with the resources of the time. Among the women animal tamers of today, master-trainer Claire Heliot stands out; she has become very well-known with her group of lions. She not only knows how to work skilfully, but also how to stage her work effectively in front of the audience.

The association of carnivores with domestic animals, opposites which are mutually exclusive in nature, is a completely different matter and leads to highly interesting experiments. The lion, who in the wild regards a bull as food, must utterly deny his nature if he is to face kindly and peacefully that animal which stirs all his wild instincts. The peaceful goat, which feeds on mild herbs, must fearlessly face the bloodthirsty tiger, while everything in her resists the encounter and even the odour of the predator scares her away. The wild panther and the docile sheep shall become playmates, one must forget his greed, the other his fear. And yet tame training also carries off this triumph. It is possible, and is already happening, to accustom predators and domesticated animals to one another. I made my first such attempt in the summer of 1891. I had already succeeded in accustoming two tigers, three lions, two black panthers, two leopards, three Angora goats, two black-headed Somali sheep, an Indian pygmy zebu, a Shetland pony and two silky poodles used to each other, all young animals, of course, some of them only six to eight months old. The group was nearly ready, and most of the predators already trained, when misfortune almost completely ruined the work. Most of the predators died from diarrhoea and convulsions, and the remaining ones that I was finally able to show at the Chicago World Fair were no longer suitable for large spectacles.

I have never lost sight of these experiments; I am convinced that with the right treatment the most heterogeneous elements from the animal world can be combined. I don't want to give away trade secrets here, but I hope, before much time has passed, to be able to show the public something of this kind of animal training, which should put all previous training in the shade.

There is scarcely an animal which human intelligence and patience cannot tame to a certain extent. After all, I have even exhibited alligators where a man climbs down to feed them. Different species of seals have proved themselves to be great in training. You'd think these animals must have a particularly keen sense of the art of juggling, certainly it rivals any human juggler. Who hasn't admired seals in the circus, balancing all sorts of objects on their snouts with amazing skill and tossing balls up and catching them again with almost mathematical precision. Twenty-five years ago, the American Woodward did a great job in the art of training seals. Some Hamburgers will still be able to remember how this American exhibited his first trained seals in what was then the Moeller-Handel Menagerie on Spielbudenplatz in St. Pauli.

Just as friendships develop between the animals of a trained group towards their trainer, so, on the other hand, friendships develop between the animals themselves, and the trainer would be wise to allow the animals that show mutual affection to work together as much as possible. When such friendships involve animals of related species, they come as no surprise to anyone. I remember, for example, a crowned crane and an ostrich from West Africa, which had already become inseparable friends in the enclosure, before any training attempts; then another time again of a crane and a goose. More striking and interesting was the friendship between an elephant and a pony. The company of this pony had a necessity for the grazing pachyderm; he became melancholy and refused to eat when separated from his dainty little companion. The first mixed group of predators that my father put together comprised a large Bengal tiger, a coloured Indian panther and a fox terrier. These three animals were bound by close friendship, the terrier ate from the same bone as the tiger, and the tiger never thought of harming his little comrade. It is much more astonishing when you see animals "working" with each other, although destined by nature to be fierce enemies. In house pets, the suppression of this innate hostility is easier to understand. But it is much more impressive when you see tigers and lions working peacefully together with horses and goats in modern, large, mixed groups of animals. Such achievements belong to the higher levels of tame training. But here, too, I achieved my successes by the same simple means, lovingly responding to the character of the animals, and by using the decisive influence, namely habituation to each other. First, for example, the horse and the lion, who are to appear together, are fastened in such a way that they cannot reach each other but can see each other. This is how they get used to seeing and smelling each other; they also get used to eating and sleeping in each other's presence, in a word, to accepting the unfamiliar proximity as normal until they do not even notice it. I always select young animals for this process. When they have reached the point where the predator no longer feels any murder-lust, and the herbivore no longer fears the predator, they are released in the presence of the keeper and brought together in the fenced-in path intended for this purpose. Then the same principle of training comes into effect; the beast of prey, as well as the herbivore, are enticed by lures to do the work required of them.

A few years ago, a man came to me and asked if I could employ him as a seal trainer. I still vividly remembered Woodward's beautiful training, besides, I owned five beautiful young seals at the time, and so I hired the man for a salary of twenty-five marks a week and the promise that, after the animals had been properly trained, he would receive a further hundred marks as an extra bonus for each specimen. My man understood his business. After four months the seals had turned into artists, they beat the tambourine, plucked the guitar, shot pistols, fetched objects that were thrown into the water, etc. The trainer received his five hundred marks, but the five seals were sold to Barnum for the handsome sum of $2,500. This was the best seal deal the company had ever done.

Californian sea lions are even smarter and more agile than seals. It is also this species that is seen performing the greatest tricks in the circus. Sea lions are the liveliest of all seals, and they adapt very well to our climate. They have reproduced in various zoological gardens in Cologne, Paris, Amsterdam and Antwerp. It is a lovely sight to see the young animals playing and frolicking with their mothers in the pool. The American Woodward was also the first to try training these animals, but he later found competition from two young Englishmen, Willy and Charlie Judge, who worked in my zoo for a few years. Through the training of these two brothers, the intelligence of the sea lions was shown in the right light.

I got my first big sea lion in exchange from my old friend Barnum in 1880, it was the biggest sea lion I ever saw. The animal weighed over six hundredweight. As soon as it arrived it was very tame and soon became such friends with my father that it followed him like a dog. My father took great pleasure in dealing with this sea lion, he also entrusted him to his keeper and took care of feeding him himself. In the end, however, a scandal broke out. It was on a Sunday. A few hundred visitors were just standing around the sea lion's enclosure and watching the feeding. My father threw the fish, which he had taken from a basket, in a wide arc to the animal. Halfway through the basket, he turned and started to leave the enclosure. But as he unsuspectingly walked towards the exit, something terrible was brewing up behind him. The sea lion slid behind my father in a flash, grabbed his back and yanked his coat-tail, trousers and shirt away from a part of his body that is not usually shown in public. The next moment the sea lion bit the basket, snatched it from my father's hand and calmly began to eat the rest of the fish, while my father hurriedly retired to a corner booth where, for the sake of decency, he had no choice but to turn his back to the wall. I soon came to his aid with another suit, and after he had changed in his booth, he reappeared to the amusement of the audience. The sea lion's attack was not due to any malign inclination at all, but was due to a mistake made by my father. It was wrong to take more fish into the enclosure than were meant for the sea lion. The animal wanted nothing except the fish it could see in the basket. There was no further attack, but in the future more fish were never taken into the enclosure than were to be fed to the sea lion. But whether it is a matter of lions or elephants, seals or tigers, all art would be lost in training without the mental contribution of the animals.


Who would have believed a few years ago that it would be possible to let ostriches outside in winter at any temperature? But in Stellingen you can now see not only ostriches every winter, but also lions, tigers, antelopes, and other tropical animals frolicking in the open and taking snow baths, because at all times of the year it is up to the animals whether they stay in their shelter or go outside. Surely no one has such a fine feeling for weather influences as the animals that come from the wide open wild, and soon it will be incomprehensible why, after these wildlings had fallen into the hands of man, we tried to force them into confinement, costly warming houses, and suchlike.

On my first trip to England in the mid-sixties, I saw a large chimpanzee frolicking about in the middle of winter in Day’s menagerie. The animal was rolling in the snow on the roof of the canvas hut. When it finally got too cold for him, he withdrew into the booth and looked for a place near the stove. The chimpanzee behaved no differently from a man seeking warmth, having voluntarily and happily allowed himself to be thoroughly chilled, feeling it to be beneficial to his health. This little episode got me thinking. Later, with Professor Landois in Munster (Westphalia), I observed how the occupants of the monkey house were let out into the open even in winter. The outer cages were connected to the inner cages by flaps, which the animals lifted themselves to move around as they wished. The temperature inside was always ten to fifteen degrees Reaumur warm, but the animals did not hesitate to go outside when it was a chilly twenty degrees outside, as it once happened.

From the beginning of my career, I was inspired to consider the question of whether the animals from warmer countries could also be advantageously exposed to our winter temperatures. I had had this idea for a long time, but careful observation of my animals helped me reach a decision and carry it out, and chance is also a legitimate factor and co-worker in every human life. It was back in the early days of my institute at Neue Pferdemarkt when I got a Sarus crane from India one day in September; this is a large, beautiful, blue-grey feathered bird with its vividly coloured red cheeks. The crane was housed in an open enclosure at the so-called seal pond and stayed there until the beginning of winter. One day, as so often in my life, I had to travel unexpectedly. When I returned after about a week, winter had started. But it was already late at night and I, tired from the journey, longed for bed, and for once, contrary to my usual habit, neglected to make the evening inspection of my livestock. Early in the morning I was woken up by the unmistakable characteristic cry of my crane. I jumped out of bed and, to my shock, looked out through the frost-patterned windows into a cold winter morning. The thermometer in the window showed six below zero Reaumur. My poor crane, I thought, he'll be frozen into a lump of ice and lying on the hard ground with his legs frozen off. I rushed out, not even fully dressed, and you can imagine my joyful astonishment, my amazement at my crafty Crane, who seemed to be laughing at my concern and pity. It greeted me jumping and dancing happily, bellowing its loud war-cry in the clear winter air, and flapping its wings me. Lo and behold, I thought to myself, my dear crane, since you're doing so well in six degrees of cold, I won’t foolishly pity you or deprive you of your lovely freedom because of our winter, and I won’t deprive you of the invigorating treatment of fresh winter air. I provided him with a corner in the enclosure that was sheltered from the wind but open to the south and lined with straw. The winter stayed cold and severe the whole time, but my crane didn't even think to retreat to his sheltered corner as a roost. Wind and storm, snow, rain or hail, my crane stayed outside and thrived magnificently. I owe to this crane the first impetus for my now systematically developed system of open air and the fresh-air life of my animals.

After these observations, I began my own acclimatization attempts, which have since taken on a larger scale and finally found their real place when the zoo in Stellingen was founded. The art, if I can say so, of acclimatizing foreign animals has been practiced as a basic condition of the animal trade since wild animals were first imported, even if only tentatively at first, and without specific systems. The practical care of animals had to be concerned with finding ways and means of accustoming creatures placed in a foreign environment to their new living conditions, to the changed climate and to artificially prepared fodder. It is very difficult to imagine the tremendous upheaval that accompanies the imprisonment and transplanting of wild beasts of the jungle and steppe. In the wild, a predator roams freely in unlimited space, developing courage, cunning and strength because, day or night, it must track and stalk its prey and overcome it in a struggle. Suddenly there is no longer room to exercise these most important characteristics, even freedom of movement, which is very necessary for its health, is restricted. The herbivores of the steppe or the forest, the giraffe, the elephant, the fleet gazelle, accustomed to living in herds and traveling long distances, suddenly find themselves separated from the great outdoors and from their own kind and condemned to solitary confinement. All of their lifestyle habits are disturbed, their free will is inhibited. It is clear that this change from natural to artificial conditions must have a softening and energy-depleting effect, and that physical weakness, disease and inability to survive easily set in. Mental depression caused by the unfamiliar environment often becomes noticeable in newly caught animals, which must be remedied. Highly developed animals, such as the anthropomorphs, especially the gorilla, obviously sometimes perish immediately from homesickness.

Acclimatization must work against all these hostile forces. The acclimatization abilities of individual animal species are fundamentally different, and in each species the different individuals react differently to experiments made on them, even if the general principles are not mistaken. Animals from large continental areas adapt most easily to a different climate, since they are hardened from the outset by the difference in daytime and night-time temperatures. The degree of adaptability to new conditions differs depending on whether the animals are continental animals, high mountain animals, inhabitants of the steppes or sea creatures.

As early as the 1870s, I began acclimatization experiments on giraffes and elephants in my zoo at Neue Pferdemarkt. Even then I experienced that low temperatures did not harm the animals. The winter at that time was so hard that, in spite of all the heating, the temperature in the giraffe stable did not rise above four degrees Reaumur. During the night the temperature dropped to three degrees. The giraffes didn't suffer at all. These hot-climate creatures grew winter coats, so nature adapted them to their new living conditions, and by the end of winter their fur had grown about one and a half times longer than giraffe hair usually is.

The experiences and observations that I collected over the years, and the thoughts and ideas that developed from them into practice, were reserved for the time in which I was able to start my animal paradise. Yes, one of the main purposes of my whole Stellingen company was to carry out acclimatization experiments and create a new direction for zoological gardens. I let myself be guided by the principle that, above all, the animal must come to the fore, while the rooms and enclosures necessary for shelter and protection must play only a secondary role. The main emphasis was placed on the creation of the sort of animal parks that would allow animals to exercise their lifestyle habits as far as they could. In my opinion, real acclimatization of foreign animals could only be achieved if the wild animals were provided with habitats appropriate to their nature and were made to feel their loss of freedom as little as possible. Above all, it was important to get the animals used to the climate and to harden them against the influence of the cold, and especially those sensitive to cold to Hamburg’s chilly, wet weather. The experience gained with African ostriches in the zoo was decisive for this.

Three years ago, in autumn, at the beginning of October, a consignment of young ostriches from Africa arrived in Stellingen. However, these animals were not brought into closed and heated rooms, as is usually the case at that time of year, but were put directly into the open air. A wooden hut was available for protection in a large exercise area, into which the ostriches could retreat at night. The birds were kept in this way throughout the winter and withstood the temperatures very well, which sometimes dropped below ten degrees Reaumur. Around January 1, 1906, at a temperature of fourteen degrees Reaumur, twelve ostriches went outside and stayed there from ten a.m. to three p.m., and I watched in amazement as some of these African birds bathed in twenty centimetres of snow. A cassowary housed near the ostriches also wintered unharmed. Last year, in mid-June, six very young African ostriches, about 1.20 metres tall and weighing sixty to seventy pounds, arrived. These young animals were also treated according to the same system. In a consignment of adult ostriches that arrived in the autumn, there were six that had become so weak on the journey that they had to be carried out of the transport box by the keepers. After a few hours outdoors, the animals recovered and could be herded into the shelter with their comrades in the evening. These animals also thrived excellently, although the winter was very severe and brought cold temperatures down to fifteen degrees.

Of course, it is necessary for animals to have the opportunity to retreat to their shelter whenever they please. In this shelter, a ten centimetre thick layer of peat moss was spread and plenty of straw on top. For the purpose of ventilation, the windows of the wooden hut were open day and night, so that it remained cold inside during the night. During the whole winter the animals only had to stay in the stalls for eight days because of black ice, which posed the risk of them slipping and falling. During this time, one animal perished after breaking a leg jumping around inside the hut. A second ostrich died during the winter through being kicked by a comrade. A third ostrich also died, making an old proverb true [that misfortune occurs in threes]. It had swallowed eleven copper nails about an inch long, also a nail three centimetres long and a copper bolt twelve centimetres long. The nails had pierced the stomach wall and caused death. But none of these unfortunate animals, nor the survivors, had caught a single cold during the winter, all of them were in excellent condition from going outdoors. The six chicks previously mentioned, which weighed sixty to seventy pounds when they arrived in June, had attained an average weight of 340 pounds by mid-February.

As I had observed with the giraffes a long time ago, nature provided the ostriches with a winter coat. The individual feathers of animals that arrived almost naked developed extraordinarily, they became remarkably wide and long, and the individual barbules developed particularly strongly and gave the feathers an extremely dense character. We can see that ostriches can also be kept in our climate for the purpose of feather production, and I am convinced that setting up an ostrich farm would be a rewarding undertaking for a speculative farmer who has large pastures at his disposal. Some readers may shake their heads at this note, but I hope to teach them better with the ostrich farm that will come into being next spring in my Stellingen Tierpark. (* The ostrich farm has now come into being, in June 1909. (See addendum.)) Besides the economic side, ostrich farms may have another ideal in that they curb the destruction of ornamental birds, millions of which are mercilessly slaughtered in all parts of the world. Though it may not prevent the extermination of some of the bird species in question, the increased production of ostrich feathers might limit the slaughter.

Successful attempts at acclimatization have been made with a wide variety of other animals. Exceptional success has been achieved with almost all antelope species, including eland, white-tailed wildebeest, blue wildebeest, leucoryx, nilgai and Indian antelope, as well as waterbuck. Last winter, among other animals, six Dorcas gazelles jumped around in the garden as mobile and merrily at a temperature of six degrees as if it were summer. I am convinced that all large species of antelope, without exception, can be let out in the winter if only the animals are given a shelter to which they can retreat when it is very cold. Experience has already shown us that all animals that are given the opportunity to go outdoors at any time thrive much better than those that are locked up during the winter months, because in the absence of fresh air, germs form and the animals die from them. At this point I may well say that I consider all the large antelope houses in our zoological gardens to be inappropriate. The gardens should break with the system of building individual enclosures for the different species, extensive socializing suits the animals much better, and breeding will easily cover the costs of maintenance and feeding.

In order to be able to carry out acclimatization attempts with a chance of success, the facilities in my zoo were set up appropriately from the outset. Acclimatization stables have been created, equipped with various safety measures. These measures include free-standing roofs under which the animals can lie outside on a dry bed without being bothered by rain and snow; some houses have angled entrances to trap the wind and keep direct drafts away from the animals resting in the stalls. The doors are on the side, leading first into a corridor, and from there into the actual stables area. These stables are not heated, the doors remain open in summer and winter, day and night, and it is up to the animals themselves to go outside or stay in the stable as they wish. However, a natural warming device is still present. In these acclimatization rooms, the dung of the animals is left about a foot high and covered daily with dry litter. The heat generated by the decomposition of the manure provides the animals with a warm bed and the fresh air that sweeps through the stall keeps the upper layer of litter dry at all times.

The same experiments were also carried out with predators. It was shown that lions and Indian Bengal tigers excellently tolerated the cold in the open air, as it was offered to them in the ‘carnivore gorge’ of the animal park. However, there was a heater in the predator house behind the gorge, which was only used on the coldest days to temper the room, i.e. to keep it frost-free, but the animals went outside every day and ran about in snow and rain around. One Indian leopard was so used to the cold that he seldom went to his shelter, spending most of the winter day lying on a tree branch in the open air. The influence of being outdoors was striking in two young lions that were initially housed indoors but were constantly ailing and unable to thrive. They were put in a spacious cage set out in the open; a simple crate served as a shelter. From that time on, the animals have been kept that way and they have now developed magnificently. It is my intention over the coming years to create gorges for the leopards, panthers, pumas and tigers in my zoo.

These experiments will enter highly interesting territory when the construction of several large, purpose-built monkey houses has been completed. So far there are no results worth mentioning, with the exception of tests on some anthropomorphs, especially two orangs, which are already highly acclimatised. When these animals, which come from the west coast of Borneo and had been kept in captivity there for six years, reached Stellingen, they were immediately accommodated in a large wagon cage open to the south, in which there was only a crate available for them as a shelter. Every day the monkeys walked in the park with their keeper and remained in good health. To date there has been no change in the good state of health of these freely kept apes, and this is proof that great apes, which originate from the greenhouse climate of Borneo, can also be acclimatised.

Of course, these examples are not an exhaustive list of animals that appear predisposed to our attempts to habituate them. Winter in my zoo is almost as lively as summer. Sarus Cranes, Crested Cranes, Numidian Cranes, many foreign pheasants, and Australian Black Swans all roam outdoors throughout the winter. Australian cockatoos and macaws don't feel the need to retire to their indoor cages when the temperature drops to eight degrees below zero. It goes without saying that it will not be possible to acclimatize many small mammals and birds originating from the tropics, and especially not reptiles and amphibians, but with continued experiments there will still many surprises in store.

The basic law of acclimatization is always the requirement that the animals are offered large, spacious enclosures and cages in which they can exercise. In Stellingen, I tried to create living places for the individual animal species that correspond to the habits and origin of those animals and give them an illusion of freedom. Here, the mental state of the captured creatures is taken into account. Animals kept in large enclosures with their own kind or with different creatures stay alert and get used to our climate far more quickly and better than if they were kept in solitary confinement. Boredom is also the worst enemy of health in captive animals. The desire to tease and play is stimulated, the exercise stimulates their appetite, and the body retains its resilience. In addition to large exercise areas, which offer the flighty animals of the forests and steppes space to let off steam, you will see meadows in Stellingen on undulating, elevated terrain, on which numerous animals of different kinds are kept together, although they all have their own shelters in unfavourable weather; there are rock formations rising up into the air, busy with mountain animals of the north and south, on a rocky plateau you can see a herd of reindeer, whose homeland accustoms them to being exposed to the wind; Polar bears clamber around on rocks modelled to look like ice drifts, and large ponds with numerous shelters offer wading birds, waterfowl, seals, and penguins, the opportunity to acclimatise.

If Stellingen’s successes in acclimatization offer is not enough proof, if is borne out multiple times in many zoological gardens that have taken a similar path. In the acclimatization of various exotic mammals and birds, Director Dr. Brandis in Halle has had the best experience in recent years; Professor Heck from the Berlin Zoological Garden is also in the forefront of efforts to adapt the conditions to the animals. Some time ago, when I visited the Copenhagen Zoological Gardens, which I had not seen for five years, I was delighted to find facilities that I had previously recommended, and which had since been installed by Director Schiott. The monkey house was set up in such a way that the occupants could go outside at any time. I have never seen prettier, bigger and livelier monkeys. Young drills and mandrills, which I had delivered to Copenhagen five and six years ago and at at a price of 70 to 100 mark at that time, were so good that I offered director Schiott 1500 marks each for a blue mandrill and a black drill to bring them back into my possession. However, the director turned down this high offer without hesitation, as he was not willing to part with his gems.

According to the practical experience of the modern era, a zoological garden can be built much more cheaply today than was the case in the past. The very expensive, massive houses and the equally expensive heating systems have become obsolete. Much simpler and, what is most important, much more practical, buildings can be built at incomparably lower costs. I hope that it will not be long before all towns with a population of around 100,000 people have a zoo in proportion to the number of inhabitants, since this can be undertaken without any financial risk if the system is practical.

A small number of private facilities join my Stellinger Tierpark with greater testimonies than the individual experiments in zoological gardens. You only have to look at the property of the well-known animal lover Falz-Fein, who has created a veritable paradise on his large estate Ascania Nova in the Crimea, in which exotic animals also spend summer and winter outdoors. Next to it shines the huge collection of animals kept by the Duke of Bedford in his large park and left in the open air in all seasons. Here, too, you can see a wide variety of animals, such as deer, antelopes, zebras, wild horses and cattle, living peacefully and comfortably side by side. The ponds are populated with thousands of ducks, geese, swans and other waterfowl; cranes proudly stand on the bank, and American and Australian ostriches roam the glades. Muntjacs and small antelopes break through the undergrowth. Here and there whole flocks of various kinds of most magnificent pheasants frolic. The Duke of Bedford's park at Woburn is truly a paradise, and some of the finest and happiest hours of my life are those that I have had the privilege of spending in that garden under the kind guidance of the Duke and Duchess.

In addition to the Duke of Bedford, several other high lords in England, including Baron Walter von Rothschild, have magnificent collections of exotic animals to enliven large estates. But what an incomparable pleasure it is also for the owner to walk around his estate and see the animals flocking from all sides when called. Perhaps only someone who is a real animal lover can imagine the exhilaration of such a walk. There is no greater pleasure for me than wandering from one enclosure to another in my park with food, watching the animals come at my call and admiring the creatures' attachment and love for their keeper.

Many of the large antelope species, giraffes and other wild animals are already on the verge of extinction, they are becoming rarer every year and it is becoming increasingly difficult to obtain them. It is now time to establish reserves in suitable areas and populate them with rare animals. For the great enthusiasts and sportsmen of the United States, who also have the means, this stimulus may be all they need to put the idea into practice while there is still time. For the territory, geographically I would choose Florida, even if it were only a thousand acres; you could release all the large antelope species, including giraffes, and also zebras, and all the magnificent species of cranes and all kinds of other interesting birds, ostriches, Australian emus and magnificent cassowaries, and all these animals would live peacefully together. In addition to woods and woods, the territory should also have nice, large meadows and the hilly terrain should be broken through by a river so that the animals can go to a watering place. On such a tract of land, the animals, if cared for, would reproduce very well and stay healthy. If you wanted, you could transplant Africa to Florida in this way.

I offer this suggestion for all American sport enthusiasts to consider with all seriousness, because if a landowner can maintain such a small-scale reserve with all the animals mentioned in southern Russia, where the winter temperature drops to minus fifteen to twenty degrees Reaumur, the execution of the plan in the climate of the American southern states must present even fewer difficulties. It may be objected that such a park would cost an enormous fortune to set up, but it is not so, since the prices of the animals are not as prohibitive as the layman might think. If only about $200,000 - $250,000 were available, I would pledge to completely populate a large area with all sorts of antelope, zebra, giraffe, ostrich, etc. species. With the great difficulty already being experienced in getting rare and large antelopes, the implementation could not be rushed of course, a considerable amount of time would be needed to bring the animals here. Just imagine the wonderful scene such a park would offer. On the meadows and in the forest long-necked giraffes, striped zebras and huge eland antelopes, the adult males of which weigh more than a thousand kilograms, in between the mighty bluebuck or sable antelopes, the large roan antelopes, hartebeests and oryx antelopes, as well as many smaller gazelle species. Whole herds of ostrich race across the clearing. Near the water are the beautiful Crested Cranes, Indian Giant Cranes and various other species of cranes, the most magnificent of all waders. In addition to the other animal species, one could also accommodate various species of kangaroos in such a reserve, because the animals group together in herds and get along very well, as can already be observed in a smaller area in my zoo.

In describing my acclimatization attempts I have come to a topic which is very closely connected with that of breeding and cross-breeding, which already takes up a large amount of space in my establishment and will take up even more space in the future. Extraordinarily in the last few years the trade in huntable game animals to freshen up the blood for our forests, as well as the import and export of domestic and farm animals has developed as a special branch of our establishment. In addition to questions of acclimatization, questions of captive breeding play an important role. The experience gained in the care, breeding and acclimatization of wild animals in captivity also benefits domestic animals. Breed selection becomes better honed after gaining experience of acclimatization through experiments with wild animals. Besides raising wild animals to live alongside our domestic breeds, we should pay great attention to the native livestock of the natives of uncivilized countries. Despite being bred by people, these animals are more or less in their natural state, because they have not been taken out of contact with their natural state to the same extent as our native cattle, thus they are more resistant to the climate. Studying their production capabilities, and proper selection of native breeds of domestic livestock appropriate to the desired agricultural purposes will surely provide viable livestock by crossing. In Stellingen, for example, particular attention is paid to the importation of Indian zebus to Argentina and Brazil for crossbreeding purposes. Crossbreeding with zebu blood increases their draft ability and produces good working animals. All these questions are of great interest for agriculture and especially for animal husbandry in our colonies. One of the most burning questions in this area is the proper selection of the breeds of domestic animals best suited to each colony and its specific needs.

At the suggestion of His Excellency, the Privy Councillor Professor Dr. Kuhn in Halle-on-Saale, I have been trying for years to introduce the huge wild sheep, which occur in Central Asia, into Europe for the purpose of crossing them with our domestic sheep. I have repeatedly been able to import large wild sheep, some weighing five hundred pounds, as well as smaller breeds for the Royal Agricultural Institute, but unfortunately the attempts have only been successful with the small species. The representatives of the large species always died early on because they were no longer able to adapt to our climate and the changed conditions. This conviction brought me to the decision five years ago, just like the wild horses, to have these wild sheep captured at a very young age. For this purpose, I sent various expeditions to Inner Asia where young animals were captured with enormous difficulty, but all of them perished during transport, and with these misfortunes I irretrievably lost a great deal of capital.

This experience is not new, on the contrary it has happened with all imports of game from Inner Asia, and just as it was finally possible to import wild horses, deer, roe deer, ibex, etc., so it will also be possible to import wild sheep alive and healthy. The first deer fetched from Siberia by my traveller were adult specimens caught in the snow during the winter. Of course, they arrived in northern Germany alive, as did the large, magnificent Siberian Maral deer, Cervus eustephanus, but within a year most of these animals perished. After these experiences, I now only have deer brought in as young specimens and, to my delight, with such good success that our hunting enthusiasts can look forward to a great benefit in the not too distant future. Siberian stags crossed with our red deer make excellent game. The first breeding attempts with this game were made by the oft mentioned Falz-Fein, who crossed Siberian stags with the common red deer and achieved offspring that produced four-pointers in the first year and ten-pointers in the second year. The Siberian Maral deer is almost the same as the Wapiti in terms of size, so the hybrid offspring is valuable for hunting, because the animal grows much larger than the red deer and also grows beautiful antlers.

The Siberian roe deer are also doing very well, only young specimens are brought in, a satisfactory percentage of them are thriving and breeding. These animals have also been successfully crossed with our native roe deer on several occasions.

The importation of Mongolian pheasants (Phasianus mongolicus) has already proven to be enormously fruitful. I received my first orders from two English gentlemen, the Duke of Bedford and Baron Walter von Rothschild, who in recent years have been followed by many large breeders, especially in England. Wonderful results have been achieved by crossing Mongolian pheasants with the common English pheasant, because the hybrids are more than thirty percent heavier than the English pheasants bred to date. If one considers that in England hundreds of thousands of pheasants are shot every year, one can almost calculate what an enormous benefit this crossbreeding has brought and continues to bring to English pheasant breeding.

I myself have not yet received many of the benefits, because imports are associated with the greatest difficulties and costs. In the interior of Asia, the trapping stations are up to eight hundred kilometres away from the main mustering place and the game has to be transported over these long distances on sleds in winter and on carts in summer, a procedure which is always associated with enormous losses. Expeditions have been sent out whose quarry have been totally lost in transit, and others have brought home only a quarter of what was originally gathered together. If such transports arrive in Hamburg with a loss of only sixty to seventy percent, then I'm very satisfied. Under such conditions it is obvious that the imported animals cannot be delivered cheaply if you want to save your money and - if you are fortunate - make a modest profit.

For four years now, there has been an unremitting stream of pets, farm animals and game animals from abroad via Stellingen into this country and from this country back abroad. The importation of good, exotic youngsters, the export of all sorts of domestic animals, is on the rise and is the foremost branch of our institute. One practical experience builds upon another and makes the originally difficult, and seemingly dependent on luck, transports appear ever easier, because I have learned the conditions of their well-being through numerous experiments. For example, out of many hundreds of cattle exported to America, Africa, China, Japan and other places, not one has ever arrived dead or sick at its destination. As I write these lines, large shipments of pedigree cattle, pedigree pigs, wool and dairy sheep, dairy goats, dogs, and poultry are being prepared for export to the west coast of North America, to the La Plata States, Brazil, Japan, China. For example, the sika deer comes from Japan and has proven itself excellently in European forests. These small deer are barely as large as fallow deer but have very tasty meat. The Dybowsky sika deer imported from Siberia also make an excellent roast, is a quarter smaller than the red deer and in summer bears a wonderful, golden-brown coat with snow-white spots, and in winter it bears a dark grey coat with the white spots only faintly shimmering underneath. The Indian blackbuck antelope, which tolerates our climate excellently, is just now being dispatched to wildlife parks in Westphalia, Bohemia, France and England,. In Stellingen, I was able to observe how a mother immediately went outside with the young she had just weaned when it was seven degrees cold.

At this point we should also mention the hybrids between zebras and horses, as well as horses and donkeys, the zebroids and mules, which deserve far more attention than is given to them in Germany. Professor Ewart in Edinburgh achieved very good results in the production of zebroids. At that time, I bought all the zebroids bred by the professor. Two of the animals were acquired by the English government for the mountain artillery in India and are said to have performed very well; two others, a stallion and a gelding, have been in use by myself for several years. The animals are very efficient and also have just as much endurance as mules, which should become more naturalized in Germany. Americans more greatly appreciate mule breeding because, according to the statistics I saw a few years ago, over a quarter of a million mules are raised in the United States each year.

As a closing statement in this chapter on acclimatization, breeding, and the import and export of domestic and farm animals, there is nothing more apt than a brief description of that remarkable and magnificent delivery which was my duty in 1906; namely the delivery of 2,000 dromedaries to South West Africa at the behest of the German government.

The introduction of the dromedary in South-West Africa, which will yet prove to be a cultural-historical act, is actually not a recent act. Years ago, and almost at the same time as South-West Africa was acquired, my long-time friend and traveller, Joseph Menges, made a case for the introduction of the dromedary into South-West Africa, as he had already found this creature very useful in North and East Africa, initially as a riding animal. In the meantime, a few small attempts have been made by the colonial administration to introduce the dromedary (from the Canary Islands and Egypt) to south-west Africa, but without any particular success, because initially the right animals were not selected, nor were the right people, who knew how to deal with the animals, selected. They couldn't really do anything with this desert animal, so useful elsewhere, so they let it run wild without considering how the animal's survival in south-west Africa proved its suitability for the country.

In 1905, I myself suggested to the colonial government in various papers that the dromedary should be introduced in large numbers into South-West Africa. At the same time, I made positive recommendations, initially unsuccessful, although the suggestions were heeded in Berlin and surveys began to be organized. In the meantime, the military authorities in south-west Africa had already made an attempt and sent about a thousand Saharan dromedaries from west Africa. This attempt turned out badly. Once again, the selection of the animals had not been done correctly, highly unsuitable and impractical material for pack saddles contributed to the failure, trained staff were not available and, in addition, too much was expected of the animals based on the old legend of their resilience.

Since I was aware of this failure, I was somewhat astonished when, in the first half of December 1905, I was suddenly summoned to Berlin by the colonial administration to negotiate the delivery of a thousand dromedaries. The animals were to be delivered to South-West Africa as quickly as possible, on the condition that the first batch of three to four hundred head was at its destination by early March at the latest. Furthermore, a suitable, practical pack saddle had to be supplied ready-made for each animal and the native (Arab) drivers and servants had to be taken care of. All these natives, who were needed for so many animals, were to be recruited for one year for the service of the troops and, at the same time, had to be transported to South-West Africa with the animals at my expense. A few days later, during a second meeting in Berlin on December 16, the order was completed.

A difficult task lay ahead and with the short deadline there was not a moment to lose. All my forces had to be mobilized and concentrated to make the right preparations from the outset, and it was to my great benefit that my two sons already had experienced, competent employees, and that I could also have reliable, well-travelled people among my staff, many of whom were already familiar with the field of operations that came into question for this large order. One of the first concerns was the procurement of saddles, which could not be found in sufficient quantities in the homeland of the dromedaries, so they had to be made here in a way that was adapted to the difficult conditions. I had often constructed dromedary saddles for local use, but it was immediately clear to me that no experiments were to be made and that I had to fall back on a tried and tested native saddle in order to find the perfect model. Luckily, in an old collection in the museum of Mrs. Runde, my sister, there was a Nubian pack saddle for dromedaries, which traced its origin to one of the Nubian caravans that I introduced to Europe. A saddle frame based on this model was made the day after my return from Berlin, but stronger and more robust than the original, and before evening had fallen, an order for a thousand of these saddle frames - deliverable within fourteen days subject to penalty - was in the hands of three efficient shops. At the same time, the necessary saddle pads, belts and straps were ordered from various saddlers and production started immediately.

A second important matter, on which the success of the whole expedition depended, was the procurement of the necessary fodder for so many large animals on a voyage of at least thirty days. After detailed consultation with my co-workers, I decided on the best, albeit not the cheapest, way and to procure the feed here in as compact a condition as possible and send it to the animals’ ports of embarkation on the Red Sea. As early as December 17, my inspector travelled to various suppliers and contracted for the supply of many hundreds of thousands of pounds of hay and straw, which had to be baled and ready for loading at the quay in Hamburg within a fortnight, although the storage of so much flammable material caused some concern. In addition, large quantities of oats, bran, peat litter and the like had to be procured, also a wealth of articles for the use of the Arab cameleers. The question of feeding a few hundred natives also had to be solved. In short, there were a lot of headaches involved in managing the whole expedition from here to supply all the necessities.

At the same time, I was concerned about the shipping of this enormous amount of material to the various coasts of the Red Sea, as well as the question of the best way to ship the thousand animals to South Africa. The only option here was for me to charter a steamer for a limited period of time, and within three days a large ship was hired to take the first consignment to the Red Sea and take on the first load of dromedaries there immediately. The steamer, which was already homeward bound, was supposed to be ready for loading on December 31st, but was delayed due to foggy weather, so that it finally required a great deal of work to install the stables for three to four hundred dromedaries in the steamer within three days and to stow all the cargo. But this was also successful and on January 3, 1906 the "Marie Menzell" left Hamburg. On board were several of my best keepers, who would be in charge of supervising the later transport of the animals, as well as a cargo of 150 tons of hay, 75 tons of straw, 75 tons of oats and 25 tons of peat litter, in addition to innumerable boxes with utensils and other necessary items.

I had my youngest son Lorenz, who had just returned from America, travel to Egypt on January 3 to await the "Marie Menzell" in Port Said and to board the steamer for the shores of the Red Sea, where by now the first cargo of dromedaries should be ready for shipment.

I entrusted the main task, acquiring suitable animals, to my former traveller, Joseph Menges, who is already known to the reader, and I found him to be the right man for the job as he had incomparable experience in this field. Menges, accompanied by several other of my best travellers, had left for the Red Sea on December 24th, and on January 6th had taken up his duties in the port cities of the Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea and, in spite of a multitude of difficulties confronting the traveller, despite the effort and hardships involved in procuring and loading dromedaries in those inhospitable regions with their scorching heat and their primitive facilities, the first load was happily assembled by the end of January.

The "Marie Menzell" arrived in Port Said on January 22nd, made a round trip in the Red Sea and Gulf of Aden to take on the waiting animals, left Berbera, the port of northern Somaliland, with a full load of 403 dromedaries on January 6th February and arrived in Swakopmund on February 28th. The fact that only 6 of the 403 animals died en route - two of them accidentally - showed that good animals had been selected. Often only a fifth of animals out of groups of two or three hundred turn out to be usable. The good result was achieved despite the fact the animals could not be treated gently along the way. At the Cape, the ship encountered cold, rain and storms, weather that the animals used to hot, dry air took badly. For days the dromedaries had to lie on deck with their legs tied together, covered by sails, lest they break their legs as the ship rolled. But despite all this, 397 animals arrived at their destination healthy and in good condition, if a little emaciated, and after a fortnight's rest they could be put into service. The outcome of this shipment was an exceptionally good one, since losses of five to thirty percent had been regularly experienced on much smaller transport routes in the Red Sea, where the limited space in small steamers and insufficient care of the animals were partly to blame.

Meanwhile, on January 21, the government gave me another order for 1,000 dromedaries, including 150 riding animals with saddles, and this order was tackled with the same precision as before. A second steamer, "Hans Menzell," was hired. A third, of Indian origin, was recruited by my agent in Africa. In all, five steamers were needed to complete the entire order. A period of seven months was stipulated for the delivery of the two thousand dromedaries to South-West Africa, but everything went so promptly that the last load was ready for the Protection Force in Luderitzbucht on June 25th, exactly 192 days after my first conversation with the Colonial Office in Berlin. Nach früheren Erfahrungen hatte ich mit einem Verlustsatze von zehn Prozent durch Todesfall und durch zurückzustellende Tiere gerechnet, dank der guten Auswahl der Tiere und der zweckmäßigen Einrichtung an Bord, nicht zu vergessen der guten Fütterung und Pflege, ist dieser Prozentsatz nicht erreicht worden und es ist vielmehr bei einem Verlust von knapp fünf Prozent geblieben.

Such a result could only be achieved by expending infinite toil and the greatest conscientiousness. Even getting the right animals and finding out where to get them from presented great difficulties. It was of great service to me that my representative was at home in the countries concerned, understood the local language, had long been known and trusted by the natives, and, moreover, had made the dromedary his special study for many years.

Dromedaries are present in large herds in those countries, even though the many wars of recent years have greatly reduced the population. As an example, I would like to cite that in the last ten years it is estimated that the English campaigns against the Mahdi killed 60,000 - 70,000 dromedaries, the Italian campaigns against the Abyssinians and Sudanese about 3,000, and the expeditions in Somaliland against the "Mullah" cost the lives of 30,000 dromedaries. These facts explain why the offers of the natives were not tremendous. In terms of numbers, there were probably enough on the market, but some of the material was quite questionable

The East African natives are, without exception, veritable rascals in the dromedary trade, and assume that Europeans know nothing about dromedaries – a correct assumption, by the way. Out of a hundred resident Europeans, including civil servants and military personnel, there is hardly one who is an expert. One can imagine, then, what animals are touted as gems in the flowery speeches popular among the Orientals, and how much care was needed, perhaps by bribing the native servants, to prevent the smuggling in of inferior material. The audit of the animals presented, the screening of whole herds under the constant unwanted assistance of a noisy mob of those indifferent loafers who populate all coastal places, became a real torment. Accompanied by armed servants, the purchased animals were sent inland to graze after the right to graze had been bought from the native tribes with a none too small bakshish. In spite of this contract, you had to keep a sharp eye on light-fingered guests, since camel robbery is a popular sport with them. The animals are seldom "stolen," but "lost", which of course amounts to the same thing for the loser.

The dromedary, resilient as it is, has the drawback that it is very prone to skin diseases, which is partly a consequence of a lack of skin care; it is also plagued by all sorts of skin parasites, which severely affect its exterior and can also have an unfavourable effect on its vigour. My people were therefore instructed to wash and disinfect the animals regularly throughout the journey with the help of the remedies they had taken with them. Creolin was used by the hectolitre and soap by the hundredweight, and every cleaning, which was always carried out in marketplaces on land, turned out to be a real comedy. Surrounded by dense crowds of noisy spectators, in the middle our people scolded and shouted while working to wash the stubborn animals, whose roaring even drowned out the noise of the market. The servants used a pump to clean them and then drove the animals into the sea to rinse them off. Eventually the people involved in this business became so practiced that they could perform the procedure on a hundred animals in a day, although the dromedaries liberally dealt out slaps and bites.

Loading the obstinate and not exactly intelligent animals remained a particularly difficult business. In the small harbours of the Red Sea, where loading facilities such as cranes, catwalks and barges are absent, you are completely dependent on the small, shapeless Arabian sailing barges, but these could not be used everywhere. At Bab el Mandeb, where there is often a strong surf and the animals have to be carried to the barque a hundred yards or more away, the Arabs have their own method of loading, which seems barbaric and dangerous to us, but is probably the most practical under the given conditions.

The dromedaries are driven onto the beach, laid down as close to the water as possible and tied with soft palm fibre ropes in such a way that the front legs are connected to the neck and the back legs to the back, so that the animals can hardly move. Now the dromedary is rolled on its side, at least twelve men grab it and drag it to the barge with a loud roar, which the animal joins in, while two men hold the animal's head above the water. On the edge of the slanting barge, another company of helpers is waiting, who lift the dromedary on board and, by turning, let it drop to the bottom of the barge, which is covered with a high layer of palm leaves. There is no risk of any injury to the animals. The dromedaries are now pushed close together like so many packages. As soon as the boat is filled with ten to twelve animals, the sail is hoisted and steered towards the steamer, which is several kilometres away. The transfer takes place in the usual way by means of a crane, which deposits the animals in the space where the stables are built. . .

In this risky and primitive way, about four hundred dromedaries were loaded without any accident occurring. Another number first had to cross the Red Sea, packed in Arabian barges, since our steamers could not call at the places in question. All these tedious operations were made much more difficult by the notorious heat of the Red Sea districts. In May, the temperature in the shade was regularly thirty-five degrees Reaumur, not falling much at night either, and now imagine the sweltering heat that prevailed under the deck of a steamer built almost entirely of iron, which sucked in the heat of the sun all day long. The days of loading, with their haste and toil, became unbearable for both man and beast, and indeed most of the casualties were due to the high temperature in the harbour while the ship was at rest. The animals suffered much less on the journey which envelops the ship in a breath of fresh air. Only the tough nature of the dromedary can withstand the rigors of such transportation; other domesticated animals, such as horses and oxen, would succumb in droves.

The recruitment of the Arab camel drivers was associated with various incidents. The nature of the service was new; hair-raising warnings were circulated among the suspicious natives, and it is only due to the great reputation enjoyed by my representative in the country that the necessary number of men could be assembled. It was no small task to get people to understand what was actually required of them, and it was even more difficult to make binding contracts. Above all, it was necessary to reassure those willing about their future. These semi-savages, mostly Bedouins from independent Arabia, indulged in the most adventurous ideas. Some were convinced that they would be taken to the gold mines and would have to spend the rest of their lives underground. Others believed they were being made into soldiers. And one of the most common ideas was that the expedition would go to the land of the Niam-Niam, the cannibals, where each of the unfortunate ones would meet his end in a frying pan. Since the Bedouins were all ragged and in debt, they had to be provided with clothing and an advance payment before they could be considered properly recruited. However, to the credit of the Arabs, I must also state that all the recruits stuck to their contract and that none disappeared with the new clothes and the advance. On the contrary, often, after one of the steamers had left the port, stowaways were found on board who had not been recruited and now tried, usually successfully, to achieve their goal in this way.

The Colonial Journal of October 1, 1906 published an excellent article about the efficiency of dromedaries in comparison with youngsters, horses and mules, the conclusions of which I can fully confirm. At the end I just want to add some statistical data about the large supply of dromedaries. A total of 2,182 animals were loaded on the Red Sea and 2,000 of these animals were handed over to the protection forces in Swakopmund and Luderitzbucht. A surplus of about eighty specimens was sold to dealers in South-West Africa for trial purposes. Approximately 100 of the shipped animals died en route or shortly after landing, so the loss, as noted earlier, was about 5 percent. Of the animals, 1,853 were bulls and geldings, 359 were cows, and twenty calves were born on the way, which, if they survived, were delivered without extra charge. The dromedaries represented almost every breed that is bred in the coastal countries of the Red Sea. A total of 179 specimens were real pure-blooded riding and racing dromedaries of Arabian and Nubian breeding, excellent animals whose procurement put my people directly in danger. There have been several conflicts with the Arabs, who regard the breeding of these animals as their monopoly. For the sake of completeness, it should also be mentioned that no fewer than 322 camel drivers and servants, mostly Arabs, were recruited and landed in South-West Africa.

Carrying out such a gigantic order naturally involved a great deal of financial strain. Among the smaller expenses I shall mention only two. 70,000 marks were spent on saddles alone, and the necessary telegrams cost the trifling sum of 20,000 marks.


Of course, it cannot be prevented that diseases of all kinds occur in a stock of thousands of animals. They don't always have to be as pernicious as, for example, the harbingers of cholera were, which, as I have already said, almost destroyed my livestock in a short time, and where not only my skill, which arose from practice, but also that of most trained veterinarians proved helpless. I also do not count among the special symptoms of illness those that appear in the animals after they have gone through the strenuous transport from the interior of distant continents and across the oceans to my zoo. Just being captured is very shocking for most creatures - remember, for example, the story of how the eland antelopes are caught, or the young baboons - so it is understandable if the young animal suffers serious damage to its health. When such a creature arrives at its destination, it is the task of its caretaker to first calm its nervous system, and to facilitate the restoration of its normal state of health and its acclimatization to the new climate by means of concentrated, well-balanced food. I have, therefore, always followed the principle in animal care and in the distribution of rations that newly arrived animals should be treated differently from acclimatized and well-fed animals. With the former, I divide the food intake into several small portions given at shorter intervals. New arrivals among the predators are therefore almost always fed twice a day. However, once the animals are eating and acclimatized, they can generally adhere to fixed rules for their diet. The adult lion, for example, must eat an average of twelve to fifteen pounds of meat a day with one fast day a week. I am in the habit of feeding horsemeat three times a week and beef three times a week, the latter being the heads and hearts of the cattle. I don't do this just for the sake of savings, I have found that plenty of bone feeding also supports bone formation, and I admit to the correctness of the adage: Bone creates bone. Furthermore, vigorous use of the teeth is useful to any animal, and especially to predators. The teeth remain healthy, the thorough use of the chewing apparatus promotes digestion, and as a result the animal's temperament becomes livelier. Incidentally, it is astonishing how much bone mass a predator can absorb: after all, a horse or cattle head weighing about thirty pounds has scarcely a third of the weight left. This strong bone feeding is also used in many cases of illness. I have already mentioned that trainers give their young pupils particularly strong bone feeding during the teething period so that the teeth can be renewed more quickly. But even when adult carnivores are dealing with dental diseases, such bone feeding is often useful. For example, I once had an exceptionally beautiful Barbary lion that suffered from a severe dental fistula on the canines and the two rows of teeth in the upper jaw. In cases of illness where the cause can be recognized immediately with correct observation, I have mostly freed myself from the help of the veterinarians. In the case of this lion, for example, I first gave it food that did not further promote the inflammation through disturbance. He received milk, eggs, chopped and shaved meat. The thickly swollen lips thus returned to their normal form, the animal regained its strength - which had completely fallen away previously - and reached a state which made it possible to gradually move onto more vigorous, mainly bone-feeding. In doing so, of course, the animal was forced to use its teeth more vigorously and more frequently, and the defective teeth eventually fell out of their own accord. This lion is now one of the loveliest in my entire animal collection, and I also have the satisfaction of knowing that I didn't subject him to life-threatening anaesthetic which would have been needed in order to surgically remove his teeth.

Of particular interest is the history of an elephant which I received on March 9, 1904. At that time, he measured 1.39 meters at the shoulder, was in very poor feeding conditions, was emaciated like a skeleton and almost completely failed to eat. He weighed on:
8 July - 347 1/2 kg
18 July - 350 kg
7 August 375 kg
28 August 485 kg

You can see that he received excellent care was excellent, he gained about 140 kilograms in a period of about five weeks. An elephant can expect weight changes differently to a human. Unfortunately, as the progression in the table shows, he developed colic in mid-September with such severe consequences that he lost around 85 kilograms in two days. This crisis was also overcome, and the weight gain progressed in the following steps:
18 September- 400 kg
26 September - 450 kg
9 October - 550 kg
21 October - 645 kg
1 November - 660 kg
17 November - 720 kg
4 Dezember - 750 kg

I must remark that I carried out this whole cure without medication, and that during my many years of practice I have become more and more convinced that the best thing in animals (as a non-expert I don't want to decide whether it is also true for humans) is to let nature take care of itself and only to support this, but not to prematurely apply one’s own methods.

Further proof of the correctness of this view is, among other things, the medical history of a rhinoceros, which came to me wounded during capture and improperly treated during transport, with hand-sized holes on its back and a half-torn tendon on its hind leg. I only allowed this animal to be fed with extraordinarily strong food, such as eggs, milk and oatmeal, and the wound, once disinfected, was only healed by preparing a hygienic bed for it. By this I mean in all cases the use of dry peat moss with a layer of hay or straw layered on top. After five weeks the rhino was completely healed and in good feeding condition.

I experienced one of the most interesting cases from the histories of my animals with an Indian buffalo cow that fell ill in her homeland before embarkation. In this case, for reasons that were not explained, a suppurating inflammation had developed on her snout, which resulted in a greatly increased temperature and, due to the pain, made it extremely difficult for the animal to eat. An examination revealed that the suppurating sore was filled with a myriad of parasitic worms. The poor cow was first tormented using scientific methods, but healing did not occur. One day an old Hindu came and looked at the sick animal and took an interest in the case. When he was told how many attempts at a cure had already been made, he smiled and said he would cure the cow within a day. The disease was so advanced that we considered the animal lost, so we had no objection to letting the Hindu make his attempts. He disappeared and returned a few hours later with a bunch of flowering twigs from an unknown shrub. To this day, I still don't know which genus this plant belongs to, and I can only say that the flowers gave off a rather pungent smell. We believed that he would prepare a decoction from this plant and use it to wash the animal's wound. But he didn't. He tied the branches to the cow's tail tassel. Naturally, the animal was alarmed by this and lashed its head with its tail, trying to dislodge the twigs, constantly touching them with its mouth and snout. After a short while the worms fell out of the nose by themselves; whether they were stunned by the smell of the plant, or moved away to avoid the smell, I cannot say. The ulcer was then washed out and after a short time thorough healing took place. This is one of the proofs of the manifold ramifications of my business.

Simple as this remedy is, once you know it, so are all the cures that I have discovered from my own experience and have put into a fairly orderly system over time. All my life I have tried to work with well-established home remedies for diseases that did not show any specific signs of infection, in other words, those diseases that do not require any special scientific training to understand. It is also almost impossible to seek veterinary help and advice every time one of my thousands of protégés from the animal kingdom has a cold or a bad foot.

As one example of how I have always tried to help myself in such cases through my own observation and reflection, I would like to tell the story of a polar bear that I bought at the Copenhagen Zoological Gardens about forty years ago. The animal, an unusually beautiful and large specimen, had been there for several years, and might have been twelve years old. The space allotted to him had probably not been set up with sufficient expertise, and the claws on the bear's hind paws had not only penetrated the flesh, but had grown right through it and emerged from the surface again. This affliction is common in polar bears, but remarkably only on the hind paws. As every observer in the Zoological Garden can see for himself, polar bears have the habit of turning around on its hindquarters whenever it makes a turn. From this, as well as from its other movements, the hind paws hardly come into action at all, so that the claws on these can grow excessively, while those on the front paws are worn down by constant use. So I took on this patient, though the Copenhagen Zoological Gardens considered it hopelessly incurable, and I thought long and hard about how I could best cure him. Finally, I decided on the following method: I had a large transfer box built, about five feet high, two feet long, but only two feet wide, and forced the polar bear to move from his larger cage into this narrow one. The transport box had bars at the front that connected it all the way up. My task now was to force the polar bear to stand with his feet on these bars so that I could reach his feet without having to tie or anaesthetize the animal. With the help of two people - I didn't have more than that at the time - I overturned the box, which probably weighed a thousand pounds with the polar bear inside. The bear was now standing with his feet on the bars. The box was then raised about eighty centimetres using screw jacks and ropes and was placed on strong blocks. The rest of the work was relatively easy. I crawled under the grating and cut out the claws from underneath using heavy-duty iron wire cutters. Of course, I had previously fastened the leg I wanted to work on so that the bear couldn't pull it away from me. It was now comparatively easy for me to pull the severed nail stumps out of the inflamed and rotten flesh, and I could then hope to restore my bear to a healthy animal. He was moved into another cage, one half of which was lined with zinc, which I filled it with ice-cold water as soon as the animal entered the cage while raising the other part of the cage about five feet higher. The bear was thus forced to lie with his hind paws in the water. This was constantly renewed, re-cooled and kept quite clear and pure. After a fortnight the bear was completely healed; he became a perfect example of his species again and went to a menagerie for a high price.

Anyone with any interest in the animal kingdom will know by now how widespread the taste for alcohol and sugar is among animals, too. I’m probably only saying something new to very few people when mentioning that racehorses are given champagne to drink or their nostrils washed are washed with it before the start. It is well documented that monkeys like to drink wine and alcohol in other forms. I myself once had to give an elephant that had had a bit too much of a good thing another big ration, so that the tipsy fellow didn't mess up the whole transport, but instead got really heavily intoxicated and, overwhelmed by this, slept peacefully. When selling several large European bears to the menagerie owner, Malferteiner I learned of the use of alcohol on bears, and that with a rather cruel, outrageous intention. He ran a traveling exhibition and only noticed after he had taken over the bears from me that his own cages were not strong enough for the unusually large and strong animals. There was a danger that the bears would quickly get free by gnawing, scratching and breaking them. At that time, a gang of gypsies appeared, who were very interested in the bears. Malferteiner found that the traveling men had some cash, so he arranged to sell them the bears. He looked forward to the transfer of the bears with great curiosity as the gypsies did not have any equipment or cages with them to move the animals. When asked how they planned to do it, they laughed mischievously and assured Mr. Malferleiner that he should let that be their concern. The people's venture seemed even more daring to him because the bears were by no means tamed or trained. The first thing the gypsies did when they got the bears was to starve them. The poor animals were given nothing to eat for two days. Then the gypsies brought a barrel of salted herring. An aversion to this food did not help the bears, their hunger was stronger than their aversion. By the third day the herring had been eaten and the animals developed a miserable thirst, However, they didn't get water, but instead the cruel new owners presented them with a vat filled with heavily sweetened spirits. The bears greedily threw themselves on the tasty liquid and got completely drunk. They fell into a deathlike sleep. The gypsies then fearlessly climbed into the cage with them, the big predators were completely harmless and could be handled like sacks of flour. The gypsies broke off their fangs with pliers and pulled the claws from their paws; they didn’t care if they ripped deep into the flesh of the bears’ paws during this operation, the bears didn't wake up and the gypsies were pitiless. Rings were then pulled through the nasal bone of the two bears, one chain was placed around the neck and another through this nose ring. When the bears were bound and defenceless, the gypsies loaded the creatures into a wagon and drove away with them. After several hours of driving, the poor animals woke up, fell off the wagon and, being held by the chain, had to trot after it. To top it all off, the gypsies had put muzzles on them, though these were completely unnecessary, because the still half-stunned animals, weakened by pain, did not even think of attacking.

A very peculiar area of animal disease in captivity is that of self-mutilation or, to express it more crassly, animals that eat themselves. Such cases always occurred only with predators, and without distinction of genus. I twice saw spotted hyenas, which until then had been quite well and behaved normally, suddenly attack themselves with loud screams and, I might say, tear whole pieces out of their own bodies. This horrific event happened so quickly and unexpectedly that it was impossible to intervene to help. Both animals inflicted such horrific wounds on themselves that they could not be saved and died quickly. A few years ago, a large jaguar inflicted such wounds on the paw of its left hind leg that, despite careful care, it had to be confined to a sickbed for four months and took six months to heal. Male lions have never committed such inexplicable self-mutilation, but I have twice had similar experiences with lionesses chewing their own tails off and eating as far as they could get. Both animals had to be killed because of enormous blood loss and great weakness. A Bengal tiger, which had also attacked its own tail, only ate half of it and could still be healed with a lot of effort. Despite the most careful observation, I have not been able to find the cause of these horrific events. All the animals I am speaking of had been perfectly well up to the moment of the event, never refusing food or showing any other sign of illness. Usually, one explains such actions as due to a maddening heating of the blood, but I prefer to take the view that it is a question of a brain disease. In any case, the question of what causes such deadly self-mutilation is extremely interesting, and it would certainly be of great merit if scholars were to concern themselves with a definitive answer.

If my job and the size of my business causes me to branch out into the field of veterinary medicine and pharmacology in this way, it is even more likely that I must often push the boundaries of well-known zoology. You can well imagine that my animal-trapping expeditions in the unknown interiors of the great continents often brought back reports from the natives of seemingly unknown animal species. You might suppose that such reports by natives are often exaggerations or even deliberate lies, but on the contrary, careful examination of their reports often leads to new discoveries. The discovery of the remains of the giant sloth in South America has become famous in the entire animal science of our day, and everyone remembers the sensation caused by the discovery of the okapi. However, the primitive traditions and art of the natives often gives clues to the existence of unknown animal species. For example, some years ago I received reports from a variety of sources about such paintings on rocks and in caves in Rhodesia's interior. One account came from one of my travellers, the other from a high-ranking Englishman who had gone out to hunt big game. The first had approached the interior of the continent from the south-west, the other from the north-east. Strangely enough, both accounts agreed that the natives had told them of the existence of a half-elephant, half-dragon monster that dwelt in the most inaccessible swamps. Indeed, several decades ago, my excellent traveller, Mr. Menges, who in 1871 had taken part in the expedition up the White Nile with Gordon Pasha, brought me reports of a similar legendary creature. Drawings of this animal, painted by the natives on the walls of caves, can also be found in the interior of Africa. From what I've learned about it, it can only be a type of brontosaurus. The reports, coming from so many different quarters, and yet so consistent, almost lead me to believe that this animal must still exist today. I therefore sent an expedition to those countries at considerable expense, but they had to return home without achieving anything, because my travellers were afflicted with severe attacks of fever in these impenetrable swamps, which stretched hundreds of kilometres in all directions, and also because those regions are inhabited by very treacherous natives, whose frequent attacks prevented the expedition from advancing. Nevertheless, I haven’t yet give up hope that modern zoology will be able to prove the existence of this creature and thus possibly lead to further discoveries. Because once one is convinced that such an animal which has been believed to be extinct for thousands of years is actually still alive today, the search for other as yet unknown animal species will receive new impetus.


Where a few years ago there was nothing to see but wide potato fields and an unkempt field covered with undergrowth, today there is a blooming landscape whose character does not correspond to that of the North German lowlands, but instead corresponds to the purpose for which it was created. Mountain formations and craggy rocks rise up into the air, at their feet are wide green meadows and shimmering blue waters, over which stretch delicate bridges. But mountains, pastures and bodies of water are filled with a peculiar life that is in constant motion and constantly opens up new perspectives to the eye. Wildlife of the whole world is enclosed within the perimeter of this park under new conditions of captivity. If you direct your steps towards the large building complex that houses the main restaurant of the garden and, with your back to this building, let your gaze wander straight ahead, a strange and powerful panorama opens up: the animal paradise.

In the foreground, closed off by low rocks in the distance, the water of a large bird pond sparkles, bordered by a wide track where flamingos, cranes, pelicans and ibises cavort, while the water is animated by countless swans, ducks, and geese of all kinds. In addition, the astonished eye takes in a wide scene, also bordered by rocky outcrops, where so many herbivores of various kinds thrive that a small corner of paradise really does seem to have been created here. Sheep, goats, and antelope clamber lazily over the gently sculpted rocks; below them, magnificent Indian Brahma zebu stride slowly alongside shaggy yaks from Mongolia, leggy guanacos from South America and woolly llamas from Peru. A dromedary with its swaying gait follows the colourful zebra, which is striding past its relatives, the donkey and horse. Deer from distant countries have met here with the German representatives of their kind, huge buffalo and tiny pygmy goats graze peacefully side by side - in constant movement, but in undisturbed peace the animals, which have been returned to a deceptive freedom, sway back and forth across the space.

What the eye perceives beyond the limit of this pasture seems quite unreal and dreamlike from a distance. Only a few steps away from the herbivores' enclosure, several lions frolic in an open, completely exposed group of rocks, and even further away, a broad mountain range boldly reaches upwards, its rocky outcrops populated with mountain animals as far as the summit. A markhor buck stands motionless on a high ridge, its twisted antlers splendidly contrasting against the blue background of the sky, now the animal leans back, only to spring over a chasm like a bird in flight in the next moment. Just like the hay eaters on the field below, so too are the most diverse animals found together on a small scale on this high mountain. Barbary sheep from North Africa and the famous Siberian wild sheep, along with whole families of wild Himalayan goats and many other animals demonstrate their climbing skills on all sides of the cliffs.

The freedom enjoyed by all these creatures is illusion and truth at the same time. The lions in their grotto can indeed develop their powers freely with no fence separating them from the surroundings, only a wide moat, which is made invisible by the layout of the entire terrain and by a barrier disguised by plants. The illusion is so complete that most visitors are only convinced of the reality of the complex by viewing the ditch. I made my first attempts to show this species of animal in a wild setting in 1896 at the exhibition in Berlin, then later in Leipzig and some other places, but most notably at the World Exhibition in St. Louis in 1904.

Before these facilities came into being, I investigated the extent of the jumping ability of different animal species. Feline predators had already been tested for that ability in my large outdoor cage at Neue Pferdemarkt. In order to first determine how high these animals are able to jump vertically, a stuffed dove was attached to a palm branch three metres above the ground. The caged lions, tigers, panthers and leopards soon noticed the dove and competed to get the prey down from the tree. Lions and tigers could not leap more than two metres high, the black panthers and leopards could leap three metres high, so that they might grab the palm branch, but could not bring down the dove, which was fastened to the highest point of the branch, despite their most energetic attempts.

The long jump was often tried out in the arena with animals that had been specially trained to jump during tame training. The longest jump leopards could make without a running start was three metres, but I'm sure that if they were allowed a long run-up, they could achieve four to four and a half metres. Among the lions and tigers, a Bengal tiger managed to jump three meters without a run-up, with a long run-up it could gain a further one to one and a half meters.

The facilities in Stellingen were made on the basis of these trials. Even if the animals tried to take the ditch with a run-up of ten metres, they would land in the middle of the ditch halfway through the jumping distance, because the far side of the jump is 8.60 metres away. Below the gorge there is another rocky ledge so that the animals, should they slip off the plateau of the grotto while playing, do not fall straight into the deep moat. If one of the animals wanted to dare the jump from this protective ledge, without a run-up of course, it would have to fly seven metres through the air to reach the opposite side, because the moat is exactly seven metres wide from one wall to the other. The animals are much safer in this type of enclosure than behind bars. It is completely impossible for them to escape from rooms with ditches in front of them, whereas I know that barred closures have been breached here and there.

The wide park resembles a well-populated city, where visitors can watch the inhabitants without taking part in their intimate life. As if in passing, he looks through the windows of the buildings to catch a glimpse of the family life of the inhabitants of this animal paradise. For here, too, as in a human city, there are friendships and enmities, likes and dislikes, love affairs are made and broken off, there are births and deaths, and also messages from house to house, carried by the people in charge of caring for all these animals. You could probably fill a small, regularly published newspaper with the daily news from the animal world of the garden. All the animals are constantly under strict observation and treated individually, even if the population is extremely diverse.

The northern panorama has rocky areas and waters populated by walruses and other species of seals, polar bears, reindeer and waterfowl. One morning there was the remarkable, though unimportant news that the fur seal, a species seen here for the first time in Europe, had found a new sport. From under the surface of the water, it watched sparrows enjoying themselves at the edge of the pool, then suddenly darted out of the water and in no time had grabbed a sparrow, which it ruthlessly drowned. The little bird which had stimulated the fur seal's desire to play, could no longer fly away and was then played with for an hour or more before the seal tired of this sport. A few days later the same sportsman hunted down a rat, which fared as badly as the sparrow.

All animals, like humans, have an inborn instinct to play. It was not cruelty, but merely the urge to play, that made the fur seal ambush the sparrow and the rat. The desire to play runs through the whole garden and is already being taken into account, while in the future special arrangements will be made to satisfy this instinct. The individual creatures need toys that are appropriate to their form and inclinations. For sea lions, which have an innate talent for balancing objects, all you need to do is throw a stick into the water and they'll soon start juggling. The rhinoceros, on the other hand, is an athlete by nature and must be provided with apparatus on which to test its strength. A slat was pushed through the stable of Max, one of our rhinos, and a sack tightly filled with hay was hung from it, so the whole thing resembled one of those exercise machines used by American boxers. Max seemed to share this concept of practical use, because he immediately began to spar with the sack and never got tired of this game. The aurochs*, who are also power geniuses, were given a barrel as a toy, which they rolled back and forth and threw in the air with their horns. The demand: "panem et circenses" [bread and circuses] also applies in the park to keep the population in a good mood.
(* These would be wild cattle, not true aurochs, which went extinct in the 1620s)

In addition to food and play, the third major urge is love and friendship, the latter being just another form of love. If the gossip among animals were as widespread as in the human world, the garden would be full of it. And mainly, of course, it would revolve around the misalliances that take place there. What could be more hopeless than the match between a giant female elephant and a male kangaroo? And yet such a friendship, which has reached an almost intimate degree, has been observed. Daily these two animals played together, the elephant caressed the kangaroo with her trunk, and one could not be without the other. Another elephant, this time a bull, made friends with a dainty pony mare, a friendship that went so far that the elephant could only be transported if accompanied by his lady friend. Such affections are extremely common among various species of bird. A crested crane and an ostrich acquainted themselves, as did a drake and a gull, but I do not know whether these cases were bachelors’ friendships or love affairs. But wherever there is a lot of sun, there is also a lot of shade, and there was no end of jealous scenes.

Among the most interesting animals in the garden are the three walruses that live in the northern panorama. All polar travellers have shared their observations of this northern giant with us. They agree that the walrus is an uncomfortable companion in the wild and can be very aggressive under certain circumstances. When irritated and enraged, it hooks onto the edge of the boat with its massive tusks and tries to overturn it. Compared to modern bullets, however, it has long since lost its dangerousness, for despite all its power it falls victim to the hunting skills of the Eskimos. The Eskimos harpoon the giant and finish him off with spear thrusts. The walrus is one of the most interesting animals for science, although it has not been observed much in captivity. It is clear that these giants can only be caught when they are quite young. On several occasions, to my delight, I have come into possession of walruses which, as far as I know, were caught by surprise on the ice and caught by fishermen after the adults had been killed.

The first two walruses I received perished within a few weeks. Two others lasted nearly two years. The animals are very sensitive and require a lot of care; in particular they easily catch cold. The last walrus that was left at that time caught a cold in late autumn, but we cured it with steam baths. When the animal died, it was about three years old, but already weighed a good eight hundredweight. I assume that the walrus is fully grown by about the age of ten and then reaches a weight of 2,500 – 3,000 pounds. But the animals also consume enormous quantities of food. The first two, very young, walruses I owned were initially fed twenty pounds of fish a day. Boned and cut into small pieces, cod, hake, cod, haddock and halibut were slurped up in the water by the animals. The other two specimens ate 80 pounds of fish a day when they were two to three years old - a prodigious appetite, considering the adults animals requires huge quantities of food.

After a lot of effort and some failed hopes, I finally managed to add three walruses to my zoo in October 1907. They were caught in the Carian Straits near the Waigatsch Islands and, through the mediation of Dr. Breitfuss, leader of the expedition for scientific and practical investigations on the Murman coast. From the walrus catcher who had caught the animals, they were fed exclusively with seal blubber, they were also fed on this in their early time at Stellingen. However, when the seal blubber ran out, the male animal refused any other food, while the two females accepted cod flesh. All attempts to get the bull to eat failed and I saw this precious animal failing in front of my eyes when I finally had the idea of trying shark meat, which was finally accepted after a fourteen-day starvation period. Later, the male, like the two females, condescended to take cod flesh, which must be given to them boneless. As can be seen every day, the animals are fed by their keeper like children, the food is held in front of their mouths and slurped up. However, there is nothing childish about the animal's appetite. The three young walruses ate 5,035 pounds of cod, ling or pollock worth a total of 710 marks last month. Rather expensive boarders!

In addition to the three young walruses already in my animal section, five young specimens, two more males and three females, were added on September 9, 1908, so that I can now present eight of these animals, which are still quite rare in captivity, to the visitors of my zoo. Besides, there has only been a young walrus in the Zoological Gardens in Copenhagen for a very short time, and there are none in any other establishment in the world. The five newcomers were brought to Stellingen by their lucky catcher, Captain Ole Hansen from Hammerfest, and he told me some interesting things about the capture and the way of life of these animals. Captain Hansen, a Norwegian by birth, has been walrus-hunting in the Arctic Ocean since 1886; and for sixteen years he has captained a Arctic ship, which bears the curious name "June 7th," this being its christening date. The walruses are harpooned from boats built specially for the purpose. The construction of these fishing boats, which are about twenty feet long and seven feet wide, is such that the planks do not overlap each other but butt against one another, making the hull of the boat quite smooth. In addition, the bottom of the ship is covered with sheet metal. At the front there is a platform four feet wide, which supports a pillar which is firmly mortised in the keel of the boat. The harpoons are fastened to this pillar with long lines, which must always lie coiled on the platform ready for use. Four indentations are made in the extreme edge of the ship's hull six inches from the bow on each side. When a walrus is harpooned, the line of the harpoon is placed in this cut-out, thereby preventing the lines from tangling when more than one harpoon is used. This also prevents the ship from capsizing, which would inevitably occur if the hit walrus were to pull the line backwards along the side of the ship. The harpooner always stands on the platform while three men row. The harpoon is thrown at a distance of about twenty-two metres, the record achieved in this regard was about thirty-four metres. The harpooned walrus immediately dives, but after a while it comes back to the surface to take a breath. If the line is slack, the hunters know that their boat is in danger because the wounded animal will emerge from the water close to the boat to attack. Harpooned females usually swim straight ahead and pull the line taut. Sometimes, however, this has to be cut, namely when the harpooned walrus was lying on an ice floe and tries to escape into the water on the far side. In order to render the animals harmless as quickly as possible after being harpooned, they are shot with specially constructed Norwegian walrus rifles. If a herd of walruses is caught lying on the coast, those lying on the edge of the shore are killed first, so that those further inland are prevented from escaping by the dead bodies.

Walrus hunting often involves considerable danger. When the young animals brought to the zoo were caught, the life of the four-man crew of the boat was in great danger. A strong bull got angry when he heard the cries of the youngsters that had been taken on board and he poked three large holes in the boat with his tusks.

In order to capture the young alive, it is usually necessary to kill the mother. One of the animals in Stellingen was captured in such a way that the killed mother was pulled very close to the boat and then kept completely calm. It then didn't take long for the young to come and climb onto the back of the dead mother. It then wasn't difficult to get hold of the clumsy young animal.

Sixty-eight other walruses were killed when the five youngsters that were recently brought to Stellingen were captured. The hunters receive 1.40 Kroners per kilogram for the skins, and the walrus oil is also an important trade commodity. According to Captain Ole Hansen, the largest walruses can be found near Franz-Josefland. It was there that among last year's haul was an animal whose teeth were seventy-five centimetres long and weighed two and a half kilogrammes each. They are worth six Kroners for each kilogramme.

The sexes of the walrus keep separate, females and young live separately from the males, and they only come together on land during the mating season in September and October. Thus, in 1886, Captain Hansen encountered a herd of 370 on the north coast of Nordostland. These were all shot by five ship's crews. The females are otherwise found, as these gentlemen report, on the north coast of Spitsbergen, at about eighty-one degrees north latitude; the males, on the other hand, are found in the Storefjord between Nordostland and Kong Karlsland. However, the largest bull that our hunters saw on the last trip, and successfully killed, weighed almost 3,000 kilogrammes. The skin alone weighed 500 kilogrammes. The young animals were caught at Cape Flora; the most fruitful hunting area today is probably the north coast of Siberia.

According to Captain Hansen, the diet of walruses consists mainly of marine plankton, an animal pulp made up of countless small organisms, in which tiny crabs are predominant. The walrus also feeds on sandworms, which are found in large numbers in the stomachs of their prey. Hansen once even saw a walrus attack a dead seal; it had pierced holes in the carcass with its teeth and was about to slurp up the seal's blubber. Unfortunately, however, it was not possible to determine whether the seal had been killed by the walrus or whether it was already dead. The tusks of the female walrus are a third shorter than those of the males and are also considerably thinner in adult females. The roar of the walrus can be heard two nautical miles downwind and is so piercing that in foggy weather hunters often adjust the ship's course by it.

In 1897, due to carelessness while hunting near Kong Karlsland, the harpoon line came alongside the boat, causing it to capsize. A strong bull walrus killed four men, impaling one through the back with both tusks. Again and again, he showed up to destroy his opponents. Two men tried to swim to save themselves but the raging animal caught up and impaled them. The fourth managed to get onto the boat, but the bull did not rest until he overturned the boat and killed that man too.

The first two walruses caught would not eat for nine days after being caught, while the third specimen refused food for only forty-eight hours, and then encouraged the other two to eat by its good example. But it was particularly interesting when the five newly arrived walruses were taken to their three comrades in the Stellingen "Polar Panorama" pool. The five newcomers had been moved close to their comrades in crates on wagons. On this occasion, the animals showed such a pronounced sense of togetherness corresponding to their oft observed high level of intelligence. Whether the three older animals perceived the newcomers’ proximity by smell or by hearing, in any case they became extremely excited. The bull came out of the water, followed by the two females, and they all began to roar loudly. You could observe how the animal drooled with excitement and how its eyes became bloodshot. When the young animals were released from their crates, the other three received them with visible signs of greeting, tenderly sniffing them from all sides. I immediately called the keeper with fish meat and started feeding the animals with him. When the newcomers saw how well their older comrades were enjoying themselves, they also began to eat the food with a good appetite, and after a short time they behaved as tamely and trustingly as if they had been in the zoo as long as the others.

It may interest the reader to find here some small statistics about the population of this animal city and their physical needs. For example, in August 1908 the stock of animals, including the training groups, was:

91 feline predators, including 49 lions, 26 tigers and 3 lion-tiger hybrids, 18 polar bears and 12 bears of other species, 40 hyenas, wolves, dogs in 15 species, 15 chimpanzees, orangutans and gibbons, and 109 monkeys of 22 different species, 13 elephants, 3 hippos, 2 African rhinos, 4 tapirs, 3 giraffes, 21 camels, dromedaries and llamas, 57 deer and roe deer, 43 cattle including 2 wisents, 12 bison and 17 buffalo, 84 wild sheep, sheep, ibex and goats of 18 species, 43 antelopes including eland, waterbuck, leukoryx and kudu, 1 warthog, 73 equines including 21 zebras; 3 walruses, 3 sea lions, 1 fur seal and 3 seals from just as many species living together in the northern panorama. There are 96 rodents of 8 species, 8 armadillos, 12 kangaroos, 36 tortoises, 12 monitor lizards, iguanas, etc., 11 crocodiles and alligators, and 68 snakes. The kingdom of birds includes 1,072 individuals, which are mainly made up of 48 African ostriches, 18 South American ostriches, 11 Australian ostriches and 13 cassowaries - plus 295 water birds, 273 wading birds, including 90 flamingos and 82 cranes, 187 gallinaceous birds, 116 songbirds, 69 parrots, 21 toucans and 16 birds of prey. Accordingly, the entire animal city is inhabited by approximately 2,000 individuals, representing a total value of 1,125,000 marks.

The reader can get some idea of what goes on in the kitchens of this city when he learns that full-grown lions and tigers consume 10 to 15 pounds of meat daily, that each full-grown elephant, when idle, eats 10 pounds of oats, 5 pounds of bran, 40 pounds of turnips, and 60 pounds of hay - the rations increase when the animals work - and that a hippopotamus cannot get by on a daily ration of less than 10 pounds of crushed oats, 6 pounds of bran, 6 pounds of rye bread, 20 pounds of turnips, and 20 pounds hay can get by. The animals' unspoilt stomachs are not used to delicacies of course, but the menu offers plenty of variety, as can be seen from the following food list for a year for the stock of animals indicated above. The following passed through the zoo's food departments over the course of one year:

85,107 kg horsemeat
34,945 kg beef
120 pigeons
270 rabbits
150 chickens
55,128 kg fish of which 28,825 kg for walruses
18,156 kg white bread
15,425 kg rye bread
8,600 kg horse biscuits
7,600 kg dog biscuits
16,700 kg maize
18,300 kg crushed maize
12,100 kg wheat
88,837 kg oats
7,600 kg barley
44,650 kg bran
800 kg peas
1,225 kg hemp
1,205 kg buckwheat
975 kg millet
1,625 kg rice
7,000 kg potatoes
850 kg horse molasses
4,500 kg beets
99,555 kg turnips
4,300 kg cabbage
250 kg lettuce
400 kg locust beans
800 kg flax cake
3,000 kg acorns and chestnuts
210 kg dates
4,500 eggs
1,140 kg oatmeal
13,838 litres of milk
60,000 kg compressed straw
86,000 kg compressed hay
76,559 kg meadow and reed hay
15,000 kg clover hay
6,000 kg reindeer moss
122,400 kg timothy hay
6,850 kg chaff
22,980 kg oat straw

To this must be added beef soups, milk and fruit soups, bilberry wine, flour, cherries, grapes and other fruits for the anthropomorphs, as well as nearly 50,000 kilos of rye and oat straw, and, although it doesn't quite fit into this category, 30,000 kilos of peat litter and about 240,000 kilos coke and coals. This list accounts for expenses amounting to around 150,000 marks.

Far over the other side, where a delicate bridge sways over the country road, a second part of the park was opened this year, in which the national exhibitions will set up camp and where a new, large training hall has also been set up. The opening of a third large section of the zoo is already being prepared for the coming year. Among other things, a sixty metre long coffee house with a ground floor and upper floor will be built on this new, east-facing, nearly six-hectare site, which will offer the public the opportunity to rest and refresh themselves during the summer when there are large numbers of visitors. In addition, it will serve as a refuge for a larger crowd in the event of a sudden storm. This building will be able to accommodate a good 2,500 people under its roof, and a front terrace will offer seating for another 2,000 – 3,000 people. A pond of around one hectare will be laid out in the middle of the site, with bridges crossing it in two places. Around the pond, a miniature railway, more than 600 metres long, will be built. The trains, which can accommodate both children and adults, are hauled by a locomotive that is an exact replica of a German express train locomotive. Between the bushes on the banks of the pond, life-size artistic reproductions of prehistoric animals will gradually be placed. The thunder lizard, the enormous brontosaurus, which is up to 40 metres long, will raise its head to the top of the trees; there will also be the stegosaurus and the ceratosaurus, or horned lizard, which towers fifteen metres high; you will see all these giants here and feel as though you have been transported back to the prehistoric world. The remaining land is earmarked for a large monkey house, a special building for great apes, as well as housing intended as accommodation for some rare species of cattle and antelope, while an extensive ostrich farm will be opened to the south on Kaiser-Friedrichstrasse.

Even beyond those ventures (These ventures have come into being since the writing of the book. (See Addendum)), which are for the most part in the process of being executed, new plans are already reaching out to develop a recently purchased, brand new ten-hectare plot of land, which is north-east of the animal park on Lokstedter Weg, into a farm where new and interesting breeds of cattle and equids are to be created. These breeding efforts are already beginning, but it will still be a few years before everything is practically developed. The first condition for such large-scale undertakings is money, and then more money, and therefore prudent and systematic work is necessary, in economic accord with the available means.

I would like to take this opportunity to correct a misconception that has become widespread among the public. Neither banks nor other financial institutions are involved in the widespread enterprise which is now centralized in Stellingen; the zoo and the entire business are my sole property. On the other hand, the Stellingen Terrain company, which I founded, is a limited liability company in which I hold a certain percentage.


The anthropoid apes have always been my favourites, and I have always taken the greatest care in their care. And so, when creating the new zoo, it was my wish to show these apes to their best advantage. Wherever I had the opportunity, I bought fine specimens, and I had to learn a great deal in the process, since these delicate children of the hot, humid tropics suffer greatly from the climate of our northern latitudes. But I also experienced a lot of joy with these apes, especially in the beautiful pair of Orangs, Jacob and Rosa, and the clever chimpanzee Moritz, who have become well-known personalities in Hamburg through their many funny pranks and who have amused numerous visitors to my zoo every day with their jokes. I acquired the two orangs from a farmer who acquired these apes on Borneo as very small animals and raised them through bottle-feeding. For seven years he kept them in captivity over there. They were granted full freedom, they became members of the family and from an early age they were always accustomed to dealing with people. At noon they ate at the table with their master and received the same food as he and his relatives, in short, they were kept as children, and they behaved in a civilized manner at the table. When they were transferred to Europe, they remained free on board all night during the voyage, they could go where they liked and soon became the favourites of the whole crew of the ship, who never tired of playing with the animals. When the monkeys arrived in my zoo, it was immediately clear to me that I could not offer these healthy animals, hardened by their long sea voyage, cramped shelter in an insufficiently ventilated animal house if I wanted to keep them healthy and alive for a long time. For this purpose, I had a large wagon cage brought in, the open lattice walls of which were only covered by canvas on the east and north sides. At night, the animals had a shelter in the form of a large wooden box, closed on all sides, which was attached to the wagon cage. This is how I kept the apes throughout the summer last year. To make up for their lack of company, I employed a special keeper whose sole duty was to tend these animals and keep them occupied. In this way I hoped to influence the animals mentally in such a way that they would come to terms with their loss of freedom and not feel bored. My views on this have been proven correct; I was overjoyed that the two apes not only thrived admirably, but also developed excellently on the mental side. When the cold season came and staying in the open lattice wagon was no longer beneficial for the animals, I had a section prepared for them in the giraffe house so that they could spend the winter there.

Another anthropoid ape, and soon a new playmate to the two orangs was a seven-year-old male chimpanzee named Moritz, who to this day, as the third member of the ape bunch, knows how to constantly amuse the audience with his cleverness and crazy pranks. These three anthropoids overwinter excellently in the giraffe house. It was never tropically warm inside, but only temperate, because extensive ventilation was always provided by keeping windows high up. When summer came, I also had a part of the giraffe's run blocked off for these apes and fenced off with wire mesh. The entrance and exit between the inside and outside is made possible for the animals by trapdoor that close the opening due to their own weight. The apes can push up the trapdoor at their own discretion, something they learned in a very short time. Both indoors and outdoors are equipped with gymnastics equipment so that the apes can have fun to their heart's content. Their behaviour has resulted in some quite interesting observations which I want to report here. I would like to expressly emphasize that, in my opinion, anthropoids have an extraordinarily high faculties that are only triggered and really comes into their own through intimate contact with people. In all the pranks that these three apes performed, the chimpanzee Moritz always set the tone. He's always the ringleader, using the orangutan's good nature to achieve the goals of his foolery. He takes particular pleasure in pulling the hats off the heads of men and women and fleeing onto a gymnastics bar that is mounted inside his cage with his loot, which he subjects to a thorough inspection. In order to achieve this, he always uses a ruse, which he usually succeeds admirably in executing. As soon as visitors, especially ladies with large hats, approach, he sits harmlessly on the side with the mesh front on a large wooden sleeping box and intently watches the approach of his unsuspecting victims. The two orangs, who prefer to sit by the mesh, are in the habit of reaching out to greet the people outside the cage. As soon as a gentleman or a lady shakes the orang's hand, the person in question bends involuntarily against the mesh fence - the chimpanzee shoots down from his box in a flash, grabs the desired object with a sure hand and quickly goes to the gymnastics bar with his loot. - Since the resulting scenes were not pleasant and I didn't feel like paying for hats every day, I felt compelled to block off the apes from the visitors with a barrier. In the end I was even forced to separate them from the audience with a glass wall, since the precious animals repeatedly received unhealthy food from the visitors, so that an ape’s life was endangered on two occasions.

As soon as the keeper isn't there with the apes, Moritz gets bored and tries to relieve his boredom with all sorts of practical jokes. He prefers to choose the orang Jacob as his victim and jumps on his head of the unsuspecting orang, in order to drag him around. There is then a vigorous scuffle, but Moritz always comes out on top of the situation by knowing how to deftly wriggle out of Jacob's hugs and fleeing out of reach with a few leaps. Although the orang rushes right behind the flee Moritz, it rarely succeeds in catching him, for the orang never jumps and is far more deliberate and much less nimble in its movements. The chimpanzee, Moritz, is extraordinarily inventive in his attempts to gain freedom. Since the giraffe house, in whose separate compartment the three monkeys are housed, is very high, the separating wooden wall did not reach the ceiling as it was assumed it would be impossible for the monkeys to climb up to the free edge of this wooden wall and be able to get outside. But Moritz had other ideas. He ruminated on how he might gain his freedom. The fact that Moritz was able to influence his lady friend, the female orang Rosa, in such a way that she tried to free herself with him, speaks for the very extensive understanding between these apes, but only Moritz, not Rosa, profited from the plan. A large, hollow tin ball had been in the apes' cage for a long time. One day Moritz got his lady friend to help him practice getting this big ball on top of the apes’ big sleeping box in the corner. Then Rosa had to stand on this ball and straighten herself against the wall of the cage. Moritz now jumped onto Rosa's back - and with a great leap and a skilful grip he had reached the open air. Once he had escaped from the cage in this way, it didn't take long for Moritz to find himself between the giraffes with a few nimble leaps. Strangely enough, they hardly noticed the chimpanzee at all. If they got too close to Moritz, they received a well-aimed blow from him. When the keeper entered the house and saw Moritz was free, he initially had no idea how Moritz had escaped from the cage. Not long after, he found Moritz and Rosa guilty of a second attempt of this kind, and as a result the dividing wall was raised. Nevertheless, the inventive Moritz knew what to do. It was not for nothing that a thick rope hung down to the floor of the cage. Moritz knew how to set it in motion by doing gymnastics so that it only required a skilful jump at the right time to reach the height of the wall and thus the open air. Eventually, however, he was denied the opportunity to free himself in this way when all open spaces in his cage were closed off.

For a long time now, Moritz had been watching the guard when he was fiddling around with the keys in the lock, and the guard sometimes gave him the keys to play with as a game. One day Moritz surprised the keeper when he was given the keys and tried them out one after the other to see which one was best for opening the lock. Eventually the animal found the right one and, with some effort, managed to unlock the cage door. When I happened to walk in and was told this, I couldn't help but ask: "Moritz! How did you manage that?" And as if the ape understood the meaning of my words, a sly smile crept over his face and he showed me the key, as if to say: "I did it with that one".

The fact that Jacob knew how to use a piece of iron rod as a lever to break the padlock by inserting this lever into the handle also attests to the high level of intelligence of the animals. They had broken a piece of iron from their gymnastics apparatus and, with their combined effort, had actually used this iron rod as a tool to carry out the manipulation described, so that the cage door opened and all three of them got outside. It’s certainly proof of the thinking power of these animals! The outer fence of their enclosure, made of wire fencing, could not withstand their attempts to free themselves either. Rosa was extremely adept at breaking and loosening the wire at its attachment points, creating an opening through which she could easily get outside. The guard had repeatedly led her to the main entrance and bought her several bananas there. The ape had probably remembered the way. When she got free in the manner described, she ran straight towards the main entrance, probably for the purpose of getting her beloved bananas there.

Observing the apes’ dinner can give every animal lover extraordinary pleasure. In addition to juicy fruits such as bananas, the three anthropoids also receive bread and milk; for lunch, however, they receive exactly the same dishes that are served in my private house. They are not fussy eaters and have got used to good home cooking, which they find delicious. They also get good red wine mixed with water at times with their meals. Jacob proves to be a particular wine lover, while Rosa, as a lady ape, has less of a taste for alcohol. The keeper has so accustomed the three apes to table manners that it is a pleasure to watch them. Moritz works as a "waiter"! He has to fetch the food, something he does with great seriousness. He must also clear up after the meal. During the meal, the apes sit patiently on chairs in front of the laid table and wait for things to arrive. The soup is skilfully scooped out with a spoon. If the animals see they are not being watched, then one or the other forgets itself and instead of using the spoon uses its lips which, by nature, are especially well-developed. At a word from the keeper, a cultured ape that has fallen out of character quickly grabs its spoon. There are always interesting scenes during the midday meal, which constantly exercises the laughing muscles of the audience. The keeper is a master at communicating with the animals; they pay close attention to what he is saying, understand what he wants of them, and act accordingly with great understanding. While Jacob and Rosa are very sensitive to verbal reprimands or to being punished with a beating, Moritz is far less sensitive in this regard. If the keeper wants something from him, for example if he is to be photographed, then the stick must be close at hand, otherwise the guard can expect to insist on the photographer's camera being a little closer. Compared to the phlegmatic orangs, the chimpanzee is the necessary sanguine person, in whom pleasure and pain alternate in quick succession. He has scarcely grasped one thought when he drops it again and takes up a new one without fully carrying out any of them. The latest achievement in Moritz’s training is learning to ride a bicycle. Moritz learned it in just a few weeks, so that he now rides remarkably safely. Apparently, he enjoys it very much, he is eager to pedal and often rides so fast through the animal park that the accompanying trainer, a young Englishman, can hardly keep up with him. The trainer, who is recognized as skilful in his field, was hired by me to undertake the training of the anthropoid apes. I have become convinced that by systematic training and treatment young apes, especially the chimpanzee, can definitely be made accustomed to human manners to some degree. I will therefore try to determine to what extent it is possible to educate these ape children through human influence. The animals must all be treated individually, because these highly organized animals clearly show how diverse their characters are. Just as a teacher must pay attention to the characteristics of his pupils during lessons, the trainer must also take the different dispositions of his pupils into account. With great care and patience, it is possible to achieve productive results, and I hope to soon be able to show animal lovers the achievements of such four-legged pupils; achievements which up to now have not been thought possible.

Keeping them together with their own kind or with different playmates has a great influence on the health and well-being of animals. Kept in this way, the animals never feel lonely, are inclined to play and frolic and are always kept on the move. As a result, the young animals develop very well, it promotes good digestion and stimulates their appetite. The anthropoid apes are very receptive to human psychological influence. The more man deals with these animals, the sooner they forget their captivity and the more they thrive. To date, it has not been possible to keep gorillas alive for a long time in captivity. These animals hardly survive a few weeks after their arrival in Europe; they become more and more apathetic to their surroundings from day to day, finally refusing all food and one morning they are found lifeless in their cage without having actually been physically ill beforehand. I can only assume that it is mental suffering that kills these melancholy creatures. Occasionally gorillas have been kept in captivity for longer periods, but such cases are exceptional. These exceptions included a young male gorilla that lived in the Berlin Aquarium for four years and a female gorilla that lived in the Breslau Zoological Garden for eight years.

Maybe later I'll be able to find the right way to maintain them. In my opinion, the problem of failure so far is not due to the external care given to these apes but is due to the mental treatment. Up to now, these highly organized apes, as well as the orangs and chimpanzees, have been given far too little credit for feeling. I'm sure the gorillas die of homesickness. As a proof of the well-developed memory ability in the anthropoid apes, I cite the following facts. When, a year later the previous owner of the two orangs described came to my zoo again and visited them, they recognized him immediately by his voice and exhibited clear signs of joy in their behaviour. Besides, the beginnings of laughter can be clearly traced in the facial play of these apes. They pull the corners of their mouths apart so that their teeth protrude between their lips. The play of facial expressions is particularly lively in Moritz the chimpanzee. The keeper can read Moritz’s mental state from the expression in his eyes. Moritz also demonstrates a strong memory. Once, when I had been away for a long time and entered the ape house for the first time since my return, Moritz expressed his joy enthusiastically. He received me with loud shouts and didn't rest until I stepped into his cage and hugged him.

It was a most singular scene when, in June of this year, Lieutenant Heinicke from the protection force in Cameroon brought a young Gorilla with him and it was introduced to the two orangs and the chimpanzee. The gorilla, who just looked closely at the three buddies, didn't display much excitement on the outside, but the other three apes did. The chimpanzee first expressed his astonishment with loud calls and then tried to pull the gorilla towards him by stretching out his arms through the wire mesh. When that failed, he became indignant and threw sand and stones at the gorilla. The orangs also showed great interest in the newcomer and struggled to get hold of him through the wire fence. The Orang Jacob mimicked the chimpanzee's stone-throwing, while Rosa began to talk excitedly, which looked downright amusing. In general, it was a rare sight, unique in the world, to see representatives of the three anthropoid ape families gathered together!

Herr Oberleutnant Heinicke, who had brought the young gorilla to Europe in the company of two Negro boys, hoped to keep the rare animal, which he had owned for over a year over in Cameroon and which was the darling of the whole station, in good health and alive for longer. He hoped that by giving him two Negro boys as playmates, he would be able to counteract the animal's homesickness. When the gorilla arrived at the zoo, he was exhausted from the long sea voyage and was apathetic to his surroundings. He later recovered visibly and was sitting and walking about the lawn in front of the goldfish pond with his playmates, apparently in the best of health and spirits. What was striking was his great fondness for rose petals, which he consumed in large quantities with obvious pleasure. Should he be transported away, one of the Negro boys would carry him on his back, which was a funny sight.


Just as the path of my house started from the hustle and bustle of the Hamburg Cathedral and went through the itinerant nature of traveling showmen, through menagerie and circus life to the Zoological Park in Stellingen, so my own path has led me upwards through the circles of the travelling people through the repository of science, and often to the steps of the thrones. I have met many people in the widely branching fields of my work in all countries of the world, many a hand has been stretched out to me in intimacy, and I have been very fortunate to find friends and sponsors among people of all classes and all colours.

When I now recall all those whose appearances are engraved in my memory, I find myself astonished at the abundance of figures. Crowned heads, the mighty of the earth, and chiefs of wild tribes, scholars and animal tamers, world travellers and artists, philosophers and jugglers – all have had a say in my life, and they have all written their characters into the book of my memory, just as one writes a memorial in a book.

Unfortunately, one unforgettable encounter in my life only took place in a figurative sense, only from afar, but I put it at the top of this description because it is one of my fondest memories. When I enticed my Eskimo troop in Berlin in 1878, my interest in foreigners from the north, who had never been seen in civilized countries, also led old Kaiser Wilhelm to the Zoological Garden. My own timidity, which is by no means characteristic of me, kept me from presenting the troupe to the Kaiser myself. I honestly had to admit that I didn't have the courage to do it. So, I stood at a distance as a silent observer and took in the well-known features of the good old Kaiser. His character was written on his face and was to reveal itself most beautifully in the course of the performance. With lively interest the monarch examined the Eskimos as well as their implements and weapons; his captivating affability almost made one forget the infinite chasm that yawned between himself, the great emperor of a mighty empire, and those lowly seal hunters from the land of ice. Man felt sympathy with man, no matter how different he was and no matter his position in society. The hunter Ukubak performed his Eskimo feat in the water. He overturned the kayak he was in so that the bottom of the craft floated upwards while the hunter's body hung low in the water, perpendicular to the bottom. Most of those present knew this trick, and the Emperor may have heard of it, but when the Eskimo remained motionless for some time under the water, the Emperor became very concerned, and expressed his fear that some misfortune might have befallen the man. His eyes looked anxiously at the surface of the water, there was an unmistakable expression of heartfelt sympathy in his good, dignified face and he shook his head very softly. In a moment the Eskimo rose and rowed ashore, and the Emperor's face lit up. As the aged ruler turned to go, the whole Eskimo company surrounded him, and the Emperor affably stretched out his hands to bid the strangers farewell. The whole scene has left a deep impression on my memory; at those moments I caught a glimpse of the old Kaiser's mind.

I had a completely different experience when I met Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria. He didn't let me consider whether I wanted to meet him face to face him or not. One day in 1884, when I was exhibiting my large Sinhalese troupe in the Rotunda of the Prater in Vienna, news came that His Majesty the Emperor would be there within half an hour to see the Sinhalese. I had just arrived from Hamburg and was still in my traveling suit, there was no time to change my clothes, I had to stay the way I was. After a short time, the Emperor drove up with some of his entourage, was received by the superintendent and brought in, while I awaited what was to come. I was immediately introduced to the Emperor, who behaved so simply and affably that I forgot who I was talking to and presented my Sinhalese in a completely uninhibited manner. Various dances were performed, elephants were shown at work, ethnographic objects were shown, and the emperor showed the keenest interest in everything. He literally asked me about details of the life of the Ceylonese and finally spoke of the animal trade. I had to explain everything that came to mind about the animal trade at that moment, and here too the Emperor was not satisfied until he had found out all the details. The visit lasted almost two hours, then the Emperor said goodbye with friendly thanks.

An encounter with the old King Albert of Saxony is linked to the memory of a peculiar and amusing occurrence. At the end of the 1870s I was temporarily in Dresden to inspect my Nubian caravan that was there, and it was on this occasion that my old friend, Director Schopf, introduced me to the king. I had the high honour of being entertained by His Majesty for well over an hour. Some princes, who were with the king, also joined in the conversation. I remember the King as a good, rather easy-going, amiable conversationalist who spoke with a very noticeable touch of Saxon dialect when he let himself go, and he did so here, for the mood gradually became quite cheerful. At first, of course, the conversation turned to the Nubians, wild animals, training and domestication, and similar things connected with my business. Later the performances of the Nubians occupied everyone's interest, but one of the tricks they performed particularly aroused much amusement. They hid all sorts of objects, which alleged magicians, mind readers, etc., sought out from among them and regularly recovered. During the search, the music played all sorts of mystical tunes. A key was placed on the head of one of the princes and his hat pulled over it so that no one thought this hiding place would be found. First of all, it was completely invisible and, moreover, it was protected by the aloofness of the prince's person. The music began to play, the artist was admitted, and it was not long before he approached the prince, took the hat off his head, and triumphantly held up the key. Everyone present was astonished, especially the prince, who looked embarrassed.

As the performance went on, the king asked me about the trick that was at the root of this magic feat. I now explained to His Majesty that the music was, so to speak, the guide of the seeking Sinhalese. It was much the same as the way children call out "Getting warmer!" in their games as soon as seeker approaches the hidden object. If the magician was far away from his object, the music played very loudly, but as he got closer, it became quieter and softer, so that the seeker knew exactly when he had arrived at the hiding place. The king was greatly amused by this explanation.

The interest in foreign races and in exotic animals seems to dominate all people to the same extent, no matter whether they have high or low rank. In simple people as well as in royalty I have observed time and again that they must find something downright fascinating about the life of animals. I received proof of this one day in 1895. The Prince Regent of Bavaria, who was staying in Hamburg for a very short time for the opening ceremony of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, visited my establishment but, as he explained from the outset, he had no time at all - twenty minutes, half an hour at the most. But when I showed this distinguished guest around the garden and showed him the interesting animals that I had at that time, the prince became so engrossed in inspection and conversation that half an hour passed in no time. Very respectfully and from a distance, as it were, the Prince Regent's attention was drawn to the fact that re had run out of time and that other visits were indicated. But another quarter of an hour passed, and the warning had to be made very clear before the guest could bring himself to say goodbye. With a sigh he took my hand, squeezed it firmly and said: "You see, dear Herr Hagenbeck, that's how it is when you're a Royal Highness. You’re not even in charge of your own person. Good luck for the future. I would have loved to have stayed longer with you."

Since the zoo in Stellingen opened, I have had the great honour of receiving visits from the imperial princes, who all inspected all the sights of the park with the same enthusiasm. His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince was also a guest in Stellingen with his wife last summer, shortly after His Majesty the Emperor surprised us with his visit. As a result of a minor car accident, the crown prince only got into the garden an hour and a quarter after the appointed time and part of the precious time was lost, but the distinguished guest did not leave any part of the park unvisited and showed extraordinary interest in everything worth seeing. The crown prince and crown princess, each with a young tiger in their arms, were the last to have their picture taken, evidence of their happy mood. On parting, the crown prince promised to return soon and with more time to spare.

One of my fondest memories will always be the visit of His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Prussia. To my great joy, I was informed one morning last summer by letter and then by telephone that the prince I admired had decided to visit my zoo in Stellingen the next morning at ten o'clock, accompanied by his eminent wife. At the appointed time, the royal couple and an adjutant arrived in Stellingen by car. The prince is a lively gentleman with an extraordinary interest in everything worth knowing. The fact that the zoo was part of this was proved by the fact that the visit lasted well beyond the scheduled time. The nobles only wanted to stay until 11:30 p.m., but they were still in Stellingen at four o’clock in the afternoon. Some very pleasant hours were passed at breakfast in the restaurant, in which the Prince did myself and my two sons the honour of inviting us to partake. Some of the little experiences recorded in this book were related there and aroused the prince's lively sympathy. "Hagenbeck," he exclaimed at one point, "you absolutely must write down your experiences." But the manuscript of my memoirs was already under the pen.

Recently, I was also honoured with the visit of His Royal Highness the Grand Duke of Oldenburg, who also stayed in Stellingen for several hours and had the whole business explained to him in detail. The exalted guest's interest even extended to the new, not yet fully developed part of the garden, and he promised to visit again soon.

One of the real animal lovers among my princely guests is His Imperial Highness, Prince Alexander of Oldenburg, who has been coming from Russia almost regularly in spring and autumn for years and who has an amazing interest in all new publications in the field of zoology and animal husbandry. The prince knows my company inside and out. For several years he has maintained a small zoological garden in Gagry, his property in the Caucasus. This garden is actually waiting for me, because His Imperial Highness has invited me several times to visit Gagry and further develop the garden according to my system, but until now it has been impossible for me to fulfil this wish because my own business leaves me no free time. In a year or two, when my business is fully developed and I'm still alive, I hope to make this trip to the Caucasus after all.

Some high-ranking personalities visit my establishment incognito, and no one knows about them, including myself, but sometimes nice incidents happen. The nicest of this kind, which remains a fond memory for my whole life, happened in the following peculiar way. At the time, I was at my premises in Neue Pferdemarkt and one day I was busy in the reptile house catching a number of large snakes that were to be sent to America. As always on such occasions, I was dressed in a long linen smock and so busy that I could not pay much attention to my surroundings. While I was in the cage, two men and three women entered the reptile house and watched my work. They waited until I had caught the snakes and put them in sacks and then exited the cage. The older of the two gentlemen asked me if I wasn't afraid of being bitten by a snake. As time was short, I answered shortly and simply that I had handled thousands of these reptiles and had been bitten only a few times, which, by the way, would be fairly harmless. Without pausing, I went back to work, helping to get the crates ready for shipment, as the wagon was already waiting outside to take the consignment to the ship. The gentlemen left and went into the garden, while I went to the office, washed myself there and took off my smock to go to the apartment for afternoon tea. On the way I met the gentlemen again, who were inspecting the predator house with great interest. I stopped and we started talking. When I noticed how the strangers showed a real, extraordinary sympathy, it was quite natural that I took the lead for a short time and drew their attention to various rarities that were in the garden. I couldn't help but introduce myself, prompted by a related question. Then the elderly gentleman stopped and said: "Ah, then you are now also involved in the zoological garden in Copenhagen." I said yes and at the same time said quite unsuspectingly that it was difficult to work with the old gentlemen who were at the helm there at the time. With a peculiar smile the stranger said: "I happen to know these people and I know that they are very old-fashioned. I do believe you are in a difficult position."

When I had said goodbye to the guests and had my tea in the apartment, my wife told me that she had just read in the newspaper that the Crown Prince of Denmark had returned with his family from a visit to England and was currently in Hamburg. I had a suspicion, especially when my wife suddenly expressed the same thought, that the gentleman who happened to know the zoo in Copenhagen so well could well have been the crown prince himself. But iwshould get even better.

It so happened that I had to leave for Copenhagen on business that same evening. My youngest son accompanied me. When I went ashore in Korsor the next morning, I met a gentleman I knew from the circus in Copenhagen, who informed me that the crown prince and his family were expected imminently, their steamer was already in sight and if I lined up at the entrance to the station, I would be able to see the gentlemen up close. So that was what I did, and I didn't have to wait long; after only five minutes the royals arrived and, despite my anticipation, it was to my great that I recognized the same gentlemen I had met and talk with on the day before at my zoo! The princesses caught sight of me as I passed them; they called their father's attention and they all greeted me with friendly smiles. Immediately afterwards the Crown Prince sent his adjutant to thank me for the interesting hour, as he put it, which I had prepared for him.

It didn't stop at this one-off visit. Later, His Royal Highness visited my zoo twice more, but not incognito, on the contrary, on both occasions I had the honour of showing the noble gentleman around the garden. During his last visit, he promised to honour my new company with a visit the next time he was in Hamburg. The visit of His Majesty, the current King of Denmark, will, apart from greatly honouring my establishment, will trigger fond memories of that first, strange and unforgettable encounter.

Two years ago, King Ferdinand of Bulgaria, at that time only a prince, visited my garden in Stellingen in a double capacity: as a highly honoured guest and a customer. This visit lasted two days, during which His Royal Highness inspected all the animal material and also attended a training rehearsal. The prince has his own zoological garden in Sofia and made some large purchases for it. The affable gentleman's interest extended to every detail of the business. Since the distinguished guest accidentally found out that my birthday was the next day, he had me presented with the Bulgarian Order of Hans when I left.

Two years ago, an old, silver-haired lady visited the zoo, whose face still showed the traces of her former great beauty. This lady is one of the most interesting personalities in the modern world. A tragic fate has been fulfilled in her. From the greatest splendour that the world can offer, she had to descend into a cold exile. She has lost a throne and, perhaps deeper wound to her heart, a blossoming, hopeful son. It was the ex-Empress Eugenie of France. In awe, I drove the old lady around the zoo, which was far from finished at the time, and explained everything that was already there and what was to come. The lofty lady didn't could not hear enough about all these things and finally promised, of her own accord, to come back when the garden was finished and to get to know all my plans in their embodiment. I sincerely wish that the Princess will still be able to keep her promise.

When Her Majesty Queen Margerita of Italy visited me in Stellingen in 1905, the elevated lady didn't get to see much either, because the garden was still a long way off. I was away myself, but the queen had my son Heinrich explain everything to her and she took a keen interest in the work, which was then in progress.

The figure of the Iron Chancellor also towers above the numerous princes and high figures who have visited my zoo. Prince Bismarck was not able to get to know the large Stellinger Park, but he honoured me with his visit to Neue Pferdemarkt, which I have already described elsewhere in my book.

Among my oldest acquaintances are, of course, the directors of the Zoological Gardens, with whom I was already in contact when I was young, because you will remember that I was only about fifteen when I took over the animal business from my father. But I was only twelve years old when I made my first acquaintance in these scientific circles, and it is one of the fondest memories of my life. It was 1856, and the dear, good, old Dr Westermann from the Zoological Garden in Amsterdam came to us in Hamburg to buy various animals. Since my father had his hands full with his fish business, I did the honours and was with him almost constantly during the two days that the old gentleman was staying. The old scholar liked me so much, and my love for the animal world, which he probably noticed, touched his heart so much that he asked my father to send me to Amsterdam for a year after I left school, so that I could study zoology in the zoo there under Westermann's direction. However, nothing came of this; circumstances did not allow it. But I continued to study practical zoology, and I also went to Amsterdam just only a few years later, when I had already become self-employed. When I was seventeen, I visited the Amsterdam Garden for the first time. At that time, it was the loveliest and best inhabited after the London Zoological Garden. The old gentleman knew very well how to accommodate his animals in such a way that they always had enough air and light. Its beautiful, large, long galleries for wading birds, and its various aviaries for pheasants, were so well laid out that such buildings in many zoological gardens were modelled on those in the Amsterdam Garden. The friendship I made as a boy, which was more admiration on my part, endured; I was in good standing with the scholar and almost everything the garden needed in terms of animals was ordered from me.

I remember the Antwerp director Vekemans, with whom I first came into contact in the early sixties, as a very interesting character among the directors of zoological gardens. He was a very tall, slender man with a huge grey beard. For him there was only one thing in the whole world: his zoological garden. He didn't seem to have any other interests - but wait a minute, there was one other thing. At that time Vekemans ran an important pet trade, mainly with small, exotic ornamental birds, of which he shipped many thousands of pairs every year to all parts of Europe. Anyone who saw this old gentleman in his garden, if you did not know him, would hardly have recognised him as the manager. Vekemans was not a dandy. Most of the day he walked around the garden in big Dutch wooden clogs to make sure everything was all right.

It is with great pleasure that I remember my many conversations with Dr Alfred Brehm, who became world famous through his great work "Animal Life". As is well known, the scholar was appointed as the first director of the newly founded Zoological Garden in Hamburg in 1863. Here, and also in our old home on Spielbudenplatz, I chatted for many an hour with this interesting man, who, before he even attended university, had travelled to Egypt, Nubia and the eastern Sudan, and later on, after studying natural sciences in Jena and Vienna, he travelled to Spain, Norway, Lapland and Abyssinia. Brehm was an active person, always busy with different problems and experiments. One day he had the idea, which had probably occurred to him while visiting our pet shop, of starting a pet shop as well, not for his own account of course, but for the account of the Zoological Society in Hamburg. First, he took up the bird trade, but this did not last long. The scholar soon realized that the animal business was not as easy to run as he had thought. He quickly got fed up and gave up the attempt. Brehm didn't stay in Hamburg for long, he moved to Berlin in 1867 to set up the aquarium here.

I became acquainted with the first director of the Cologne Garden, Dr Bodinus, in the year of its opening, 1860. Even before the garden opened its doors, Dr Bodinus came to us in Hamburg to buy a large number of animals to fill the empty houses. This scholar was a very competent and energetic man, and he also knew how to present himself properly. He often developed a slightly satirical manner. He once said to me: "You will once again be the man of the future." In any case, when Dr Bodinus was appointed director in Berlin in 1870, I rendered him good service for his institute there. The new director knew how to persuade the Zoological Society to erect great new buildings, but when the buildings were finished he lacked the necessary animals, and it was impossible to open the new buildings because of the a gaping emptiness. Hagenbeck had to sort it out as soon as possible and I promptly made sure that the buildings were occupied by the main animals when they opened. So, at least in this humble sense, I had become Dr Bodinus's man of the future.

One of the greatest animal lovers I have met was old Martin from the Rotterdam Zoo. This gentleman had been the owner of a large menagerie, which served as the foundation when the Zoological Garden was founded, and the former menagerie owner had been taken over as director. When I met Martin in Rotterdam in the late 1860s, he was no longer a boy, so he must have been in his 70s by then. But the old gentleman ran about his zoological garden, which he had presided over since 1854, the year of its founding, like a youth and it was a pleasure to see him associating with his old, familiar lions, tigers and panthers. Every one of them knew him and they were as cuddly as house cats. Just like old Vekemans, Martin could always be found somewhere in his zoo. Later, when the old man's strength was no longer sufficient for the management, director Van Bemlen took his place. Martin lived for a long time, he was almost ninety years old, but until the end he visited the zoological garden and the animals that were left from his former stock.

I owe many a useful and instructive hour to Professor Peters, who was scientific director of the Berlin Garden in the 1860s. When I was in Berlin, I had often sat in the professor's room in the museum and reviewed everything in the field in which our interests met. When it came to selling animals, Professor Peters was always ready to go with me to two certain gentlemen without whose approval no purchases could be made. These two gentlemen were the old Privy Councillor Knerk and the Councillor of Commerce Brunzlow, the latter being the owner of a large tobacco and cigar factory in Berlin. Business always proceeded with the greatest speed, since the professor's suggestions were readily accepted.

Finally, I owe thanks to my good old friend Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, with whom I first became acquainted in the early 1860s. I admired this man when I visited the "Jardin Zoologique d'Acclimatation" in Neuilly in 1867 on my first visit to Paris. It was the finest of all such institutes I had hitherto seen, and all the admirable practical arrangements were due to Geoffroy. Zoology and botany came into their own in the most beautiful combination. Although no predators were kept in this garden, it made a wonderful impression. The magnificence and versatility of the children's amusements alone amazed me. Loaded not only with children but also with adults, one saw elephants, camels, dromedaries, ponies, miniature donkeys, ostriches, llamas and goats walking in long processions. In between, there mingled the loveliest teams of horses and carts.

It was also Mr Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire who hired the first Eskimos, whom I had brought from the north for my ethnological exhibition, for his garden in Paris. The scholar came to Hamburg himself and was so charmed by the Ukubak family that that he immediately made up his mind to please Paris with the Eskimos. Geoffroy proved to have a good eye with this decision. The Eskimos were quite simply a sensation in Paris. Despite showing them there in the winter, which was pleasant for the Eskimos but less enticing for the Parisians, on the first Sunday they attracted over 30,000 visitors. This result was telegraphed to me in Hamburg at the time. Up to the end of the 1880s, under the direction of Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, I exhibited various nationalities, and all of them were extremely well received by the Parisians.

The general public has always had very wrong ideas about the travelling people of showmen, menagerie owners, etc. The townsman sitting within his four walls cannot really understand that a man wandering erratically through the world, pitching his tent here today and there tomorrow, could develop the same virtues as the sedentary citizen. And yet in that world where clattering is part of the trade, there is loyalty and honesty, and just as much of a penchant for quiet enjoyment of life as in any other circle. These people must certainly appear strange and adventurous to anyone who quietly grows his cabbages, the conditions of their existence are different from those that accompany town trades. The proper showman must have a keen sense of what attracts and causes a sensation in the crowd, but otherwise he must have no delicacy, for the great throng of onlookers is an anvil that calls for rough hammer blows.

The king of all showmen, and at the same time the greatest and most interesting, was my old friend, the world-famous Barnum. This world grand master of humbug, Phineas Taylor Barnum, was a great man in his own way, a true Odysseus of invention and cunning. As is well known, Barnum began his career by exhibiting the Washington’s allegedly 161-year-old Negro wet nurse, which caused a sensation in the United States. The story had only two small flaws. First, the negro woman was only 75 years old, and second, she had never been Washington's wet nurse at all. Later, the knave invented the mermaid that still haunts village fairs to this day, accompanied Jenny Lind, the Swedish nightingale, through the new world and finally founded his "show", that American fusion of circus, cabinet of curiosities and animal arena. One day, when he was exhibiting the supposedly first orangutan brought to America and thus achieving an enormous influx of people, a scholar explained in the newspapers that the animal shown was not an orangutan at all because it had a tail, rather it was a Hamadryas baboon. From the following day Barnum advertised in gigantic posters: "Wonderful spectacle of nature! In my collection is the only orangutan in the world that has a tail!!" You see, compared to such a huge humbug, which many thousands fell for out of ignorance, exhibiting my father's deer as a llama was small stuff.

This unsurpassed master of showmanship got out of a hackney carriage in St. Pauli on a November morning in 1872, handed me his card as I was standing in front of the door of our establishment on Spielbudenplatz, and asked me to give it to Mr. Carl Hagenbeck. That was easy to do, I already held it in my hand. When Barnum discovered who he was dealing with, he looked at me in astonishment at my youth. He had had formed a completely different idea of me and thought I was much older. If he was looking for an elderly gentleman, I replied, he should come in and I would introduce him to the founder of the shop, my father, who was in the bird shop. By then, Barnum himself was an elderly gentleman, in his early sixties, with an intelligent face and a slightly grey but full head of curly hair. An animated conversation was soon underway. "I've heard a lot about you," said Barnum, "and I know that most of the animals that come to America are yours. Anyway, I wanted to get to know you, but at the same time I have to tell you that I’m only going to buy a little, because the main purpose of my trip to Europe is to look for new ideas to plant in America, where I intend to open a Roman hippodrome in Madison Square Garden, New York next spring."

I had no shortage of new ideas, and I immediately suggested all sorts of new things to the guest, which he wrote down in the notebook he always had on hand. "I can see," he said, smiling, "that I must give up my plan of leaving tomorrow. Anyway, I'll stay for a few days to talk to you, and now let's see your animals. If I find anything useful then I’m willing to pay you a fair price, but I would urge you not to ask for more than what you must have to earn a fair wage, as, frankly, I hate nothing more than long bargaining." By the time we finished our tour, Barnum had already bought animals for about $4,000.

The next morning I picked up the famous man at the Hotel de l'Europe to show him a little of Hamburg. However, we had been walking scarcely an hour when Barnum, occupied with his business, became restless and asked me to return to the hotel with him. He was eager to hear what further suggestions I had for his New York Hippodrome. When I asked Barnum if he had ever heard of the elephant races in India, or if he had ever seen ostriches being ridden, he confessed that he had never heard or seen anything of the sort, and excitedly declared that he wished to bring these novelties to America. In no time Barnum gave me an order for ten strong ostriches and four to six elephants to serve the purposes outlined. After I had shown Barnum some illustrations of elephant races in an English illustrated magazine, and also some descriptions of ostrich races, he took my hand in his and said to me earnestly and urgently: "Hagenbeck, you're just the man I need. Come with me to America. I'll make you my partner and promise you a third of the earnings from my show." When I replied that I had no money for this, he shouted dismissively: "I don't need any money from you, I value your talent more than money." So, I would soon have to go to America. Later on, I went there more than once, but on my own. I thanked Barnum for his kindness, his trust, and his honourable offer, but I preferred to stay in Hamburg and continue to develop my business. When Barnum left after a fortnight, he had filled two thick notebooks, but this meeting was also of far-reaching importance for me. The discharge worth $15,000 that Barnum left on his first visit was followed by a permanent connection. Barnum subsequently sourced all his animal supplies from me, and his successor, Mr. Bailey, respected that connection until 1907, when the business was sold.

Barnum was, as you can surmise from what is known of this man, an extraordinarily lively man and a real businessman. He never got tired of asking about new things, and his notebook was always at hand, because everything that could be used as an idea was immediately written down. I spent many an interesting hour with him in Germany and also on various occasions in America. When Barnum brought his entire zoological and circus show to London with Bailey in 1889, I also visited him here. It was amazing how he knew his audience. He really was, as has so often been said, the master of humbug. His principle was to talk about himself as much as possible. I still remember with pleasure how, when he visited Olympia in London, he always showed up to greet the audience at the opening of the performance in a four-horse carriage, which was then driven four times around the arena. Of course, he had taken care to ensure that quite a few voices shouted hurray and bravo from all sides. When I looked up at him in his box on the opening day, he said quite happily: "Did you see, my dear Hagenbeck, how enthusiastically I was greeted? I think people will agree when they go home tonight that I was the most interesting sight here tonight. Here you can observe all sorts of little things that can teach you lessons. You have to know how to keep the audience engaged. The main thing is that everyone hears a lot about you and talks even more about you. Then you are pretty certain of success."

In Germany, too, showman circles knew how to use unsubtle advertising. The old menagerie owner and animal tamer Robert Daggesell after three fingers of his right hand had been more or less bitten off and mutilated during various rencontres with animals, thick golden rings with large, conspicuous stones were put on the stumps of his fingers. It wasn’t subtle, but was an eye-popping business message. No one could help but see his bitten fingers. It kind of hit you in the eye.

This Daggesell, an ancient animal tamer, once came into very close contact with me. I had sold him for two years, so to speak, with a delivery of animals to the menagerie owner Pianet in Italy. After that engagement was over, Daggesell came back to me, and I then equipped him a small menagerie, which he gradually expanded into a large enterprise with my support. Daggesell presented his animals himself and was a bold man who slugged out many a battle with lions and tigers. Once a tiger bit him in the head in such a way that four deep scars remained on the skull. He also knew how to captivate the crowd with all kinds of conspicuous means, as can be seen from the jewellery on his fingers. However, at the bottom of the soul of this wanderer was the longing for a quiet life at the family hearth. Two souls lived in his breast, one aspired to space, the other saw the life of a metropolitan citizen as an ideal. Daggesell very quickly reached his goal. After only eight years of life with a menagerie, this jovial man had earned enough money that he was able to retire to Berlin, and owned several houses.

One of the best-known menagerie owners was Daggesell’s predecessor, namely Gottlieb Kreutzberg, who in the olden days had a reputation as an animal tamer throughout Germany. Old Kreutzberg, a short, stocky, rather corpulent gentleman with a beard and moustache was a character. He knew how to make a world-shattering adventure out of nothing with screaming advertising. He once bought a young, very tame leopard from my father, which Kreutzberg wanted to use for training and he took it with him right away. But anyone who later read the huge advertisements that Kreutzberg made for the poor leopard on posters several meters high must have thought that a horrible, bloodthirsty monster had just arrived from the jungle. Kreutzberg announced to the trembling audience that at such and such a performance and at such and such an hour he would venture into the cage of the terrible predator for the very first time, in order to undertake an attempt at taming it. Everyone had to think that old Kreutzberg would never, ever be able to get out of the cage alive. In fact, the little leopard was happy when nobody hurt him. But Kreutzberg went about his business. When I first saw him in Hamburg in 1856 with his menagerie, he was exhibiting some fine, large lions and some tigers. With him was a Swedish beauty, Miss Cecilie, whom he had trained to be a tamer. This Swedish lady, who presented various young animals such as lions, tigers, bears, wolves and hyenas in a larger, so-called central cage, received huge acclaim all over Germany, including Hamburg. Back when Kreutzberg bought the leopard from us, I helped pack the animal. Then the old animal tamer patted me on the shoulder and said to my father: "The boy will one day become a worthy successor to me, because he seems to have courage and also a desire and love for animals."

Old Kreutzbetg was later very friendly with me. Twelve or sixteen years later I still did frequent business with him, but he also visited me whenever he was in Hamburg. At that time, I was already married and had a small apartment on Spielbudenplatz. The old showman liked our food, and Hamburg home cooking in general. He always developed such an appetite that he could have exhibited himself for money, at any rate I have seldom met people with a similar appetite. One evening he had packed himself so full, namely with Kiel smoked herrings, with which he downed six bottles of beer, that he complained of liver compression and had to rest from work on my sofa for a few hours before he could return to his old lodgings, Wagner's Hotel on Spielbudenplatz. But I have to say that old Kreutzberg was a good, loyal and honest man; in the many deals I did with him I never found him any other way.

One of the old Kreutzberg’s students was the animal tamer Carl Kaufmann. As a menagerie owner, however, Kaufmann only appeared after Daggesell. Like him, he worked his way up from small beginnings and eventually owned the most beautiful menagerie that has ever travelled. He had a wonderful collection of lions and tigers and other trained animals. Kaufmann actually represented a higher type among the menagerie owners. Not only for business reasons, but also for personal reasons, he always tried to get new and interesting animals; in addition to his fine collection of predator, he eventually kept elephants, hippos, rhinos, giraffes, and other costly rarities. He once even bought a young gorilla from me for a lot of money, but unfortunately, like all these apes, it died after a short stay in the menagerie. Kaufmann has amassed a nice sum of money with his menagerie. He is still alive and residing privately in Hamburg, where he generously uses his earnings to support his former peers, the traveling performers, to the best of his ability.

Of the older German circus owners that I got in touch with, I can really only mention old Renz. He received many animals from me, including those that belonged to the set of the great pantomime "The Feast of the Queen of Abyssinia". There were giraffes, antelopes, buffaloes and many other creatures. At that time, a booming business was made with pantomime. Old Renz could be a very amiable gentleman when he wanted to, but he could also be outrageously rude, especially when someone wanted money from him. It was not that he lacked money, he was a rich man, but he was in the habit of being unable to part with his money. One day, when I was visiting him to collect a large sum of money, he became quite unpleasant and finally threatened to throw me out. However, when he found that he was not dealing with a coward, he gradually changed his tune, and a contract was made, according to which payment was to be made in a month's time. After this somewhat agitated episode, which took place in the old circus building on Friedrichstrasse in Berlin, old Renz later became very friendly again. When he came to Hamburg with his circus six months later, he visited me at Neue Pferdemarkt and gave me to understand in a roundabout way that he was sorry for his rudeness. This roundabout way consisted of a bottle of sparkling wine, to which Renz treated me. But since I'm not a lover of this drink, I declined with thanks and suggested to Mr. Renz that he use the corresponding sum for the benefit of someone in need. I don't know if he did that but from then on, we were very good friends and I continued to do business with old Renz.

It is only natural that I got to know almost all the trainers of my time to a greater or lesser extent. But I will limit myself here to a few, and among these only to those who belong to my school. The first animal tamer I initiated into tame training was the Hanoverian Deierling, whom I met in London at the end of the 1870s. At the time he was miserable. He had been in hospital for weeks, badly mauled by a lion, and when he was finally discharged healed, his former master didn't want to hire him again. Deierling stood penniless on the street. Then he heard that I was in London, came to see me and bemoaned his sad fate. I took him with me and didn't have to regret my decision. Deierling was, of course, still accustomed to the wild training practiced in English menageries, and it was not easy to introduce him to the new way of treating animals. A full two full years passed before I could entrust him with a group for training. I often helped with the training myself and finally had the satisfaction that Deierling trained four beautiful male lions into an excellent performing group, which was first shown with extraordinary success in the "Nouveau Cirque" in Paris. Deierling moved on from Paris on his own and performed in various European countries, later also in America, with great success. His four lions attracted attention everywhere. For myself, owning this group was a great advantage, for the income generated from it helped me through difficult times during the slump in the pet trade. After Deierling had been in my service for seven years, he had to undergo an operation in Hamburg, as a result of an old kidney disease, which resulted in his death. Deierling died under anesthesia.

My brother-in-law, Heinrich Mehrmann, has often been mentioned. As a trainer, he was discovered by me, so to speak. In his capacity as a trainer, Mehrmann distinguished himself by his great calmness and coolness. He was, if you can say so, an excellent teacher to his animals, whom he easily taught using tame training. The zoological circus, with which Mehrmann travelled for me, met with great acclaim everywhere. Mehrmann himself was immensely celebrated in both Old and New worlds, chiefly America. The interest in his ideas was enormous.

One of my current trainers is the well-known Richard Sawade, whose large carnivore group of lions, tigers, polar bears, black bears and dogs has been attracting attention across Europe over the past six years. Sawade’s group of animals is the best that has ever been shown in a circus. Sawade is one of those who worked his way up. You can say of him that he has made it a career, because he started with me as a simple guard. But he was, or rather is, a real animal lover and put his whole heart into it, so that he can probably be considered one of the best animal tamers in the modern system.

At his side stands another trainer who currently belongs to my establishment, this is Fritz Schilling, who has had great success with his lions and polar bears in my Stellingen circus in the past year. Schilling is a good worker who has the advantage of having a sense of humour. Anyone who has seen him will also remember his two polar bears "Hans and Gretel" with pleasure; their amusing antics always made the audience laugh.

Among the world travellers who have journeyed to distant countries for me, there are people of all kinds; real men of science who combined a thirst for research with practical business sense, and adventurers who accidentally ended up in the world of the animal trade. Many of these men, especially those in the former category, travelled in lands where no European had set foot, taking their lives in their hands, and sparing neither danger nor difficulty nor adventure to seek out new animal species or ethnographic oddities and transport them through the wilderness. Many researchers, who have become famous through their books, has neither experienced the richness of adventures nor made for themselves the observations recorded by some of my travellers. But few of these travellers have gone public, and few of them have written books about their experiences. They belonged to the profession in which they worked, and which almost entirely absorbed their efforts and attention. Above all, their ambitions lay in their endeavour to achieve success in their profession. But there were also geniuses among them who knew very well how to combine their profession with scientific endeavours.

One such man is Josef Menges, who ranks first among the many travellers who have worked for me. When Menges joined my business in 1876, he had already had an interesting period of travel behind him and was hardened for the job. Menges went up the White Nile with Gordon in the early 1870s and not only got to know those areas, the people and the fauna thoroughly, but had already experienced the climate. On that expedition most of the Europeans perished from fever and the effects of exertion, but Menges had held up splendidly and came back immunized to a certain extent. From 1876 to the 1890s, Menges travelled through Africa and India for our purposes. For a long time, his special field has been the Egyptian Sudan, where he is one of the best white expert; he also brought home a caravan of rare and interesting animals, among which was the first true Somali wild ass to reach Europe at the time. A little later, this busy man was in Ceylon for me; there he travelled through the inner districts and sent a number of wonderful reports in which he set out everything that his keen powers of observation had revealed to him about the country and its people. Unfortunately, these reports have been lost. However, Menges has laid down a large part of his observations and discoveries in Dr A. Petermann's reports, e.g. his trip to Somaliland appeared as a special edition at the time, but it has probably been out of print for a long time by now.

Menges can look back on great successes. He had an innate talent for dealing with exotic races, gaining their trust, and using them to serve his purposes. In addition to countless animals, Menges brought a large amount of human material from the Egyptian Sudan, e.g. the Hamran hunters, for my people shows to Europe. As far as I know, Menges never had a serious accident on any of his caravans. Later, Menges travelled through Somaliland again on his own and appeared in Germany with a Somali troop, but for a few years now my business has been in close business contact with Mr. Menges, and many a beautiful animal is currently in my zoo owing to the intelligence and energy of my old friend.

Lorenzo Cassanova was one of my first travellers. An extraordinarily capable man, he belongs more in the category of adventurous spirits. In his younger years, Cassanova was the "director" of a buffoonery show, with which he travelled first to his native Italy, then to Germany and later to Russia. When he was tired of buffoonery, he sold the whole institute and went private for a while, looking for a new source of income which also stimulated his imagination. An opportunity arrived. A couple of hippos that a certain Dr Natterer had offered my father for sale, but which he had found too expensive, found a new master, or rather director, in Cassanova. Because Cassanova resumed his old wandering life and travelled all over Germany with his two hippos, he eventually ended up with his hippo stall at the Hamburg Cathedral, where the animals caused quite a stir. But poor Cassanova was faced with an inevitable piece of fortune, or rather a lump of fate, for the hippos soon became so big and fat that they could no longer be easily transported from one place to another. So it was time to say goodbye to them and Cassanova sold the two animals to the Zoological Garden in Amsterdam, which was managed by Dr. Westerman at the time.

And here began Cassanova's career as an animal collector. He had heard from Dr. Natterer that the hunters in the Egyptian Sudan were great animal trappers and that these animals could be bought cheaply but would sell for a high price in Europe, and so the active Italian soon said: Let's go to the Sudan. What a skilful and prudent man this Cassanova was, was shown by his first, fortunate, attempt. From his first trip, which he undertook in 1863, he immediately brought home an excellent collection of animals that were still rare at the time, including the first African elephant that had ever come to Europe up to that point, as well as five giraffes, a real Cape buffalo, and a large number of leopards, hyenas, young lions, antelopes and some other animals. The returnee first tried an exhibition in Vienna, but that didn't work out, then he offered the entire transport to the Zoological Gardens, but had no luck there either, and unfortunately my father couldn't buy the animals either, because we weren't prepared for such large transports at that time. Eventually, the entire stock of animals passed to the old menagerie owner, Kreutzberg, who was in Leipzig at the time. So Cassanova finally got a good deal and no sooner did he feel the large sum of money in his pocket than he set out again for Africa.

This time, however, he fared badly, his adventurous life making one of those zigzag movements characteristic of the native members of travelling people. In Cairo, Cassanova got into a gambling den and suddenly lost all the money and expenses he had earned through an arduous African journey. Cassanova had not only lost the means to buy new animals, he had also suddenly become a poor man. Deeply saddened, he went to the Italian consul to at least get the money to return home, but he was refused. Despite this failure, the goddess of fortune seemed to have only been joking with Cassanova, because the next minute she was smiling at him. Cassanova possessed a long handsome mustache and the Italian consul owned a housekeeper. A romance ensued, a love that also had consequences, namely, among other things, the fact that that the lady entrusted the good Cassanova with her small savings, which she loaned to him for business purposes. With this money Cassanova then bought several animals which had been brought from the interior by caravans, and with this small collection the traveller arrived in Europe after a while. I met Cassanova in Dresden and acquired the whole shipment. Cassanova then made many more trips to Africa until he died along the way while working.

Another interesting visitation was the Hungarian Essler, who was finally freed from his chains by the English after six years as the captive of King Theodore of Abyssinia. When the English campaign in Abyssinia was over, Essler joined our Cassanova, who was just returning to Europe with an animal shipment. For his help with this transport he was granted free travel, and finally returned to Europe possessing nothing but an intimate knowledge of Abyssinia. Having travelled with Cassanova, the exploitation of his knowledge in the direction of animal trapping came very naturally. Essler made the suggestion of capturing specimens of the larger baboons for me in Abyssinia. We soon agreed on the conditions, and before the next spring arrived, Essler was back with a number of large, old and also young Hamadryas baboons. At that time, these animals were very rare and coveted and sold like hot cakes. After a short stay, Essler went back to Africa, this time to hunt the large, dark black-and-brown gelada baboons that live further inland. Essler also brought back a large number of these rare animals the following spring. Unfortunately, after a few more trips, Essler fell ill and died in Hamburg.

From among the number of eccentrics I must definitely single out old Kohn, a commanding Bavarian, who travelled with goods to the Egyptian Sudan, mainly to Kassala, where he sold his articles. Kohn must have been traveling in those regions for a long time; he had grown gaunt and scrawny like an unearthed mummy, and his manners were more Arab than European. Those who earn their daily bread at home have no idea of the many strange, dangerous, and adventurous ways people struggle to make their living. When old Kohn first appeared to me, he was in his mid-sixties. He was fascinated by the successes of Cassanova, whom he knew, and now he dabbled in his business. His first shipment consisted of five giraffes. Four different times when Kohn returned from the Sudan I bought his animals from him, and he once got animals from me, which he sold back to the Khedive of Egypt for a good profit. Unfortunately, the poor fellow was murdered in Kassala during the Mahdist uprising.

I’ve mentioned these occasional collaborators because of their eccentric characters, but I only give consideration to those serious and educated men come who, like Menges and Jacobsen who will be discussed later, represented various scientific interests on their travels. Out of the number of world travellers who are currently roaming the earth for me, I would like to mention only the following three. First, Captain Johansen, a man who has been at sea since he was fourteen and who has seen all parts of the world. A whole book could be written about his adventures. About twenty-five years ago he nearly got killed on one of the South Sea islands. Also Wilhelm Grieger, whose areas of activity are Siberia, East Africa, South West Africa and South America, and Ernst Wache, who, after traveling the world a number of times, is currently in Abyssinia to escort a large transport of animals to Europe. As the son of the former owner of the Lubeck Zoological Garden, Wache grew up in the midst of the animal world and was predestined for his current job.

The Norwegian Adrian Jacobsen is definitely one of the most interesting personalities of this type who have emerged from my establishment. The North produces strong people who mature early, as is shown by numerous examples, one of whom is Eivind Astrup, who as a youth became Peary's companion and left behind an epoch-making book at his early death. When I got to know Jacobsen, he was still a nineteen year old youth but his first act was the assembly and transfer of the Eskimo troupe, which, as the reader knows, had such extraordinary success. Jacobsen later brought a troupe of Laplanders and, besides them, the Bella Coola Indians to Europe. However, Adrian Jacobsen achieved his greatest successes for anthropological science; achievements that have never received their due acknowledgement. Early on, Professor Bastian from the Ethnological Museum in Berlin became aware of Jacobsen's rare talent for collecting objects of interest to ethnology.

After receiving various requests, I let Jacobsen move to the Berlin Ethnological Museum, from where Professor Bastian, after a short preparation, sent him collecting in North America. His successes were such that many journeys followed. Jacobsen travelled to Vancouver, Alaska, Siberia, China, Japan, Korea, the Indian archipelago and many other areas for the Berlin Museum, bringing back rich treasures from everywhere. Jacobsen recorded his experiences in various books. Jacobsen acquired about 16,000 items for the Berlin Museum at such minimal expense that the collector's contribution to science can hardly be assessed; in any case, you could not bring together the same collection again, even if you wanted to spend millions. Unfortunately, as already indicated, Jacobsen did not receive the recognition he deserved. When his travels were over, he was given a small job, the income from which was not even sufficient to support a family, so that the deserving traveller had to look for another occupation as quickly as possible. The well-travelled Jacobsen later settled down in a way that is connected with all of his jobs. He became a restaurateur in the zoological garden in Dresden and headed this post for twelve years. Jacobsen is now in close contact with me again and things have come full circle, Jacobsen is now a restaurateur at the zoo in Stellingen.


It is with a feeling of emotion and gratitude that I add this sheet to my descriptions. It contains the culmination of my life's work through the visit of the Kaiser to Stellingen. Quite uninfluenced, the Emperor wanted to get to know the new kind of animal park he had heard so much about. When, a few weeks earlier, I learned of the Emperor's intentions, I was overcome by a great feeling of happiness, because among the wishes that I have privately nurtured, my long-held greatest wish has been to introduce the Emperor to my creation.

This beautiful dream came true on June 20, 1908. A glorious summer day had dawned, the green lawns and the waters of the lagoons shone in the sunshine, and the mountain creatures climbed merrily up the mountain ranges to the highest peaks. The garden was deserted. His Majesty had rightly wished to remain undisturbed during his tour of the zoo. Barrier measures would hardly have been useful, the resulting crowd would have thwarted any tour. Accompanied only by my two sons, Heinrich and Lorenz, who are also my partners, I went to the main entrance to await the distinguished guest. Early in the morning, around ten o'clock, the Emperor arrived by car, accompanied by a small entourage which included, among other gentlemen, the Prussian envoy Count Goetzen, and Count Eulenburg.

The Emperor seemed to be in the best of moods, and his unforgettably affable, winning, and natural demeanour overcame all shyness from the outset. The appearance of the distinguished guest was also consistent with this demeanour. The Emperor looked extraordinarily well and cheerful, wore an inconspicuous naval jacket, and held a simple walking stick. When His Majesty stretched out his hand in greeting, I thanked him in heartfelt words and as the moment inspired me for the high honour of the visit. I hesitantly expressed the hope that my work might find His Majesty's approval. The emperor simply replied: "I've heard a lot about your garden and finally had to see it for myself." And, stopping after a few steps and looking around with a smile, the Emperor added: "From what I can already see here, everything is designed with a great deal of intelligence."

The tour began without further ado. It was natural for me to lead His Majesty first to the bird pond, from where he could let his gaze wander over the great panorama of animals, and my heart swelled as I heard the Emperor exclaim about ach in turn: "Magnificent! Just lovely!" Then we went past the herbivores' enclosure, where I allowed myself to give explanations about various animals and their importance for agriculture, to the lion's gorge, the interior of which the emperor inspected with great interest. The picturesque scene of this open rocky gorge with its beautiful animals and flowery foreground immediately struck him, and he said: "It really is as if it were made for artists to study," to which I pointed out that artists who wished to study here always had free access to the garden. In the meantime, a keeper had entered the gorge and it was said that the animals should be soaped down once a week. This seemed a bit of a ticklish procedure to the Emperor, and with a peculiar smile he suddenly turned to his entourage and asked: "Gentlemen, what do you wash the lions with?" Opinions differed, one of the gentlemen said with pure water and soap, another with disinfectants, etc. "No," said the Emperor, laughing, "with mortal danger."

A few minutes later, the emperor was up in front of the chalet and let his gaze wander over the ostrich enclosure, but especially over the Japanese island. "A very lovely property," remarked His Majesty to the gentlemen of the entourage, "but is the property genuine and natural?" The answer was very satisfactory to me, because one of the gentlemen who had been to Japan said that the island was not only stylish, but even more beautiful than what is usual in Japan. Three beautiful oaks, which stand on the island, attracted the Emperor’s attention, because, as His Majesty remarked, they fitted so splendidly into the landscape. I then told him the story of these three oaks, namely, how one day, before the land had passed into my possession, I surprised a farmhand at the point of felling the oak; I had said to the lad in the customary manner: "Here, my boy, you have a thaler, now go home and tell your lord that the oaks don't bother you. I think this covers the land and the oaks are in the main area." The Emperor laughed heartily and said to his companions: "You see, gentlemen, there you have a businessman - he bought those beautiful oaks for a thaler".

In front of the ostrich enclosure, the Kaiser informed me that he had heard from the Grand Duke of Oldenburg that he wanted to set up an ostrich farm and whether the project could be successful. I was then able to inform the Kaiser that, next spring, a large ostrich farm would also be opened in the Stellingen animal park. His Royal Highness the Grand Duke of Oldenburg had also spoken to me about his intentions, and I had advised him to wait a little longer as it is my custom to never recommend anything that has not been tried out in practice and passed the test. The emperor then wished the ostrich farm good luck and added jokingly: "Now I know where I can buy ostrich feathers for my wife. In any case, that will be an excellent source."

At the time, the central building housed a magnificent ethnographic collection from the Umlauff institute. The distinguished guest inspected this collection, which was explained in detail by the present Herr Heinrich Umlauff, in particular a giant Japanese vase ten feet high, probably the most beautiful work of art made of bronze that has ever come to Europe from Japan. The emperor also showed great interest in the large bronzes placed in the pack and near the Japanese island. The next visit was to the Ceylon village, which was only briefly visited because time was already running out. On the other hand, the Emperor attended a demonstration of the large group of predators by the tamer Schilling in the training hall, gave lively applause and was amazed that lions, polar bears and dogs could be trained together. This gave me an opportunity to mention the large group consisting of lions, tigers, black panthers, leopards, silky poodles and Shetland ponies, pygmy zebu cattle, black-headed Somali sheep, and Angora goats that were trained for display at the Chicago World's Fair in 1892. When I told the Kaiser about the epidemic that raged among my animals before cholera broke out in Hamburg, he called his personal physician and I had to explain the incident again in detail. "You really have been through a lot," said the Emperor, turning to me. I could certainly confirm that. On this occasion I told His Majesty that I was busy writing my memoirs and I was bold enough to ask the Emperor to accept the dedication of the book from me. The distinguished guest shook my hand with great kindness and agreed to accept the dedication. After exiting the training hall, the Perhaherra procession moved past outside in the Ceylon village and, although there was little time left for viewing it, His Majesty permitted the excellent Indian magician to be sent aboard the Hohenzollern to put his art to the test.

The Kaiser seemed unable to tear himself away from the view of the northern panorama, repeatedly remarking: "But it takes a lot more time to take a look at all of this". Then he added: "My wife and my daughter have to see it too, but you won't get rid of them so quickly because they have a lot more time than I do". In the antler collection, which the Emperor allowed me to show him, His Majesty jokingly remarked when I reported on some cheap purchases: "You see, gentlemen, I could really use a man like Hagenbeck as Minister of Finance, better still, as my own Private Treasurer". As can be seen from all these remarks, the Emperor was in excellent spirits and seemed highly satisfied with what he had seen. When I was expanding on my future plans for the introduction and interbreeding of foreign domesticated animals with native ones, the Emperor expressed a desire to receive further reports on the subject, on the one hand with a view to increasing milk yields and on the other to procuring a cheap draft animals for working the land.

The time flew by and the scheduled departure time had long since passed and it was at half-past twelve when the Kaiser went to his car, which had meanwhile been waiting in the park in front of my house. Here the Emperor repeatedly shook hands with myself and my sons and said: "Thank you very much for the wonderful, enjoyable hours. The grounds are set out with diligence and artistry. You can be assured that I will make great publicity for you. I will recommend my family, friends, and acquaintances to visit this very interesting institution. I look forward to seeing you again in future years to see the rest of your park. Goodbye."

So ended this unforgettable visit. It will be an incentive for me to further develop my park, according to my ideas and plans, over the next few years, to make it a unique creation that the world has never seen before, a permanent exhibition the existence of which is only possible thanks to years of experience and a staff of collaborators trained over decades.

Summer of 1909.

Not even a year has passed since I wrote the last word of my book, and many descriptions that I wrote from real life are already things of the past. In the same period, following the law of development, many new and significant aspects have come to fruition, which I was not able to report in my memoirs a year ago.

A large animal park with all its dependents represents the very opposite of a museum where everything remains dead calm and unchanged. Fresh, frolicking, but also cruel life rushes through an animal park. Just as light has shadow, life has death in its wake. This unalterable fact is far more apparent in the animal park than outside in the human world because most animals are significantly shorter-lived than humans. Of course, life is not only balances death, but far surpasses it, and the deaths within our animal town are offset by far more new births, not to mention the newly arrived guests.

However, I must sadly report that my old friend "Trieste" is dead. This old lion, who travelled the world as a performer for many years and aroused admiration in many cities had become as loyal and tame as a domestic dog. Yes, more than that. His portrait can be found on page 210. I must repeat what I said back then: "Trieste" was treated like a good sensible person. He was respected by everyone who knew him, and by me as a loyal companion held up, and enjoyed charity in my animal park. He died around April 16, 1908.

I must also tell of another bitter loss. "Jacob" and "Rosa", the two promising, one might say half-civilized orangs are gone. Many thousands of visitors to the zoo will remember these two interesting apes with pleasure and regret the heavy loss as I do. On fine summer days these highly evolved animals used to walk in the garden, accompanied by their keeper, human-like, on two legs. In their room, especially in the company of the clever chimpanzee "Moritz I", they played countless jokes and great pranks, and it was never short of visitors in front of their house. These anthropoid apes were pupils in my monkey school and were among the most teachable students. The animals, which had come from Borneo's greenhouse climate, also acclimatized surprisingly well. But it was not the northern climate that carried off Jacob and Rosa. Despite an urgent ban, the animals were repeatedly given food by the public, so that I was forced to temporarily lock them behind a glass wall. But tragedy happened anyway, Jacob was poisoned, not out of malice, but out of ignorance. Rosa died of pneumonia. Other anthropoids have long since taken their place, but we will still painfully miss Jacob and Rosa for a long time to come. One sweet consolation has remained - one third of that funny trio, the chimpanzee "Moritz I" not only still lives, but has developed into an artist like no one in the world has seen before. Moritz is almost the most intelligent monkey I've ever met, he eats like a little person and does his school the greatest credit. I cannot list here all the things that have been taught to this clever animal, I just want to say that the principle of all performances is to present an ape that behaves just like a human being and performs tricks that one otherwise only gets to see from artists. Moritz always goes fully clothed in stockings, shoes, underwear, waistcoat, dress coat and hat, he eats the same food as his faithful teacher and travel companion Reuben Castang, sleeps in a bed, smokes cigarettes, drinks wine and when he travels, he travels second class. In the spring, Moritz returned to Stellingen for a short visit and the animal's joy at our reunion was downright touching. Moritz literally flew around my neck and could hardly be removed by force. Now he is traveling again, for by the spring of 1910 the four-handed artist already had engagements in a wide variety of European cities. He has already had the high honour of performing at courts and in front of princes with the greatest success, including in Stockholm and Madrid. A Spanish Infanta took such a liking to this marvellous artist that she gave him a tie-pin set with diamonds. Of course, the teacher of the animal did not go away empty-handed either.

In the animal world of Stellingen Park, happiness and sadness mix, just like in the human world outside. I must add to the happy events that I have been lucky enough to see new creations, which only existed as plans when this book was being written, come to fruition in my park. Adverse weather during the winter months and an even more unsettling difference with the Altona authorities caused some delays in the development of the area being newly developed for the park. But when springtime came, work was done with a real zeal to catch up on what had been missed. Lo and behold, on opening day, the new grounds presented itself quite adequately, at least filled with a new, colourful life. Beyond a dainty bridge that spans the country road was a quintessentially authentic African village, inhabited by a force of 80 Ethiopians with more than 100 domestic animals. The village is on a lake or lagoon that I created in the middle of the new area. Beyond the village is a large open space between three platforms and here the black guests display changing images of their home life. This exhibition of peoples is about the most beautiful and best that I have ever managed to bring to Europe. The guests and their wives and children, all beautiful people, belong to different tribes, namely the Dankali, Isa, Gadabursi, Habr Awal, Gurgura, Gallas and Arabs. With the exception of the Arabs, all are close or distant relatives of the large family of the Gallas, who can be described as a mixed Hamitic people. From day one, the guests, under their wise and prudent chief, Hersy Egga, were a resounding success, not only in terms of their performances, but also mainly in terms of visits to the African city we had built on the banks of the lagoon. Above all, the public recognized the ethnographic authenticity of the area and soon began to take a lively interest in the life and activities of the natives.

The planned miniature railway now runs around the lagoon, to the delight of children, but also of interest to the grown-ups, who, as one newspaper wrote, can easily lull themselves into the fantasy of making a journey with the Uganda railway. The projected prehistoric giant beasts have also begun to raise their ungainly bodies into the air along the bush-covered shore. The high, airy summer restaurant building, with its tower looking far around is now complete. From the terraces of this new building, which can accommodate almost 3,000 people, you can see both parts of the zoo from afar, on the other side you can see the mountain formations outlined against the blue sky, you can see life swaying back and forth on the paths and on the bridge, straight ahead you can see the Ethiopian village, the lake bustling with boats and the railway, while to the right you can see many other new launches, a large new monkey house with a brightly painted back wall, new enclosures for deer and pheasants and so many other things.

Finally, before I put down my pen and let these new pages flutter out into the world, I have to tell you how a long-cherished dream came true in 1909, the year of vindication. Many people may have shaken their heads when I first came up with my idea of founding an ostrich farm in Stellingen. I had expressed the thought that I was convinced that establishing an ostrich farm would be a rewarding undertaking for the speculative farmer who had large pastures at his disposal. It wasn't cheap to start it yourself. Experiments on keeping ostriches outdoors, which had been carried out for several years, had long since proved to me beyond doubt that the African ostrich can actually be acclimatised to the northern climate and become completely resilient. So the establishment of my own ostrich farm in Stellingen was really just the logical conclusion to my attempts. The ostrich farm, in a special area attached to the zoo, was opened on June 21 this year in the presence of Her Majesty the Empress. During his visit last year, the Kaiser had said jokingly about the planned ostrich farm: "My wife can get ostrich feathers cheaply there". And now, due to the inability of the Emperor, the elevated woman herself had come to inspect the entire zoo with lively interest and to graciously to open the new area. I will only briefly outline this here. A number of individual enclosures for ostrich breeding pairs are grouped around a large meadow, in the middle of which there is a wide three-door shelter, while well over a hundred specimens cavort in the green open space. Among these animals there are five geographical varieties, namely Somali, East African, West African, Cape ostriches and ostriches from the Abunaama, a tributary of the Blue Nile. The most interesting building of the farm is the ostrich chick house with the incubator room, which is placed behind glass in plain sight so that the visitor, if lucky, can witness the unusual spectacle of a small ostrich crawling from the egg. The rest is reserved for the future. With the opening of this ostrich farm in Stellingen, we have made the first attempt to set up such an establishment under our cool northern sky.

I certainly cannot close this addendum in a more dignified manner than my expression of deepest heartfelt joy that His Majesty the Kaiser, true to his promise, did me the high honour of visiting again this summer. During the Kaiser's usual presence in Hamburg on the day of the Empress Auguste Viktoria Race, he had no time to visit the zoo. But just before he set out on his northern journey, the Emperor suddenly decided to pay a visit to the animal park and the ostrich farm. Around Friday, July 16, the court report said succinctly: "The Kaiser left Berlin for Stellingen at 11 o'clock." Automobiles set off from Eidelstedt the next morning. As on his first visit, the Emperor was in good spirits and, to my reverent greeting, replied that he had felt the need to see our new creations, and that he had promised to come back and wanted to keep his word. The visit extended over four hours and included all parts of the park. In the Ethiopian village, the emperor went from hut to hut and showed the foreign guests his greatest interest. In front of the monkey house, the Kaiser vividly remembered the chimpanzee Moritz and asked about this animal. I promised to introduce the four-handed artist to the royal palace in Berlin. The ostrich farm was enthusiastically applauded by His Majesty and the gentlemen of his large entourage. When the Kaiser, standing on a raised spot and looking out over the whole complex, burst out in warm words of appreciation, I felt as if my life's work was only now receiving its final crowning. "You have," said the Emperor, "created an educational, scientific institute like none before."

With gratitude in my heart for the fortune that allowed me to carry out my work, and for the one who spoke those beautiful words of appreciation, I now lay down my pen.



To put Herr Hagenbeck’s autobiography and personality in context and give a more balanced view, here are newspaper reports from the same period. It also shows the high attrition rate of animals in transit. Some cuttings appear to be interpretations of the same press release.

ARRIVAL OF A TWO HORNED RHINOCEROS. The Central Glamorgan Gazette and General Commercial and Agricultural Advertiser, 18TH September 1868
The Zoological Society of London have just received an important addition to their extensive living collection in the shape of a two-horned rhinoceros (Rhinoceros bicornis). The Indian form of rhinoceros has long been well represented in the society's menagerie, but the very different African type, to which the present animal belongs, has been hitherto a hiatus valdee deflendus in the series. The animal which arrived yesterday, and which is believed to be the only individual of the species that has reached Europe alive since the days of the Romans, is a young male shout 6ft. long and 3-and-a-half ft. high. It was captured in the autumn of last year, in the vicinity of Casala, in Upper Nubia, by the native hunters employed by Herr Casanova, an enterprising traveller of Vienna, and conveyed to Hamburg (via Alexandria and Trieste), along with a number of African elephants and other animals. Here it passed into the possession of Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, a well-known dealer in living animals of that city, who has now parted with it to the Zoological Society at the price of £1,000 - being, we are informed, the largest sum they have ever paid for a single animal. The rhinoceros is remarkably tame, and in excellent health and condition. It is fed principally on clover hay. Pending the completion of the large building now in process of erection, which is destined to contain the society’s series of elephants, rhinoceroses, and tapirs, it is temporarily lodged in the giraffe house.

SAD FATE OF ESQUIMAUX. Belfast News Letter, 11th February 1881, page 8
The troop of luckless Esquimaux which Herr Hagenbeck has been leading about Central Europe for some time past, for the entertainment of sightseers in the great cities of Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, is now utterly extinct. After their very successful performance in Berlin, whore Professor Virchow and other scientists made them the subject of study and writing, they were carried off to Darmstadt, the capital of the Duchy of Hesse. Here an attractive young girl belonging to the troop died. They were moved next to the manufacturing districts of Westphalia, where they lost a woman and a little child; the latter died from the smallpox, At Crefeld they ended their service in Germany, and their “proprietor" (?) resolved to carry them into France. The survivors - now only five in number - arrived in Paris. Herr Hagenbeck was waited upon by the sanitary officials, who informed him that he could not be allowed to open his performance until all the members of his company had been duly vaccinated. The astounded and terrified Esquimaux had to submit twice to this painful ordeal. In spite of the double precaution the experiment failed utterly. The five Esquimaux sickened of the smallpox in spite of this more than scrupulous and careful vaccination - the anti-vaccinationists will perhaps say because of it. They died after a few hours of suffering, so that no single member of this poor company of strangers will return to his own land to give his kinsfolk an account of the marvels of the civilised south.

ANIMALS FROZEN TO DEATH. The Sentinel, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 6th January 1882, page 1
Animals Recently Imported by Mr. Forepaugh Succumb to the Cold.
Several thousand dollars’ worth of wild animals recently bought of Hagenbeck, the great animal dealer of Hamburg, Germany, for Forepaugh’s menagerie, arrived in New York by the steamship Mosel on Tuesday. Two white camels, a quagga and a sable antelope were lost during the voyage, but five elephants, eight double-humped brown camels, one white camel, one white llama, a zebra, a white yak, au ant-bear, a mountain antelope, twenty small monkeys, a baboon five feet four inches high, an ostrich, an emu, a hornbill and fifteen large snakes, including three boa constrictors, each measuring over twenty feet in length, making in all a cargo of seventy-eight valuable specimens, arrived safely. One of the elephants is nine feet high and was once the property of the late King Victor Emanuel of Italy. Her disposition was so ugly. however, that it was sold to Hagenheck, who on the same account could not find anyone willing to buy her until Adam Forepaugh, jr., visited Europe last summer. The next North German Loyd [line ship] from Europe will bring Mr. Forcpaugh ten elephants, eight giraffes, a hippopotamus seven feet long and five feet high, and a large saddle-back tapir. The animals that arrived on the Mosel were placed on a special train of the Pennsylvania railroad on Wednesday and arrived at the winter quarters of the Forepaugh show, Richmond and Lehigh avenue, on Wednesday night. The severe cold experienced during the journey killed two of the most valuable camels, several monkeys and half a dozen of the largest snakes.

WILD ANIMALS AT SEA. The Northern Pacific Farmer, Wadena, Minnesota, 2nd February 1882, page 3
From the New York Tribune. The arrival of the Neckar set afloat rumors of the coming of strange and wonderful beasts. Near the main hatch of the steamer was a huge box of curious construction. It was six feet wide and twelve feet high, and the ends were open. The floor was covered with straw and the sides were heavily padded. The box was empty, and two wide-eyed men were regarding it with sadness. “He was of fourteen feet the height,” said one. “The most superb that ever to America on ship was brought,” echoed the other. The box had contained the largest of the eight giraffes taken on board at Bremau. It had been placed between decks under the main hatch, so that the animal could thrust his head up, his fourteen feet of height extending nearly to the top of the hatch. But the voyage of the Neckar, which occupied fifteen days, was very rough, there being only two days when the vessel was not rolling violently. The giraffe was so shaken by the motion of the ship that he died from exhaustion the next day before reaching port. Two of his smaller brethren also gave up the ghost, leaving five. Between decks some curious freight was found among the boxes piled near the main hatch. There was an opening in the end of one box, perhaps five feet high, at which the muzzle of an Indian white buffalo appeared. Opposite, in a firm cage, strongly fastened down, was a white lama. The hue of its shaggy coat belied its name, and the animal wore a sheepish and dejected expression. From the darkness of another box rose the white neck of an ostrich. The attendant seized its bill and the huge bird struggled to its feet, revealing a body covered with black plumage. Near by was its mate. The most remarkable fowls were two rhinocerous birds, or horn birds. An attendant removed a slat in a rough wooden cage standing in the corner and shook his hat in the opening. There instantly darted out a sharp-pointed horny bill of an immense length, which seized the hat. This was attached to a black body with long legs. Then the keeper unlocked a door on the port side of the vessel and a pungent ammoniacal smell became noticeable. Here were five giraffes. They playfully gathered about the visitors and nibbled at their clothing.

“No, they were not seasick,” said the keeper. “But,” he continued, “that is what they do all day long, till they get tired - they rock as the ship rolls - but two got thrown down once.” In a pen next to the giraffes were three African zebras [reporter meant zebus!], distinguished from ordinary cattle by their wide-branching and sharply pointed horns and the large lumps upon their backs. These lay down in rough weather, but the giraffes kept on their feet and knocked their heads against the deck above. Their value is estimated at $1,500 each, exclusive of freight and duties. All these animals came from Carl Hagenbeck, of Hamburg, who is said to be the largest animal dealer in the world. They are to be shipped to Bridgeport at once.

A TRADER IN WILD ANIMALS. St Louis Globe Democrat & others, 19th April 1883, page 4
Mr. Carl Hagenbeck’s Pursuit of Rare Beasts all Over the World. |
Six boxes of snakes were carted to the Central Park Menagerie Saturday afternoon. Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, the owner, of Hamburg, Germany, arrived here on Saturday on the Bremen steamer Elbe. He is one of the largest dealers in wild animals in the world, and his zoological garden in Hamburg is one of the chief attractions of that city, and he says that it has contained at one time or another a greater variety of animals than any other one building since the day of Noah's ark. Mr. Hagenbeck intends to stop in this country only a fortnight. He will visit Philadelphia, Washington, Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Buffalo and Niagara Falls, see the various shows on exhibition along the route, sell them what they want, and buy from them what they do not need, for he relies upon the menageries as well as the jungles and forests to supply his zoological broker’s office with material. He said to a Times reporter yesterday afternoon, in one of the upper lofts of the museum, where he had retired to avoid the crowd, “If you think this is a large menagerie I should like to have you see mine. I have 80,000 square feet of ground in my garden and several strong stone buildings all connected with each other. In one I keep the carnivorous animals in heavy iron cages. Sometimes I have twenty lions there at one time. In another I have my elephants, ostriches, dromedaries and antelopes. In another I keep my reptiles - snakes, alligators, and the like. In the garden outside this building I have cages under cover, where I keep my birds and little animals. I have twenty-four ostriches there now, four dromedaries, and a great variety of every other kind of animals and birds. Besides that I have several shipments on the way from the jungles and some on board ship bound to this country, which I expect to receive in a day or so.

“You think I am rather young to have so extensive a business? I am 38 years old, and began when I was 15. My father was a large fish-dealer. The fishermen used to catch seals alive and bring them to my father. Once some one sold him a polar bear, which he exhibited. That is how he came to look into the business. In 1864, about eleven years after the importation of wild animals into Europe for show purposes was first attempted, an Italian named Casanova brought over a large stock of animals. He couldn’t sell them and couldn't make much money out of exhibiting them. Seeing something in the business, my father and I made a contract with Casanova to return to Africa and have the animals captured, and we would pay him so much per head. That is the way it started. In 1870 Casanova and another Italian named Migolotte, both animal agents, had accumulated large stocks and got into a quarrel. I went to Algiers and bought them both out. I think that was the largest shipment of animals ever made. Among others it contained 15 giraffes, 5 elephants, an African rhinoceros, 6 lions, 7 leopards, 30 hyenas, 20 boxes of monkeys and 12 of birds, and 72 Abyssinian goats to furnish milk for the young animals. The old animals are killed when they cannot be taken alive without loss of human life, and the young ones, if there are any, are secured, and the little motherless brutes had to be fed on goat’s milk. I have agents in Nubia, on the Somale coat, in Ceylon, in the Magellan Straits in South America, in British America, and two agents in Central India. When a menagerie is sold out, I buy the entire stock. I have bought and sold the same animal as many as five times. I send my agents out into the forests to capture the animals. I furnish them with money to remain out six months or longer, if necessary. I send my Nubia men out n September and they return in July. They hire a large number of hamrans, or native hunters, who beat the jungles and do the manual labor of securing the prizes. They seek a suitable locality, where they build a large corral. They live in this and keep the animals there until they are ready to return to the coast. The return trip is about the hardest part of the expedition. It takes nearly two months, and the hot sands of the Nubian Desert have to be crossed. The young animals have to be carried on camels, and the ostriches and large animals have to be led or carried. It requires a host of camels to follow the caravan and carry the provisions. When our party comes back it usually numbers 200 men and twice that number of beasts of prey and burden. From the Nubian Desert they go to Cassala, which is the headquarters of visitors in that region. Thence they go to the Red Sea and the Suez Canal, where the animals and necessary attendants are shipped directly to Hamburg. From there I distribute them all over the world. I send Louisiana alligators to New York, African elephants to India and llamas to Brazil. We capture our snakes by building fires in the rocks where they hide, and when they come out, attracted by the flames, they are caught in nets. We only take boas and pythons. Whenever l get a poisonous reptile I give it away immediately.

“If you will come down into the engine-room I will show you the largest snakes you ever saw. I had twenty-four boxes sent to America, containing 276. I have sold a number. Ten boxes went to Philadelphia vesterday. These boxes hold huge pythons, which were taken at Sundabunts, near Calcutta.’’ In the engine-room there were two large dry goods boxes and a number of visitors. Mr. Hagenbeck, armed with a stout cudgel and a piece of carpet, raised the lid of the larger box. There were five of the largest snakes ever brought to America. The largest was 20 feet long and 7 inches through. They writhed around the box, coiling themselves into innumerable hard and double knots, and discounted the alcoholic serpent in realistic effect. An inquisitive observer stuck his head over the box and presented a fine mark tor the big snake, who would most certainly have disfigured his countenance if it had not been hampered by its companions. It had to be pounded on the head with a stick before it would retire, and the timid members of the company armed themselves with rakes and hoes and viewed the second box from a safe distance. The snakes had not been fed for three months.

FATHER OF MENAGERIES. The Buffalo Commercial, 21st April 1883, page 4
Arrival of Here Hagenbeck, the Head of the Hamburg Home for Wild Beasts. THE STORY OF HIS LIFE AND A DESCRIPTION OF HIS COLLECTION OF CURIOSITIES. - New York World.
Hamburg has been famous for the past five years for its large, zoological gardens. Men make a business there of buying and selling animals just as merchants in New York buy and sell grain. About five miles outside of the busiest part of the city is the largest home for beasts and the largest collection of them in the world. It is a little city with many different degrees of temperature, and thousands of different animals. Boa constrictors recline at ease on grassy plots in warm houses, as comfortably as though embracing oxen in their native jungles. Lions from Africa, tigers and elephants from Asia, and kangaroos from Australia, here live in content, winking and blinking at each other like members of a mutual admiration society in Boston. Above the entrance to the principal house is the picture of a man six feet in height and probably forty-five years old, with a black beard and sharp, piercing eyes. Every species of animal, from the Fifth avenue pug-dog to the ungainly rhinoceros, are represented as gambolling around him. On the gentleman's forehead and stretching down around his feet is an inscription, a translation of which is as follows:

CARL HAGENBECK, MONSTER MENAGERIE AND ANIMAL PARK. All Kinds of Beasts, Tamed and Untamed Lions, Wild Tigers, Leaping Elephants, &c., &c. Kept Constantly on Hand. Menageries supplied at the shortest possible notice. Parks stocked in one week’s time. All animals guaranteed. Special. Lions and Elephants a speciality. QUICK SALES AND SMALL PROFITS.

Every circus man knows Carl Hagenbeck. He and Mr. P. T, Barnum are old friends. Adam Forepaugh wears on his watch-chain aa part of a lion's claw presented to him by Herr Hagenbeck. This great animal dealer arrived in New York Saturday on the steamer Elbe, of the Bremen and Hamburg line. “Of course,” he remarked to a reporter of ‘The World,’ “I don’t suppose there are as many animals here as at home in Hamburg. But I want to see them now, for the most of them have come from my place. I come to buy any which their owners want to send back and to make contracts for supplying more.”

Herr Hagenbeck did not come unaccompanied to America. Quite the contrary; ten boa constrictors and an Irishman, who can pray in Hindoo and swear in ancient Greek – a lion-tamer who-has traveled throughout the east came with him. Herr Hagenbeck occupied one state-room, the Irishman, Mike Al Raschid, another, while the snakes were consigned to the engine-room and the care of the engineers. The origin of the Irishman’s name is worthy of note. On Killarney’s lakes and shores he was called Mike; in London, Albert; the latter in Turkey was interpreted Al Raschid; hence. in New York, Mike Al Raschid.

Herr Hagenbeck gave an account of his famous zoological garden to a reporter of the ‘World.’ The building occupies 80,000 square feet of land. One building 120 feet long is for elephants; another, 90 by 30 feet, for giraffes and camels, and another, 50 by 40 feet, for lions and tigers. Then there are other smaller buildings for snakes and reptiles. On the grounds there are numerous small houses. There are at present among the distinguished residents of this little city 24‘ostriches, 4 dromedary, camels, 256 snakes, imported from Sundabunts, sixty miles from Calcutta; 20 elephants 2 hippopotami that cost $5,000 each to bring from Nubia, 200,000 birds, 6 lions and the same number of tigers, bears and leopards; hyenas with spots and hyenas with stripes; kangaroos that jump all the time, kangaroos that cannot jump and kangaroos that only jump at stated intervals; dogs, monkeys, parrots, and many and soforths, - “all guaranteed,” the lions a specialty. No wonder then that Herr Hagenbeck stocks menageries at the shortest possible notice with animals that appear to our wondering eyes as “fresh from their native wilds.”

Herr Hagenbeck tells a very pathetic story of his early life. His father was “a poor fisherman,” not like those of the Fulton-market race, who have never been to sea except aboard “schooners,” who wished his son to angle for a living. When thirteen years 6ld, the desire to tame animals became a passion. His father at first refused to allow him to enter the lion’s den, but when he showed the credulous old man that king of beasts had no teeth, and used to think five minutes before summoning up enough courage to close his jaws, he allowed him to enter the den. In 1864 a man named Cassanova went to Nubia and imported from there the first animals. Cassanova could not effect a sale. Disheartened, he sold out at a low figure to the old fisherman, who died soon after, and the young lion-tamer inherited everything - spotted and striped hyenas, wild lions, a wild leopard and American and English rabbits. Cassanova, out of money, was then employed by Herr Hagenbeck, and he, accompanied by an Italian Migoletti, and Mike Al Raschid, was sent to Nubia to capture animals. From that time forth the zoological gardens increased in size and magnitude. The cost of importing animals from such a distant country as Nubia is very great. Two men start out from Cassala in that country, and after going some distance hire about twenty natives, whom they supply with horses to hunt the animals. Sometimes a month goes by before any animals are captured. When an ostrich is taken two men are necessary to lead one animal across the desert. The beasts are shipped from the Red Sea. After Herr Hagenbeck had given a history of his life to the reporter and Mr. Conklin, the superintendent of Central park, he went down stairs to show his snakes. The party entered a little room, the temperature of which was about 110 degrees [Fahrenheit], and saw Mike Al Raschid sitting on a box smoking a clay pipe. Every once in awhile one of the snakes, a quaint Python, would stick out his snout from between the slats of the box sand caress Mike’s legs, whereupon Al Raschid would exclaim: “Holy Moses! now by my beard if yer don’t go back I’ll plunge me simitur inter yer unbelaving head.” The “simitur” was a fork. The snakes are constrictors, and hence not very dangerous. “Abduzel, the Hindoo sorceress,” the young lady who caresses the snakes at Barnum’s circus, was present. It is said that Mr. Barnum intends to make large purchases from Herr Hagenbeck. Herr Hagenbeck wili remain here two weeks.

LARGE DEALINGS IN ANIMALS. Various, USA. 5th May 1883, page 2
Among the passengers who arrived in this city on Saturday by the steamship Elbe was Carl Hagenbeck, the largest dealer in wild animals in the world. To a [New York] Tribune reporter he said: “I have been a dealer in wild animals ever since I was 15 years of age, and now I have agents in Nubia, India, South America, Algeria, and Sumalia. I send out my expeditions in September, and they usually return in the following July. Of course these expeditions are expensive. This is how I take care of my large stock of animals and curiosities: In one building, 120 x 50 feet, the tigers, lions and leopards are kept. The elephants, dromedaries, and ostriches occupy another, 150 x 40 feet. Two smaller buildings are devoted to alligators, snakes and smaller curiosities. I have 12 aviaries for my birds and 2 tanks for seals. I am obliged to keep a very large stock constantly on hand. There are in my garden at Hamburg to-day 7 Indian and 2 African elephants, 24 ostriches, 24 boxes of snakes, 2 zebras, 55 alligators, 35 giraffes a double-horned rhinoceros, 15 camels, and a host of other things.”

“What does a good menagerie cost!” asked the reporter.

“All the way from $25,000 up,’’ was the reply. ‘‘Elephants bring from $1,500 to $20,000 - the cost of Jumbo.” Some snakes are worth from $25 to $150. I send out a dozen menageries every year in Europe on my own hook. I have furnished the United States with seven-eighths of all the animals in her zoological gardens and menageries. Mr. Barnum of course is my largest purchaser.”

CARL HAGENBECK INTERVIEWED. The Era, 24th April 1886, page 7

Although Hamburg is the chief port of Germany, was founded by Charlemagne in 805, was formerly one of the chief towns of the Hanseatic League, and is, moreover, with its numberless canals and its spacious alsters – as the immense tree-girt basins are called - one of the most picturesque and agreeable towns of North Germany, it is not for either of these reasons that it is so well known and is the object of such interest to those who devote themselves to the task of providing amusement for the public by the exhibition of wild animals. Hamburg is to the public caterer of this class, and to his animal friends, what Rome is to the artist, what Milan is to the singer, and Mecca is to the Mussulman. It is the centre to which they gravitate, and it is there he repairs when he has need to increase or replenish the material from which he derives his income. Not alone has the exhibitor of wild animals learnt to depend on Hamburg for his supplies, but also the directors of the numerous zoological gardens which are scattered throughout the world. The Thier Park, on the Neue Pferde Market, is the spot, and Carl Hagenbeck is its presiding genius, On presenting ourselves at the Thier Park we were at once shown into Herr Hagenbeck’s office, who very courteously acceded to our wish to inspect his collection, and conducted us himself over the establishment. Carl Hagenbeck is physically far from beingwhat we are pleased to picture to ourselves as the typica German–tall and spare in form, his aquiline nose and thin, clean-shaven, nervous features, fringed round with a short beard, give one at first more the impression of an American than a German–a kind of benevolent Sam Slick, although we must hasten to add that both his countenance and his genial, straightforward manner entirely preclude any suspicion of smart-ness, as understood on the other side of the Atlantic.

The history of the origin and development of his large menagerie is characteristic and instructive, and shows what a man can do when his energies, backed by his inclination, are devoted to one object. This important wild beast business was started and developed entirely by the present proprietor, and from very modest commencements. Carl Hagenbeck’s father was a fish merchant in Hamburg, and occasionally the Norwegian and Swedish fishermen, who furnished him with fish, brought with them seals, which Carl Hagenbeck pére used to acquire and dispose of. One day they varied the menu by bringing a Polar bear to sell him, thinking, doubtlessly, that they had sufficiently paved the way for this transition from fish to flesh in the character of the merchandise by the previous connecting link offered by the seals. Old Carl Hagenbeck had at first some misgivings about departing from his accustomed trade, but ultimately the bear was bought, and disposed of; and this first transaction in wild animals suggested to young Carl Hagenbeck the possibility of doing a business in such merchandise, and opened up to him the prospect of dealing in other and less familiar members of the animal kingdom. This occurred in 1852, and soon after young Carl Hagenbeck, when fifteen years old, informed his father of his disinclination to follow the fish business, and of his determination of starting as a wild animal dealer. The father expostulated with him on the folly of abandoning the already established piscatorial commerce, and endeavoured to convince him of the visionary and uncertain nature of the venture he wished to pursue. He, however, ended by giving him a moderate sum of money, and his hearty assurance that when that was gone the boy would have no more. The result we have before us to-day, and with his extensive depot at Hamburg, and his numerous travellers engaged in capturing and acquiring animals in all parts of the world, Carl Hagenbeck’s business is, undoubtedly, the largest of the kind existing.

In the grounds of the Thier-park there is a miniature circus, in which various animals are educated, previous to facing le feu dela rampe. When we visited it a small black donkey was being initiated into the art and mystery of balancing himself with a man on a see-saw, and we could not but admire the patience and perseverance of the tutor as he gradually got the animal, naturally at first somewhat intimidated in his novel position, to understand and execute that which was required of him. We asked Herr Hagenbeck to tell us, if it would not be violating any professional secret, what was the means and principle of educating wild animals, especially those of a less amiable disposition, such as lions and tigers. His answer was that the only secret was patience and perseverance, aided in the case of lions and such like by the natural fear these animals have of man. He assured us that any one might go into a den of lions and tigers, and that these animals would simply rush round and round in fear. We did not ask to be allowed personally to put this theory to the test, especially as he went on to say that there was sometimes a ‘‘cheeky” one, who would be less embarrassed, and whose example might prove contagious.

As Herr Hagenbeck was proceeding to explain to us the various steps taken to commence and complete a lion’s or tiger's education, one of the assistants–a blonde typical Saxon–approached, and asked whether the four lions which had recently arrived from Nubia were to have their first lesson that morning. Carl Hagenbeck answered in the affirmative, and gave instructions that all the necessary preparations should be made; then turning to us, observed that we should better be able to form an idea of the various steps taken to train these animals from witnessing the operation than from any description he could give. We accordingly proceeded to the little circus, where the black donkey had taken his lesson, and found a large cage placed there, containing one half-grown lion, two younger ones, and a lioness. They none of them exhibited that passive resignation which so frequently pervades animals which have been bred and born in captivity, but roamed about in a restless, excited manner, as if seeking some mode of escape. They had just arrived from Nubia, and probably only some six weeks or two months previous were roaming the African desert in full liberty. The cage was divided into two parts, separated by a grille, which contained a sliding door. The part from which the animals were shut off was much smaller than that occupied by them, and served simply as an entrance hall, from which a man could gain admittance to the beasts without giving them the opportunity of escaping. Around the cage were grouped three or four assistants, two equipped with poles, and two others occupied in heating in charcoal, braziers a couple of iron bars; these precautions evidently being undertaken with a view to repress any inclination to “cheekiness,” as Carl Hagenback indulgently termed it, on the part of the animals. We could not, however, refrain from remarking to the proprietor that these undoubtedly very excellent measures hardly consorted with his assurance of the absence of danger in confronting these animals; but, as be explained, it was usually customary to allow the brutes to recover somewhat by a more or less prolonged sojourn in the cages, from the natural fright they experienced in their new position, before attempting to train; but that the demand for animals compelled him in this case to somewhat anticipate the usual delay, and, moreover, that these animals were somewhat older than the usual run of his pupils. He also added, with pardonable pride, that during the whole course of his business career, thanks he judicious precautions, no serious accident had ever happened to any of his men from the animals in his charge.

The trainer, on whom devolved the duty of entering the cage, stood apart with his arms folded, and seemed to be studying the physiognomies of his future pupils with a view of discovering, if possible, which if any of them would be likely to prove troublesome. He was clad in thick leather thigh boots, breeches of some tough corded material, and a short leather jacket, so any accidental scratch from the animals in their frightened gyrations would not be likely to penetrate. He was a dark, nervous, determined-looking man, of a spare, athletic frame, and as lithe looking as the animals he was shortly to confront. At a sign from Carl Hagenbeck he entered the smaller compartment of the cage, and, for a moment, confronted the animals through the bars which divided them. On seeing him so near they reared themselves up against the partition, as though they would devour him; but, in an instant, grasping firmly the loaded rhinoceros hide whip he carried in his hand, he slid aside the partition, and was in their midst. Then commenced a wild sabbat of affrighted beasts, who sprung from floor to ceiling, and wall to wall, in their unreasoning terror. The elder lion, however, evidently meant mischief, and was far less active in his movements, laying down every now and then crouching in a corner. Hagenbeck’s cool eye evidently noted his demeanour, for he made a sign to the four assistants to hold themselves ready in case the trainer should require their assistance. The latter, however, seemed perfectly equal to the emergency, for, quietly approaching the brute, he dealt him a blow with his hide thong that raised a mark even on the lion’s skin, and which so took him by surprise that he immediately joined the wild chase of his companions. A movement of relief on the part of Hagenbeck showed us that he considered the battle as virtually gained, and, indeed, after a few more minutes of agitation, the animals calmed down, and the lioness even suffered herself to be touched gently with the point of the whip. The first lesson was soon after brought to a close, to be followed, as Hagenbeck informed us, by a similar proceeding the next and succeeding days until the trainer could without affrighting them sit down in their midst and caress them. Then commences the actual education, which culminates in the docility exhibited by those with which Carl Hagenbeck’s brother is at present travelling, one of which holds a flaming hoop in his mouth through which others jump.

We do not intend to minutely note the whole of the animals we saw, as the list would be too long, but will content ourselves with simply mentioning those which are most rare and remarkable. Some idea may be formed of the number which are frequently gathered together here from the periodical price-lists which are sent to the various zoological gardens and menagerie proprietors. In one of these we counted no less than over 500 animals, exclusive of birds, but the number is never a fixed one, as they are continually arriving and going away. There were waiting ready packed in the courtyard on the occasion of our visit a fine lion and a pair of lionesses destined for Vienna. These were comfortably installed in a travelling cage with plenty of straw, for Herr Hagenbeck will not only supply you with animals, but also with their habitations. You can order from him a complete menagerie, with every accessory, just as you can order a dinner and every necessary at Gunter’s. It is easy to see that Carl Hagenbeck loves his animals, and it is most amusing to see him converse with and caress them. One charming little hippopotamus from Zanzibar seemed really fond of him. It was quite a young thing, only two years old, but already of a respectable size. When Herr Hagenbeck came up to his cage it opened its immense mouth, exposing three or four teeth, and almost asked for its expected caress. What seemed most to please it was having its palate scratched, and it is very possible that this operation procured for it as agreeable sensations as we with our less indurated mouths would experience with the aid of a pate de foie gras and a glass of Pontet-Canet. The pleasure experienced was undoubtedly infinitely less expensive, and less calculated to interfere with the digestion. With a big elephant, whose accomplishments included those of walking along bottles and upon a tight-rope six inches wide, Hagenbeck had quite a long conversation in German, to which the elephant responded by caresses with his trunk.

The zebus comprised specimens of the five known varieties of India, and amongst them some small black ones used for trotting. One of these he kindly had harnessed to a kind of “sulky,” and driven by a Cingalese, who seemed to hold on to this spider vehicle, which was innocent of a seat, by his toes. It was really astonishing the pace this diminutive ox could put on, and, without pretending to be able to lower the record of Maud S., he could probably give butcher's ponies, the most rapid of their race we know, 6lbs. and a beating. The elephant house contained ten of these pachydermes, the smallest being 6ft. 5in. and the largest 9ft. high and still growing. These were all working elephants employed in India to carry timber, stack up bricks, &c. It appears that they can carry baulks of timber up to one ton weight, which they do by means of their trunks, and a rope placed round the load and held in their teeth. We noted two very fine Nubian camels, or rather dromedaries, of the racing variety which are used in that country for carrying letters, and can trot as fast as a horse. In speaking of the zebus we omitted to mention the curious marks branded on the skin, with which some of them were covered. These are the distinctive marks of their successive proprietors, and cause them to look like a page from the Koran.

A novelty was a collection of four male Somali ostriches, which come from the north-east coast of Africa, opposite Aden. They are the first imported of their species. One rather dangerous-looking fellow, with a muscular leg like a running-man, was shackled, to prevent his kicking.

One of the most curious particulars respecting Hagenbeck’s business is that he imports animals from India and sends them off to South America; he also gets animals from South America to Hamburg, and then sends them to North America; he also has a number of ostriches from one coast of Africa, which come to Hamburg, and from there go to buyers on the other coast. The four animals I saw would, he told me, probably go to south-west Africa or Algeria, to the ostrich farm there.

The snake collection included thirty-two snakes, amongst them being an Indian python, 22ft. long, and weighing 130lbs. There were also some specimens of the giant lizard, the first which have been brought to Europe. The biggest, an enormous creature, measuring 7ft. 5in. long, and weighing 80lb., was caught in the swamps near Calcutta. A black wolf from North America was the first of its species brought to Europe.

With emus Carl Hagenbeck has been very successful, and has quite a small flock of them, which have become perfectly acclimatised, and during the whole of the recent severe winter skipped about in the open air amongst the snow as if to the manner born.

It was quite refreshing to at last find someone who did not complain that trade was bad, but it seems that the unusually severe character and duration of the recent winter has wrought such havoc with the various zoological gardens and menageries that Hagenbeck can hardly get animals in sufficiently quickly to supply orders. Not that he has passed through the season himself without losses; to wit, a pair of rhinoceroses, both of which caught cold, and of which one shortly died, but by dint of careful nursing the other was brought round, and was soon after sold and sent away by sea. The second day out he was found dead in his cage. As these little pets are worth about £600 each, it will be seen that the business of wild animal dealer is not all “fat.” We asked whether the skins and skeletons of these dead animals did not realise some considerable amount, but he assured us when any such loss occurred he always got it out of sight as soon as possible, and usually presented the carcases to museums.

Carl Hagenbeck intends bringing to England this summer a vast menagerie and Indian exhibition, in which animals of that country will figure largely. The show should excel anything yet seen in England. There are at present on their way six enormous elephants, in addition to those he has at Hamburg, and a ship is due at Southampton in the middle of this month containing seventy animals and sixty-five native Cingalese.

The elephants will comprise specimens from Ceylon, Sumatra, and Burmah, and will figure prominently in a series of Indian religious processions, amongst others that of the Parra Harra, in which, in a magnificent howdah, borne by a richly caparisoned elephant, the sacred tooth of Buddha is carried in triumph. The actual sacred fang it is possible he may not be able to procure, but in all the other details we believe the exhibition will be scrupulously correct. He showed us a series of photographs procured by his representatives in India, from which the details of the show will be arranged.

We quitted the society of the celebrated Hagenbeck with the thought that, even if it be true “who drives fat oxen should himself be fat,” dealing in wild beasts does not preclude a courteous and genial demeanour totally at variance with that of the subjects of this special commerce,

HOW ELEPHANTS ARE TRAINED. A TALK WITH CARL HAGENBECK. The Birmingham Daily Mail, 8th May 1886, page 2
On the Continent Carl Hagenbeck, of Hamburg, stands out facile princeps amongst the great animal collectors. There, in Thier Park, on the Neve Pferde Market, is a vast collection of strange creatures, which may, without exaggeration, be described as unique. Hagenbeck is something more than a clever modern showman. His Hamburg establishment of zoological specimens claims to be without rival. It is not merely a great exhibition - it is a sort of Ferocity Exchange, where strange wild animals are dealt in just as stocks, hardware, and cotton are bought and sold in the industrial centres of Great Britain. Thither everyone who wants to fill up the blanks in his collection betakes himself with the absolute certainty that his wants can be supplied. On the other side representatives, or “travellers” as they are called, of M. Hagenbeck are ransacking the wide world to keep up the supply of animals to meet this unceasing demand. At this moment there are about twenty-five of these travellers busily plying their daring vocation in every habited, and, for the matter of that, uninhabited, part of the globe. Each has, of course, to call in the help of assistants, and in all from 200 to 300 people are at work collecting and buying living specimens which, for their ferocity, their size, their rarity, and their beauty, are likely to attract purchasers and sightseers. Distance is no obstacle, and difficulties only whet the appetite of these zoological dealers. Some are looking for Polar bears as near the North Pole as they can reach. Others are ransacking the tropics for ostriches, lions, tigers, and elephants; India, China, Japan, North, East, West, and South Africa are all laid under tribute; the Gold Coast sends its quota, and, indeed, no part of the globe is safe from the invasion. When once specimens of sufficient interest are secured they are shipped direct to Hamburg, where under M. Carl Hagenbeck’s superintendence, such of the animals as can be safely handled and judiciously treated - very few are wholly untamable - are first brought under subjection and then taught their work, and trained to do something useful or amazing. Then they are distributed, and through various channels find their way to the pleased notice of sight-seers.

One section of this very remarkable establishment is at this moment touring in England. It has been exhibited in Manchester for the past three weeks, and on Monday reaches Birmingham. It should be understood that the Ceylonese exhibition, which may be expected to excite local curiosity for the next few days, is only a section of the great central establishment. But it is a complete whole. It is a faithful representation of some of the quaintest and most picturesque phases of native life in Ceylon, that too little known country which, if the testimony of its buried cities and temples can be taken for anything, boasted a splendid civilisation when our half savage populations were worshipping under Druidical oaks. By a not unnatural process this collecting of animals in the first place led to the employment of natives of the various countries where the animals were captured in catching them. Then they were used as trainers and keepers, and so it has become possible to form an exhibition in which strange men and women, with unfamiliar forms, faces, and habits, can be seen side by side with the, to us, equally strange indigenous animals. Hence the very delightful air of freshness with which the Ceylonese Exhibition strikes those who see it for the first time. M. Hagenbeck presents his patrons with a very complete picture of life in Ceylon. Two distinct races of people are introduced in the processions and various exhibitions - Cingalese, the aboriginal inhabitants, and Tamil folk, who are described as originally emigrants from some adjoining coasts of India.

The zoological section of the exhibition is full of interest, though it consists only of two sorts of animals - elephants and zebus, or native cattle of Ceylon. But the specimens are so numerous and so perfect that there will be found quite a sufficient variety. The elephants will probably attract the share of attention due to their merits and their size. There are 14 of them - splendid creatures all, but presenting the most curious varieties of age, size, and temper. A carious and exciting story is that which M. Hagenbeck has told of the capture and the training of these remarkable animals. The actual scene of capture is a native kraal, which may be, say, half a mile in circumference. The two essential elements in these kraals are that they must be so strong as to resist the wildest rush of the most infuriated beast, and the entrance to them must be constructed as to gradually narrow until the boundaries of the kraal are passed. When an elephant hunt has been decided on, hundreds of natives, in some cases as many as 2,000, form a large circle, perhaps 12 or 14 miles round. Then begins an exciting process equivalent, on a vastly larger scale, to our grouse driving. The elephant-hunters begin to move inward, and gradually close up. Vast is the noise they make shouting and firing guns, and in other ways preventing the elephants from breaking the ring which is gradually, but very slowly closing in on them. One point is all essential. No single animal must be allowed to break through, or all are lost, for the whole drove, following the lead of their more reckless companion, inevitably gets away, and the chase is bootless. With infinite patience, for the hunt is a slow matter which takes days and perhaps weeks to bring to a successful issue, and with almost superhuman watchfulness - for whilst one man sleeps or eats, another must watch for him - the circle gradually gets narrower, and the elephants, who may include one drove or several, may number as many as 40 or 50 or as few as four or five, are brought to what may be called the mouth of the kraal. There another exciting element is introduced. The tame elephant appears on the scene, and on his shoulders falls the greater part of the remaining task. With what wonderful cleverness the tame elephants fulfil their responsibilities only those who have actually seen them at work can properly realise. They thoroughly know what is expected of them. The wild elephants, who have gradually got more and more excited, suddenly hear the friendly call of a brother or sister elephant from the inside of the kraal, and this call settles their fate. They answer the signal and follow the sound - into captivity.

Then begins a long struggle on the part of the captive against that taming and training process which must be carried out if the elephant is to be made worth his salt. The captive, after finding that he is in durance vile and that his wildest efforts to escape are in vain, sulks with his food and for some days declines to eat. But his violence is gradually exhausted, and with the clever aid of his tame betrayer, his hind leg is noosed and he is dragged or “butted” to a tree to which he is chained. Then with his wild spirits somewhat tamed, he is allowed a little run with an escort. By slow degrees he discovers that it is useless struggling, and partly by force of example, partly from necessity, and partly from fear of a probe or hook - the hindu - which is the native implement of punishment, he gradually settles down into the sober and well regulated elephant he is asked to become.

But of course this does not conclude his education. If he is meant for stay-at-home purposes he is speedily taught to carry timber, to roll logs, to drag heavy weights, and in fact to do useful work of all sorts. But if he is intended for other more ornamental bat not less ingenious purposes, he is sent to what may be called a high school. The method of teaching for such an exhibition as that of Mr. Hagenbeck is remarkable, it is founded on toe principle which is followed by wise parents in dealing with the training of their children. Every elephant has, we are told by one who knows them well, a special as well as a general intelligence. Each can do some one thing better than another, and shows his fondness in a way which cannot be mistaken. This strong point is seized on by the teacher, and made the basis of future educational operations. One demonstrates that he is particularly fond of leaning his bead on the floor. A little pressure is applied, and perhaps before the animal himself knows what he is about he is taught to do some feats of balancing on his head. Another shows his love of and skill in climbing. His gift is observed, and by gentle pressure and by due admixture of punishment and reward he finds himself taught to mount such elevated positions as he is required to fill. The method is simplicity itself and never fails. But on the other hand it is quite useless to try to train an elephant as it were ‘‘cross-ways.” He must be trained and taught with the grain, and not against it. Of course M. Hagenbeck does not confine himself to the cultivation of a single gift in each elephant. But that gift may be said to direct the whole, and through its means the general intelligence of the animal is developed. From one thing he reaches another, and so becomes the accomplished animal which excites the wonder and admiration of the dullest.

It is pleasant to be able to chronicle that daring their prolonged stay in Manchester all the fourteen elephants included in the show conducted themselves as well-regulated elephants should. They have done nothing outre, and have left the best possible name behind them. The tyrant of the elephant colony is, we ought not to be surprised to learn, the Baby. For the least, the most mischievous and the most troublesome member is an infant elephant, now 9 and-a-half months old. The baby is still taking its nourishment from the natural teats, and in the ordinary course of things may be expected to continue to do so for another 15 months. Like most babies, it is very spoiled, and leads not merely its mother, but the rest of the colony, a weary life. It is endlessly in mischief, and as mater watches it as jealously as “mountain cat who guards her young,” defends it in all its scrapes, and fights its battles, when necessary, with actual ferocity. Baby might easily be regarded as a nuisance if it were not such a distinguished feature in the show. It is described as the only elephant ever born in captivity. The mother was captured in Kurunegalle Kraal, Ceylon, and gave birth to the “little stranger” shortly after her capture,

The elephants generally are utilized in the exhibition in doing the work they would do at home. There is land to be cultivated, timber to be brought down from high places, weigh to to be lifted, and so forth in the Ceylonese colony, and the big animals are quite clever enough to give the spectators a clear idea of the way in which in their native jungles they do their work. Moreover, they take a most picturesque part in a variety of quaint processions, some religions and solemn, others jovial and lively.

The fifteen zebus also form an attractive feature in the Ceylonese Exhibition. Thirteen are of the smaller species, and two of a larger kind. They are tame and not wild in Ceylon, and drag the native carts and do other homely work with much patience and good temper. In appearance they are not unlike small cows with hump-backs. They, too, take part in the processions, and add to the general effectiveness of the display.

CEYLON AT THE ASTON LOWER GROUNDS. The Birmingham Daily Mail, 10th May 1886, page 3
The exhibition illustrative of the native life in Ceylon, of which, although a British possession, English people know very little, made its first appearance at Aston Lower Grounds this morning. As an entertainment, apart from its instructive and curious character, it is most interesting, and should draw crowds of people to the grounds. The exhibition has been organised by Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, of Hamburg, the great European importer of wild beasts, It comprises 70 native women of Ceylon, each of the two aboriginal races, Tamil and Cingalese being represented, and there is also as complete an illustration as possible of the flora and fauna of the island. The animal life is represented by 14 working elephants, one of them an immense animal, 16 Ceylonese zebu cattle, most curious and interesting animals, and eight racing bulls. There is a large collection of plants, fruit and flower products, and also a number of photographs of scenes in the island. Everything is done to make the best use of this exhibition with the view of giving as graphic an illustration as possible of Ceylonese life, customs, and institutions. The meadow of the Lower Grounds is not, geographically speaking, very like the Garden of Asia; but the resources of the exhibition are sufficient and are so employed us to suggest very well what is intended to be conveyed. Round the meadow a number of native bamboo huts have been constructed, such as in Ceylon the natives inhabit. Here their cooking and so forth is done just as they do it at home. There are separate and distinct cooking and living arrangements for the Tamils and the Cingalese, who are Brahmins and Buddhists respectively, and whom the laws of caste require to be kept separate. The domestic life of the natives is thus naturally represented. As to the customs and institutions of the island, some of these are represented by illustrative performances given on a wooden stage erected in front of the grand stand. These performances are highly interesting, and, considered as an entertainment, exceedingly attractive. After an exhibition by two native musicians of their powers of manipulation of an elongated drum, which, they beat with their fingers with much dexterity, comes some racing with Zebu cattle in native carts or hack baris. The diminutive animals have sufficient powers of speed to make the racing exciting, and the queer cries with which their drivers urge them on and their methods of driving impart an additional interest. The next programme is a quaint dance, called the pot dance, by a number of men in women's costume. The dance appears to be of a bacchanalian description, as the dancers carry brass pots in their hands, which every now and then they raise to their lips as if in the act of drinking. It is accompanied by a chant in a curious minor key, and by strange gesticulations by the performers, who beat time with their feet to the music of drums and miniature clear sounding cymbals called tom-toms. There is plenty of dancing supplied by two troupes of devil dancers, so-called not because of any diabolical characteristics attaching to their performances, but on account of the fact that their functions are of a religious character, and are exercised for the purpose of exercising [exorcising] any devils by whom the natives may imagine themselves to be presented. An interesting performance is that in which an illustration is given of the manner in which the elephant is employed in native work, carrying great logs of wood, and so forth. A troupe of native Tamil actors, gorgeously attired, perform a portion of the Tamil comedy, called The Allochandivan Nadogan. The whole of the Play is not attempted to be given, as it is in some hundreds of acts, one of which constitutes in Ceylon an evening’s performance. Long runs are not unknown in Ceylonese theatrical productions. The comedy appears to be constructed on a system which is common in the East, and consists of a recital of traditional amours and warlike operations of an ancient Tamil king. A snake gives an entertainment that is not a little exciting with open of dangerous-looking cobras, and there are a couple of jugglers of marvellous dexterity. There are a couple of very diminutive dwarfs, male and female, of whom the latter sings “God Save the Queen” in a very intelligible manner. The company of seventy includes a dozen women, whose small share in the performances may be accepted as indication of their position in the society of Ceylon. There the women are kept to the performance of their domestic duties, and take no part in the religious and other observances represented in the exhibition. Their share in the performances is limited to the playing of a large flat drum, which they beat, keeping wonderful time together. The exhibition concludes with a representation of the great religious Perra-harra procession.

CARNIVORA AT THE CRYSTAL PALACE. Huddersfield Daily Examiner, 30th May 1891, page 10
One of the most interesting exhibitions of trained carnivora that have ever been presented to the public is now on view at the Crystal Palace, having been brought to this country by Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, so well-known as one of the largest, and certainly most enterprising, dealers in zoological specimens, The animals consist of six pairs of lions, three two leopards, two cheetahs or hunting leopards, one Polar bear, one Himalayan bear, and five large boarhounds. These are exhibited in a large circular cage or area, 40ft. in diameter, by some 15ft. high at the centre. Around the Inner of the bars, which enclose the area, are placed a member of small shelves, or benches, one of which is appropriated to the use of each animal.

At the commencement of the performances, the doors leading to the sleeping departments are opened, and the whole six and twenty rush in together surrounding the three or four keepers who accompany them. The animals are so well trained that each voluntarily leaps on to its own particular bench, one or two only requiring to be directed. The animals, with the exception of the boarhounds, are all young, the majority of them being about half grown; the most mature being one of the Bengal tigers and one of the lions.

The performance commenced with a lioness and a tiger being led round the arena by one of the keepers, who causes each of thein alternately to vault over the back of the other. The black bear then gets on to a rolling cylinder, causing it to progress backwards and forwards across the arena. This bear is a very good example of the species that was named by Cuvier the Thibet bear [ . . .] Mr. Blanford records them as less docile in captivity than the ether Indian species, but all animals, however savage, appear to be subdued by Mr. Hagenbeck’s training, provided he can get them in a young stage, so as to respond to the kindness with which he treats them, for severity forms no part of his system of education. He seems to be able to alter the natural character of any animal. He has even, I believe, tamed a hippopotamus - the one which is now in the Zoological Gardens at Hanover - but the power over the carnivora is undoubted.

To see a large tiger mount a tricycle at command, working the pedals with its fore feet, and proceed round the arena; whilst another tiger and boarhound follow behind is a remarkable evidence of his power; that it does not depend upon a particular individual animal is at once evidenced by the fact that these are dismissed, and a lion becomes the tricycle rider, followed by a lioness and a dog. This exhibition was varied by the bear walking on its hind legs backwards and forwards on a horizontal pole. The pole was then removed, and a narrow platform placed from the rear to the front of the large area. A globe 2ft. in diameter was placed on the platform. On this a lioness leapt, and, working with her feet in the manner of a human acrobat, she progressed on the globe the whole length of the platform, repeating the performance in the reverse direction. This done, at the indication of the trainer, the lioness raised one hind and one fore-leg, and balanced herself on the globe, standing on two limbs.

Those persons who have visited the circuses which are now so numerous, may have seen elephants perform on a see-saw. This game is played by Mr. Hagenbeck’s pupils, a lion being on one end of the see-saw, a tiger at the other, whilst the cheetahs come on each side as if to watch the performance, when the Himalayan bear ascends to the centre, and by walking backwards and forwards raises and depresses the lion and the tiger alternately. One of the prettiest performances was the placing of four leaping bars parallel with one another, with a lion and tiger at the end of each. In and out of these bars two of the boarhounds raced backwards and forwards in a very agile manner.

Mr. Hagenbeck, who most kindly gave me every information that I required, told me that the next entertainment was one of the most troublesome tasks that he undertook. It was the dragging round of a Roman chariot by two tigers, a lion being the occupant of the chariot, sitting enthroned in a vest and crown, whilst the tigers drew it round the arena, two of the huge boarhounds following up behind. Many of those interested in animals may recollect seeing the lions drawing chariots at Kensington, but then they were driven and controlled by a man, here the tigers had to proceed by themselves, as there was no human driver, consequently their tendency in the first instance was to gallop away, very much to the discomforture of the lion in the chariot, and then if not allowed to proceed at their own rate they would lie down, but these tendencies have been overcome by the patient care of the trainers.

The delicate manner in which these monsters were handled was very amusing. The lion perhaps would jump up on his wrong bench, whereupon one of the attendants went to him, and laying hold of him by the ear, palled him off, and conveyed him to his own seat.

The whole performance was totally distinct from that of an ordinary lion tamer. There was no violence or use of iron rods painted to look like walking sticks, no striking the animals to frighten them; all seemed om equal terms, men, bears, cheetahs, lions, and tigers were all friendly together. The exhibition, as far as the performances consisted, closed with whet I may call a triumphal arch of animals. Several columns of movable blocks were raised, the highest being in the centre, and others gradually lower on each side. On the top of the centre one leapt the black bear. Immediately in front of him, on a pillar slightly lower, the polar bear took his place. On either side of the black bear at the top of their respective columns, stood tigers and lions, whilst each of the cheetahs stretched from one column to another, giving a sort of arch-like appearance to this animal trophy. Round about the base the dogs and other lions grouped themselves. The sight was a very pleasant one, as it indicated the perfect docility of the animals, and the care which must have been taken in their education, for no sooner were these columns erected than the animals at once leaped up, each into his place.

The cheetahs, or hunting leopards of India, which are, perhaps, the most aberrant of the Felidae, not being possessed or retractile claws, are, Mr. Hagenbeck informs me, the most troublesome to reach, even by the aid of the little tit bits which are given to them, training being in part accomplished by the donation of small scraps of bits of meat, carrots, sugar, and so forth, the appropriate food going, of course, to each individual animal, the polar bear being very fond of sugar.

After the performance of the triumphal arch the whole of the apparatus was removed from the arena, the keepers retired, and the six-and-twenty wild animals were allowed a quarter of an hour to play about amongst themselves, uncontrolled by any trainers being in the midst. In this state the individuality of each was more manifest. Some played like kittens, and others of more mature age refused to enter into such childish pleasure. After they had had this quarter of an hour's exercise and amusement amongst themselves, a few bars of the National Anthem dismissed the audience, but I waited with Mr. Hagenbeck to see the animals rewarded for their exertions by what they all estimated very highly, namely, the administration of a considerable quantity of what we call soup or beef tea. This was evidently very much relished. They do not all take it together, because the two bears are greedy, and if allowed to feed out of the same vessels with the others, would quarrel to met more than their share of the soup; so that they were secured by slender chains in the middle of the arena; the lions, tigers, leopards going to their own sleeping apartments, where a number of the vessels were filled with this soup, which they immediately proceeded to partake of, drinking a much larger quantity than ever I saw feline animals swallow before. This soup, which was made by boiling down the bones t hat they leave with the addition of other meat, was evidently very highly relished, and obviously helps to keep the animals in the good condition which is so manifest.

[. . . ] I have seen many performances of wild animals, in which I am always much interested, as there is always something new to be learned in regarding the habits, instincts, and manners of the animals themselves, but I have never seen one that interested me more than that of Mr. Hagenbeck’s. It is so obvious that the means employed are those of kindness and persuasion. No force or terror is used to subdue or control the animals, and consequently the exhibition does not give rise to the slightest idea of there being the least danger to the performers. All the animals being trained when young, have had their wants supplied without their destructive tendencies being excited. They all agree so perfectly that at night the whole of them sleep together in one large apartment. The collection being the only example I have ever seen worthy of being called “A Happy Family.” - W. B. TEGETMEIER, in The Field.

TO DRIVE A LION TEAM. The Caldwell Tribune, Idaho, 20th August 1892, page 2
Carl Hagenbeck, the Great Lion Tamer is Coming to Chiaago. A Mammoth Amphitheater Will be Erected for the World’s Fair Year - Daily Performances.

Carl Hagenbeck, the great wild beast tamer and collector of Hamburg, Germany, is coming to the World’s fair. With him will be a cool $1,000,000 worth of the curious and interesting of the animal kingdom, for Carl Hagenbeck is noted as the greatest man in the world for collect[ing] wild beasts. Barnum, Forepaugh, Robinson and all the American circuses fill their menageries from the Hagenbeck depot in Hamburg, for his agents are constantly scouring plain, wood and jungle for show animals. When Hagenbeck, makes his bow to Chicago he will ride into the arena driving four magnificent lions hitched to a golden Roman chariot, and with two enormous tigers in the chariot with him, the striped brutes standing on their hind legs, their fore paws resting on the beast-tamer’s shoulders. That is the sort of a man Hagenbeck, the “King of Beasts,” is.

The Haganbeck Roman Arena company of Chicago, with a capital stock of $375,000, has recently been organized for the purpose of bringing Carl Haganbeck and his 2,000 animals to Chicago for the World’s Fair. The company has secured a piece of ground 250 feet square south of the Midway plaisance on the Illinois Central railroad, and there will erect a Roman ampitheater, octagon in shape and 200 feet across. The structure will be built fireproof, of hollow tile, terra-cotta and steel, at a cost of $200,000. The ground floor will be taken up by the menagerie proper, where the great collection of wild animals and the ten thousand and more curious things Herr Haganbeck has picked up all over the world will be exhibited. It will be so arranged that a fee of 10 cents will provide access to the menagerie only. The upper floor will be fitted up for the arena, in which the performances will be given. It will have a seating capacity of 10,000, and as the room will be 200 feet in diameter and 50 feet in height, it will be something of a sight itself. In the arena Carl Haganbeck and his company of sixty will perform with trained lions, tigers, hyenas, elephants, seals, giraffs, monkeys, pigs, doves, horses, mules, sheep, dogs, parrots, chickens, cows and all varieties of wild and domestic animals, to say nothing of snakes.

There will be no human stars on trapeze or doing the bare back act, or other ordinary circus antics, for wild animals are the stars of this aggregation, and the men and women are dazzlers of a lesser magnitude. Three performances will be given a day, and Mr. Loeb says that the entertainment will stand the peer of anything inside or outside the fence. The animals will be brought across the ocean in a ship fitted expressly for the purpose and the work of transporting 2,000 snarling, howling, screeching, shrieking, yelling, sea-sick alien quadrupeds will be of record-breaking magnitude.

ANIMALS ON A JAUNT. The Inter Ocean, 13th April 1893, page 1
Carl Hagenbeck’s Trained Beasts and Birds in Town. Enliven Midway Place. The Chimpanzee Made Merry with Champagne. And the Little Elephant Deluges One of the Guards with Mixed Bran.
There was a monkey and parrot time of it in Midway Plaisance yesterday afternoon when the proprietors of Carl Hagenbeck’s Zoological Arena received their first consignment of birds, animals, and curiosities. Several hundred monkeys and as many poll-parrots were in the consignment. There would have been more but many of them, especially of the young ones, took sick on the way over the Atlantic and died. Seasickness carried away some; the change of climate killed others. A seasick monkey is a distressing sight, so Mr. Mehrmann, who has charge of them, says. A seasick parrot is likewise a troublesome beast.

Superintendent Holcomb’s men had great fan unloading the menagerie. It arrived in the morning, and at noon the unloading began. There were in all twelve car-loads. It must have been just such a motley crowd as Mr. Noah is said to have led into his lifeboat. First came a big group, consisting of six lions, two tigers, two leopards, two black bears, one polar bear, and six boar-hounds. A smaller group came next, in which were three tigers, three leopards, one lion, two Shetland ponies, two goats, two fat-tail sheep, two bullocks, two boar-hounds, and two poodles. A third group contained an elephant, two ponies, and two boar-hounds. Then came a string of monkeys, chimpanzees, gorillas, pigs, dogs, parrots, goats, and all other animals, clean and unclean. There must be a thousand altogether.

The noises they made sounded as if there were nearer a million. Neither the roar of the lion, the jabbering of the monkey, nor the pigeon English of the parrot has ever been termed melodious, and when they all get their music-boxes at work at the same time and turn on the steam full blast, the aspiring Wagnerian student might as well give up at once. The animals gave Midway Plaisance a good waking up as they marched and were carried to Hagenbeck's arena. All of them, except the elephants and one or two others, were in cages, which were placed on trucks and conveyed to the building. One of the monkeys was tired of being caged up and was anxious to reach his destination. He poked his paw through the cage and pulled half the horse's tail out, The driver and four Columbian Guards managed to prevent a runaway.

When the arena building was reached another unloading process began. The cages and boxes, having come from abroad, required the scrutiny of a customs inspector. He stationed himself inside the door, just a few feet away from the cages as they were driven up. ‘

“What's in that cage?” asked the inspector as a formidable-looking concern was un loaded.
“Dunno,” answered the attendant.

The inspector knows now, for he peered in. He got a little too close. Wow! But the baboon didn’t get all of his whiskers. As soon as they got in the arena the animals were fed and watered. A crowd of visitors watched them: The little elephant was chained to a post by his hind leg. A ucket of mixed bran was set in front of him and be began to satisfy his hunger.

“What a purty iliyphant! And such a little wan!” said one of the Columbian Guards approvingly.
“Z! oop!” snorted the elephant. The guard who thought the animal was pretty is yet picking bran out of his galways. And his uniform is a mottled yellow.

Somebody threw a champagne bottle to the chimpanzee. The “blue face” liked it. After smelling the bottle until all the odor was gone, he chewed the straw covering in hopes of finding some more of the intoxicant. He will be all right by the time the show opens. All these animals are to take some part in the entertainments that will be seen at the arena. The lion will ride a-horseback, and the pigs have been educated so that they can play leap-frog and fly kites. The others have learned their parts.

Among the Wany Creatures Are Wonderful Lions That Have Been Taught to Ride on Horseback - Something About the Great Trainer - He Began His Remarkable Career with Two Pet Bears That His Father Gave Him - Other News from the Columbian Exposition.
There was a great yowling, scuaking, and chattering noise at the Midway Plaisance and Sixtieth street yesterday afternoon. The combined noises were uncommon. They arose from the 1,500 animals which Herr Karl Hagenbeck will install in his animal pavilion on the Midway Plaisance. In this country the great animal trainer is known as Herr Hagenbeck. In Hamburg, where he was born and learned the science of training wild animals, he is called “ Onkel Karl.” So familiar has become the face of the man who can make lions and tigers lick his hand in peace that the citizens of his native town speak of him familiarly as “Karl.” “Uncle Karl” is only 47 years old, but as an animal trainer he has won the distinction throughout the world as being at the head of his profession. Almost every circus in America and Europe has had its menagerie supplemented by animals from Hagenbeck’s collection. Much confusion and a great deal of excitement prevailed yesterday at the plaisance when the animal show was unloaded from the car. The lions, fresh from Hamburg, were unacquainted with the jostling of ordinary road wagons, and when the cages of the big ones were transported across the sands of the plaisance the lions roared until the Japs and Javanese in the vicinity dropped their tools and stared with much anxiety at the walling load.

It was two years ago that Herr Hagenbeck conceived the idea of making an exhibit at the World’s Fair. For thirty years be had properly posed as a leading animal trainer of the world. He controlled 80,000 square feet of land in the heart of the City of Hamburg, and on it he had trained the wild beasts of Africa to become docile and mindful of his beck and call. The American Consul at Hamburg was the one who induced Herr Hagenbeck to bring his show to America and exhibit it at the World's Fair in Chicago. The great animal trainer fell in with the arguments of the Consul, and as a result he expended $125,000 in building a pavilion on the Midway Plaisance. This pavilion is 200 x 200 feet, and the 1,500 animals from Germany will be installed therein.

Five thousand people may be accommodated on the seats which surround the performing arena. This arena is forty feat in diameter. The entire space will be covered with an iron cage thirty feet high. Sightseers consequently may feel safe, and no apprehension need be entertained that the performing animals will break beyond the bounds. Not least among the features will be three lions which have been trained to ride on horseback. To teach these animals not to sink their claws in the sides of the horses requires a year’s training. Three different persons will direct as many different performances of the lions. Miss Ella, a woman in whom Herr Hagenbeck reposes a great deal of trust, will direct the performance of the biggest lion in the show. Two male trainers will nave charge of the horseback feats of the other lions. Danish horses have been purchased for the performance, and they as well as the lions have been so well teamed that the performance is said to move without a hitch.

Along with the lions and tigers there were taken into the plaisance 200 monkeys and at least 1,000 parrots. The monkeys and the parrots will be a distinct show in themselves, and their performances will be separate frum those in the animal arena. What the lions and tigers can do will form but a small item of the display. Elephants, panthers, jaguars, dogs, zebras, bears, leopards, pigs, sheep, etc. will form a part of the performing family of animals.

Herr Hagenbeck began studying the science of animal training when he was 20 years old. His father was a fish-dealer in Hamburg. He bought a bear or two just for the novelty of the thing, and young Hagenbeck, taking a great fancy to the animals, taught them eventually to perform many tricks. He became so enthused over his work that eventually hie father gave up the idea of making a merchant of young Earl. Instead, he gave his son at allowance and told him to pursue the vocation which might please him most. The subjugation of animals was the business in which the son engaged. From a youth who could successfully manage two bears young Hagenbeck grew to be the king of animal trainers of the world. Anyone who has visited Europe and knows anything about teaching lions, tigers, and bears to perform tricks are familiar with the name of Karl Hagenbeck. As indicated, his countrymen call him “Oncle Karl” and the children of Hamburg who think they are related to the great trainer number not fewer than 100, It is said that his Hm.burg show may be seen crowded with little ones who address the great trainer with the familiar phrase of “Uncle.”

Herr Hagenbeck will remain in Chicago until May 12 At that time he will depart for Europe and take care of his business at home. He is unostentatious in his manner and his face bears the kindly look of one who loves his fellow men. He wears his beard trimmed very much like the proverbial Baptist minister and his cloths are of a simple cut.

WILD BEASTS. HOW THEY ARE MADE TO PERFORM AT THE FAIR. Pinegrove Herald, Pinegrove, PA., 9th June, 1893.
A Day Spent With a Man Whose Life Has Been Devoted to the Education of Savage Animals. His Methods Described.
“Come here, Prince, old boy; come here!”
The great, tawny mass slowly, majestically strode nearer, and when close to the man that had called him he rubbed his enormous heal against the hand that was stretched out in greeting. The long, muscular hand of the man buried itself in the mane of the king of animals and playfully stroked it, to the evident satisfaction of the great beast. The manner of the latter was a curious mixture of feline grace and canine affection, and the great pupils of his eyes dilated and contracted with the pleasure of being fondled. The man who thus treated a lion, a full-grown, able-bodied one, with a complete set of enormous grinders, and claws that would cleave a one-inch board, a roar that would knock down a World's Fair hotel and a stomach that would conceal a month's provisions for a small family, was Carl Hagenbeck, whore performances with trained wild beasts, says the Chicago Herald, are among the chief attractions of Midway Plaisance, at the Fair. A man who is on terms of the closest intimacy with lions, tigers, bears, snakes, panthers, and other ferocious horrors of the desert and forest is a rarity in itself, But when that man has spent his whole life among such brutes, and has taught thousands of them during that time how to obey, perform and play, when he has had a score of hair- breadth escapes from the awful fate, that has overtaken nearly every preceding trainer of wild beasts and when that same man is chockful of interesting, after blood-curdling, anecdotes and incidents of a biographical nature, he becomes an acquaintance doubly worth having.

In the course of a day spent with this gentleman, who is by all odds the most successful trainer of savage beasts that the past or present knows of, a whole string of popular fallacies were reduced to deserved absurdity, First, as to the comparative intelligence, docility and reliability of the principal wild animals, Who would believe that the lion and tiger are, once brought under subjection, the most reliable and harmless pets? Yet such is the case, if forty years’ experience enables Mr. Hagenbeck to be a good judge. Of course, he says, no wild beasts are ever thoroughly trained if brought under human influence at too late a period in their lives. Such beasts, even if taught all that can be taught them, are liable at any time to have their innate savage instincts break out and overcome in a moment all the fruits of a tedious and painful training. But when caught young - in the days of babyhood - the lion and the tiger are easiest .to deal with. They both learn their lessons well, and their memory is tenacious and retentive. They both appreciate kindness and feel a steady affection for those whom they have come to look upon as their friends, While in course of training they must be handled with great care, and punishment must be meted out to them only when absolutely required for the safety of the trainer or of the other animals, But even then this punishment must be made up for by redoubled kindness soon after, so as to impress strongly on the minds of these animals that it was punishment for the offense committed, not cruelty, that caused them to suffer, and that they have not forfeited the good will of their friend because of it. The elephant is much more intelligent and cunning than both lion and tiger, and he easily learns all sorts of tricks and stage business which require judgment, tact and the exercise of reasoning power. He, too, is very grateful for kindness shown and has a very affectionate disposition, but he is revengeful, craft and never wholly reliable, but liable to sudden outbursts of fury, spite or wilfulness.

The bear is likewise very intelligent and may be taught as many things useful or ornamental as the elephant. There are, however, a great many varieties of the bear family, and those differ largely among themselves in intellectual and moral qualities. The least intelligent among them and the least tractable is the polar bear, and it required years to teach the specimen now performing at the Hagenbeck arena what little he knows. The American bears, even the grizzly, are more easily managed and acquire certain accomplishments without much trouble. The black Russian bear, too, is amenable to civilizing influences, and so is the Alpine brown bear. But the cunningest and most comical as well as the most graceful bears are those from Thibet and from the East Indies, especially from the Malay Islands. Those are musically inclined, and actually learn to step in fact with the strains of a waltz. All the bears, though, are never wholly to be trusted, and they are of a combative nature, enjoying fights among themselves aa well as with other animals. More deaths, too, are due to bearish outbursts of anger than the public has any idea of. Alone at the zoological garden at Brussels three attendants were killed by bears within a short time, and there is no large menagerie, no zoological garden and no performing circus of any magnitude that has not had fatal accidents due to the irrepressible ferocity of the bear.

It will be a surprise to many to learn that there is a good deal of intelligence and a good deal of affection stowed away under the hide of a snake. Trainers know how to avail themselves of this fact and in that way get results out these reptiles that could not otherwise he obtained, But snakes, too, are never thoroughly brought under subjection to the human will and their voracity and their ugly temper have been the cause of many a tragedy that the press never heard of. When amply fed, however, and treated with uniform kindness a snake may be taught many things which one would hardly suspect. It is similar with alligators, with panthers, leopards, pumas, jaguars, the cinnamon and grizzly bears, and with many other animals that are hardly suspected of a fair amount of brains.

Even the ostrich, though provokingly stupid and intractable, may be educated into something vastly different from the wild bird of the desert. Once a consignment of twenty-six ostriches that had been caught for Mr. Hagenbeck in northern Africa, during onr of his long expeditions in that continent for the purpose of collecting large numbers of wild beasts for his huge Hamburg menagerie, escaped in Suez, just before being loaded on board of a steamer that was to convey them to Trieste. The whole herd of huge birds escaped direct into the Nubian desert and it looked as if they were a dead loss. The big collection of wild beasts of which these twenty-six ostriches had formed part had been slowly gathered and then driven by native servants a distance of 600 miles. During that time these animals had become acquainted with each other and made friends to some extent. There were camels and antelopes and lions, elephants and Abyssinian goats in the collection, and Mr. Hagenbeck relied on the friendship and on the gregariousness of those escaped ostriches in his little scheme to recapture them. And he had correctly sized them up. He had a band of Nubian servants drive the goats and antelopes some distance into the desert, all in a heap, and sure enough, one by one, the fleet ostriches returned to the fold, every one of them.

Panthers and leopards are the most treacherous and the most difficult to handle, they and the hyenas. Their hostility and natural antipathy to the dogs are never overcome, and they will seize every opportunity to attack dogs, even when sure to get the worst of it in a fight and knowing full well that they will be whipped by the trainer besides. They are always treacherous and much more dangerous to handle than their larger and more powerful relations, the lions, Bengal tigers or jaguars. They are cowardly and greatly dread the whip, but that does not prevent them from scratching or biting the hand that will lay the scourge on them the next instant.

However, with all these differences and with the further great diversity and individual disposition and characteristics, it is kindness and patience in the man that accomplishes the wonderful results in training that the public see ocularly demonstrated in the Hagenbeck arena every day. All these brutes, whether quite tamed or only partially so, are amenable to kindness, and gratitude forms the principal lever by which they are moved to do as required, Another element necessary for the successful trainer of wild animals is absence of fear, an equable temperament and instinctive liking for him on the part of the animal. For these beasts have their likes and dislikes, their loves and their hatreds as well. Mr. Hagenbeck attributes his success with all sorts of savage beasts and deadly reptiles largely to the fact that he loves all creatures and in many cases feels a genuine affection for his wards and pupils. Some attendants can never win the confidence and good will of certain wild beasts, and whenever that fact has become apparent it is injurious to the business to retain their services. One particular lioness, for instance, could not be handled by anybody in the Hagenbeck establishment. She proved wholly intractable, and it had been already intended to sell the animal at a low price to a circus in Germany when Mr. Hagenbeck himself took her in hand. Then she readily and instantly yielded to the sympathetic influence her master exercised over her. A young lion that had proved quite unmanageable, and that for four weeks had not learned a thing, was recently in the sole charge of Philadelphia, one of Mr. Hagenbeck’s best trainers. Philadelphia went into the lion’s cage, and when the lion disobeyed him, he went for him single handed with a pitchfork, reducing him into complete subjection inside of five minutes. The lion since fears, respects and loves his trainer who, on his part. has not been forced to resort to punishment once since that time.

It may sound odd, but it is, nevertheless, a fact, that flattery, encouragement and commendation are among the most effective educational methods employed at the Hagenbeck establishment. A lion that has learned his lesson is immediately rewarded by a bit of juicy steak, and the bear gets such dainties as fruit, sugar, candy and bread for a recompense. They are approvingly stroked or slapped on the back - just as humans would be under the same circumstances - and the big felines, lions and tigers have enough of the cat nature in them to be fond of being scratched on the head and neck. After the animal has been thoroughly trained - for which purpose it needs not only the services of an expert trainer, but also the almost constant attendance of some particular assistant – it is punished with a rattan or with a tough rawhide whip only when the offense has been a flagrant one. The punishment is, in such cases, quickly and immediately administered, and soon after the same animal will be shown that it is forgiven by receiving some bit of dainty food or a caress.

One of the greatest difficulties in the laborious process of training is to wean the wild beasts of their inherited antipathies for other animals, especially those belonging toa radically different species, As in the whole business of training it is patience, lots of patience, that is needed to overcome these feelings of aversion, For the recipe for training wild beasts is nine parts of patience and but one part of all the rest, The same thing, no matter how simple, must be impressed hundreds and hundreds of times on the brains of the animal in order to be thoroughly learned. Once acquired, however, it is hardly ever forgotten again. But to get them first to live together and to perform side by side in the same arena, to dwell peaceably in the same cage, is a great difficulty, But since it is an indispensable prerequisite for everything that is to follow the animals must be taught harmony and neighborly relations. Of course it is only possible to teach young animals to forego their inherited hatreds - adults are past redemption. Young beasts - the younger the better - are chained and placed in the same cage (of course out of harm's way one from the other) with other young animals of different kinds. Thus they accustom themselves to the sight, the odor and the peculiarities of each other and begin to apprehend the fact that they belong together and must, therefore, get along with each other somehow. By and by the tamer animals are allowed to circulate freely among the chained and half tamed ones, and at last the point is reached when they may be left to themselves, living peaceably together. During their hours of play and recreation this system of forming happy, though incongruous family groups, is seen at its greatest triumph. To watch a lion playing tag with a polar bear, and to see an elephant and a tiger gamboling like merry boys at school makes one dream that the millennium cannot be far distant. Perhaps the most distinctively motley group that Mr. Hagenbeck ever gathered under the roof of one cage is the one that may now be seen, composed of six Javanese and Sumatrese bears, diminutive but very comical fellows, one striped hyena (one of the most intractable beasts), three codomonthys [???], one pig, one African hunting dog and several monkeys. And curiously enough, it is the monkeys that are the police force - the guardians of peace and order - in this motley throng.

Like that superior animal, man, these beasts are also subject to all sorts of disease. In fact, the mortality among them is much higher than it is among the human race. For this fact, of course, the inclemencies of climate are largely responsible, The influenza rages among them to the same extent that it did in the ranks of the human bipeds. Pneumonia, consumption, dysentery, fevers, stomach complaint, etc., are a frequent scourge among them, and Mr. Hagenbeck feels still very sore over the fact that he has lost a large number of his most valuable animals - and among them some of his best trained and rarest ones, such as a couple of highly educated black panthers, some gorillas and mandrils, several chimpanzees, half a dozen lions, tigers, etc. – since he expatriated his big quadruped colony from Hamburg. All told, some 120 of his trained beasts have succumbed to various diseases since he began training for the World's Fair. Monkeys in this climate are especially liable to lung diseases, and consumption is currying off a number of them at present, but some of them, too, were killed by his own panthers and leopards.

Such mishaps, besides, are of frequent occurrence in the life of a large dealer in and trainer of wild beasts like Mr. Hagenbeck. It may be interesting to know that this man has, up to a year ago, alone carried out of Africa 250 elephants, 375 giraffes, 200 antelopes, 180 panthers, 78 lions and 94 ostriches, besides 1856 snakes and crocodiles. That of this large number, now and then, there were some fugitives may easily be believed. Thus, twelve elephants that he brought with him from Africa as part of a large consignment escaped, while in transit, in Vienna. Mr. Hagenbeck, however, got them all back and by using the following simple but original stratagem: He recaptured the youngest and smallest elephant of the herd, and then he pinched the ears of his baby elephant so persistently and vigorously as to make the animal yell and roar and trumpet with pain, thus inducing all the other fugitives to return to the spot, driven back by curiosity and sympathy. Another time, just on the point of leading his wild animals on board a steamer in Suez, Mr. Hagenbeck was leading a giraffe, having a rope slung tightly around his right wrist. Suddenly the animal took fright and ran off with that haste and speed for which giraffes are so famous. More from necessity than from choice Mr. Hagenbeck, unable to disengage himself from the rope, was obliged to share the flight of bis giraffe. More dead than alive he was finally rescued some distance from town, after having been dragged along for several miles by the panicky animal at a six-mile-per-hour gait. Another time an enraged and entirely untamed elephant made a thrust at him with his two immense tusks. As luck would have it they were so far apart as to just take his body in between them, his sides being but slightly grazed.

RECEIVER FOR HAGENBECK. The St. Joseph Herald, Missouri, 30th December 1893
CHICAGO, Dec. 29.–Judge Groscup in the United States court today appointed the Title Guarantee and Trust company receiver for the Hagenbeck Zoological Arena company, which had the trained animal show in the Midway Plaisance at the World's Fair. The receiver was appointed at the suit of Carl Hagenbeck, who owned the animals, and is the outgrowth of a dispute over gate receipts.

HOW HAGENBECK BEGAN TO CAPTURE AND TRAIN ANIMALS. The Washington Times, 4th January 1902, page 10
The Story of the Establishment and Growth of the Big German Animal Industry That Has Been Carried On By Two Successive Generations and Has Become World-Famous.
What Came of a Lad’s Sudden Determination to Become a Trader. How the Sale of a Few Singing Birds Opened the Way for the Present Trained Animal Business.
Tourists from all parts of the globe who visit Hamburg, Germany, invariably ask to be shown the “Thierpark” of Carl Hagenbeck. And if perchance they meet the venerable proprietor himself ten visitors out of every dozen will ask how he came to start in the business of training and dealing in wild animals. No question could please Mr. Hagenbeck more, for it brings up pleasant recollections of dear old ‘‘Unser Carl.” “Unser Carl,” he will tell you, was the founder of the house of Hagenbeck, the pioneer animal dealer of the Continent. The present owner of the big zoo is the third in his line, and he is nearly sixty. So many, many years ago, as the story runs, Uncle Carl, then a towheaded lad of eighteen, was idling along the docks of the River Elbe in Hamburg. Even then the port was of great commercial importance. Ships from every nation contributed to the business activity of the place. The boy, anxious to try his hand at trading, bought some singing birds one day from sailors just in from the Canary Islands. He found a ready market for them among the German housewives of the town, and hurried back to his sailor friends to place a bigger order. It was not so many months before he began dealing in monkeys, and even invested in a few small bears, which he sold with profit to a traveling menagerie. And from this modest beginning sprang the house of Hagenbeck - known in every clime and practically controlling the wild and trained animal business of the world.

Expeditions to Capture Animals. During the last forty years the concern has stocked practically all of the zoological gardens of this country and Europe. Agencies have long been established in Asia, Africa, South America, and the East Indies, and twice every year expeditions are sent into the interior to capture whatever specimens are needed at the Hamburg depot. Much money is spent in securing rare and hitherto unexhibited species. Some thirty years ago the London Zoological Society caused quite a stir with an animal that Europeans had never before seen. It was the horned rhinoceros that Carl Hagenbeck had captured after much trouble and expense in Asia. Later he imported the Siberian tiger, and four years ago the Persian tiger. These beasts created a sensation in zoological circles, and gave a fresh impetus to the study of natural history in England and on the Continent. Last October a herd of twenty-six Mongolian wild horses arrived in Hamburg. They were captured as foals in a district some twelve days’ march from Pekin, and, it is said, cost Hagenbeck $25,000 before he landed them at home. But as they brought over $2,000 apiece, the expedition showed a handsome profit.

Training Wild Animals. The work of training the animals that passed through Mr. Hagenbeck’s hands, it is stated, was undertaken more as a pastime than anything else at first. Lion and tiger cubs that played about the house like kittens were taught to answer when called, and to perform a routine of simple tricks. Little by little the possibilities in this direction dawned upon the owner. The science of animal training - for in Mr. Hagenbeck’s hands it has come to be a science - was then unknown. Crude exhibitions were sometimes given, but too many serious accidents happened to give the public any taste for that sort of thing. Once started, the work at Hamburg was undertaken in a careful and systematic manner. The disposition and comparative intelligence of each animal were studied for months. Once a lion or a tiger or a bear was found to be unsafe he was put aside and a more tractable substitute found. In this way progress was made, slowly to be sure, but with a minimum risk of life and limb. Mr. Hagenbeck himself went into the training cages and showed his lieutenants how he wanted things done. And so after long, weary years of effort, and more patience than the average Job of modern days has any idea of, a system of training animals was evolved that startled the world.

Mr. Hagenbeck’s Advantages. Of course, Mr. Hagenbeck had a great advantage over his competitors, in that he always had on hand a great variety of beasts to select from. In the show that comes to Washington this week there is one group of sixteen animals for which there were over sixty candidates, so to speak. In other words about seventy-six lions, tigers, leopards. pumas, etc., were at least partially trained before sixteen were found that would live together in peace and harmony and do their master’s bidding. This group, pronounced one of the most remarkable ever placed on exhibition, is in the hands of Herman Boger, a young German, who has long been in the employ of the Hagenbeck establishment. It consists of one lion-tiger cross-breed, one Somali lion, one Cape lion, two male Bengal tigers, one small Korean female tiger, two female Indian leopards, two South American pumas, three polar bears and three German boar hounds. Fifty thousand dollars has been refused for this collection.

Killed Two in Self-Defense. Another of Hagenbeck’s proteges, John Dudak by name, appears in the arena with nine polar bears. There were originally twenty-four in this group, that number having been captured by an expedition to Spitzbergenland in 1897. Several died before they became acclimated. While Dudak has actually killed two in self-defense. One attacked him in Copenhagen and had to be destroyed, while another forced him to use a feeding fork in such lively fashion that it died of the injuries. Dudak came out of the fray unscathed and proudly asserts that the only scars he has were received while at play with the bears. Charles Judge Alaska, a trainer well known in European capitals, has the seals and sea lions. These are nine in number and contribute a most astonishing specialty. Alaska also has a fine specimen of the Siberian sheep dog, a variety seldom seen in this country.

“Clown” Shubert has devoted himself” for many years to the education of goats, and facetiously calls his pets the “goat congress of all nations.” As a matter of fact, they are of the Cashmere and Swiss mountain types. Vasile Popescu, a Roumanian, who has had more thrilling experiences and narrow escapes than his fellow-trainers, has, at the suggestion of Mr. Hagenbeck, taught two Sumatra tigers to do equestrian feats with a Ceylon elephant. Despite the fact that they are the sworn enemies of the jungle, the three get along very amiably together. If there is any disagreement it usually involves Popescu.

Plenty of Aspirants. Animals, like human beings, have their off days, and it is then that the trainer must be on his guard. Mr. Hagenbeck says that anybody can become a lion tamer or a tiger tamer if he has the nerve, the tact, the perseverance, and the judgment. Like parachute jumping and other extremely dangerous occupations, there are always plenty of persons anxious to try their hand at animal training. But few, for very obvious reasons, accomplish much. Mr. Hagenbeck’s second American tour began in New York three months ago. During this season and next the show will be kept on the road, after which it will be installed inside the grounds at the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1904.

HALF LION, HALF TIGER. The Coffeyville Record, Kansas, 10th January 1903, page 4
A Curious Hybrid Beast Bred by the Great Animal Trainer, Carl Hagenbeck.
One of the most interesting features of the exhibition of trained animals at the zoo is the strange-looking beast which forms the center of all the pyramids and positions into which the animals are formed on the stage, and is accorded the place of honor on all occasions. This is nothing more than might be expected when it is known that this is the only hybrid of its kind in the world, says the Cincinnati Enquirer of recent date. The father of this strange animal was a lion and the mother a tigress, both of whom have been in the possession of Hagenbeck from the time that they were cubs, having been born in the Hamburg collection. These two cubs, the one a lion and the other a tiger, were caged together from infancy, and were not allowed to even see other animals of either the lion or the tiger kind.

The hybrid now at the zoo partakes of the appearance and the characteristics of both a lion and a tiger. It has a lion’s mane and a tiger’s sharp ears, while its face is more like a lion than it is like a tiger. On its sides the heavy hair is striped like that of a tiger, and its body from the forelegs back is more like that of a tiger than of a lion. In characteristics it is rather more gentle than some lions and certainly was found to be more easily trained than many tigers. It was found, however, to be somewhat whimsical under the trainer’s hands, and for a long time it was feared that it was going to be a most treacherous beast. Herr Boger, however, succeeded in bringing the animal around until it is now one of the brightest and most docile in the lot.

There are a great many people who do not believe, when first told, that such a thing as a cross between a lion and a tiger is possible. A single look, however, at the animal in the zoo will be convincing evidence that such a step aside in nature is possible, and in this case has been realized. The value of the cross is the better appreciated when it is known that it is the only one now living out of 11 that were born at different times. This one has been exhibited in the group of which it is a member for a few years. Prince, for that is his name, is only five years old, but he has attracted more attention than almost any other animal that ever came into the world. He has been exhibited before the emperor of Germany, the czar of Russia, the queen of England (who was then the princess of Wales), the king of Saxony and many other potentates and nobles of Europe.

Herr Boger, the trainer, said that while in England with the group Prince was everywhere greeted with the greatest curiosity. Herr Boger was asked if he had ever been seen by the king of England. “No,” replied he. “While we were in England the king, then the prince of Wales, was not a spectator of the exhibition, the excuse being made that he was ‘too busy.’ Prince was a hard animal to train,” said Boger. “Sometimes I was afraid that he would never be brought to his right senses. I kept at him, going over his lessons carefully and repeatedly, and finally he came around all right, until now he is one of the best and easiest managed of all. Mr. Hagenbeck thinks a great deal of this animal. He has done a good deal of animal breeding, and is prouder of this one than of anything else that he has When the animal was finally trained to do his part in the show Mr. Hagenbeck expressed great satisfaction. He is a wonderful animal and no value could be placed on him when it comes to measuring his worth by money.

“Just think of it! An animal that is different from anything else in the whole world. Neither a lion nor a tiger and yet like both. You can't blame Hagenbeck for liking him.” And Herr Boger reached through the bars of the cage and rubbed the shaggy mane and head of Prince as he lay stretched out on the floor.

FORFEITS COLLATERAL. Evening Star, Washington DC, 12th January 1903, Page 16
Collateral amounting to $10 was forfeited in the Police Court this morning on a charge of cruelty to animals, in the name of Carl Hagenbeck, who exhibited an animal show at one of the local theaters last week. The warrant was issued from the Police Court Saturday morning on complaint of Agent J. R. Rabbitt of the Humane Society, who reported that a certain pig used in the performance was cruelly used and ill-treated while in a lame condition Thursday and Friday last.

THE METHODS USED IN TRAINING WILD BEASTS. The Springville Independent, Utah, 15th January 1903, page 3
There is no disputing the fact that the training of wild beasts has developed into a science, and no man has given the subject such serious consideration as Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, the world-famous animal dealer of Hamburg, Germany. While in that city, recently, the writer called at his interesting animal emporium, for it is nothing else, and sought to discover the methods adopted at this unique training establishment. At the time of the writer’s visit, a group Of twelve seals were undergoing stage tuition in a large cage, in the open ground, while in another a tiger was being taught to ride an elephant. The seals were being taught their tricks by an Englishman, and the writer was assured that they had made excellent progress during the seven months they had been under instruction. One of the larger ones, which the trainer affectionately patted on the head every now and again, could already take a small ball in his mouth, bounce it on the floor, catch it on his nose, and waddle with it, balanced in the air, onto his perch. In the other cage, which was under cover, the tiger displayed no small amount of intelligence, and seemed to perfectly understand what was wanted of him. If anything, the elephant was the more nervous of the two.

During the last thirty years Mr. Hagenbeck said he had trained over seven hundred large animals; such as lions, tigers, bears and elephants, while most of the lion-tamers of Europe and America have passed through his hands. His methods are unique; he believes in individual training, and to him a new lion is a beast endowed with distinct characteristics, and therefore demands separate study and attention. Said Mr. Hagenbeck:

“The first group of various wild animals which I succeeded in training to perform in the arena together, after many weary months, was exhibited at the Crystal Palace, London, in 1891. Their performances caused a sensation at the time, and thousands came daily to see them. After a few months the animals became very sick, so I took them back to Hamburg. Within six weeks after my return they all died. I found it extremely difficult to get good meat on which to feed them while in London. Such animals as lions and tigers like meat soon after the bullock or sheep is slaughtered. I soon got another group ready, however, which I took over to Chicago to the World’s Fair, and they proved a great success. I have been busy lately making very extensive arrangements for exhibiting my trained animals in America. These will travel all over America, performing at all the principal cities, and I am sure they will excite no little interest.”

The most interesting of these groups. probably, is that made up of two large Nubian lions, one large cross-breed of a lion and a tiger - an entirely new and decidedly interesting beast - three Bengal tigers, two large Indian leopards, two South American pumas, two large polar bears, and four boarhounds. Incredible as it may sound, Mr. Hagenbeck assured the writer it took four years to train this one set of animals. Although the group is made up of only sixteen beasts, over sixty were purchased and partially trained before the desired number was obtained. The others were useless from a performing point of view. This is where Mr. Hagenbeck scores over his competitors. Being a dealer in wild animals, as well as a trainer, those beasts that are unfit for the stage are sold to zoological gardens and menageries.

A wild adult animal is of no use whatever to the trainer, but a young forest-bred beast can be trained as well as those born in captivity. So well are the animals in the group mentioned above trained that they will come out into the arena, one at a time. at the crack of the whip, and take up their positions on the stools or pyramids. According to Mr. Hagenbeck, anyone may become a wild beast trainer. provided he is prepared to give the necessary time, and is endowed with patience, tact, and good judgment. He must have a love for animals and never treat them harshly. The great worry in getting mixed groups together is to get the beasts to agree. If an animal is not liked by its fellows, another one must be secured. Keeping it would only mean continual fighting, and it is often necessary during the early stages of the training to keep men in the cages all night to prevent the beasts from quarrelling.

It is interesting here to note that $50,000 has frequently been refused for these groups of trained beasts. Mr. Hagenbeck told the writer that they often cost him that to get together and train. A tiger for instance, valued at say $500, would be worth ten times that amount after a couple of years of training. Curiously enough, Mr. Hagenbeck does not look to receive a large profit from the training side of his business, but rather regards it as a good advertising medium. His principal income is derived from the selling of all kinds of rare and wild animals to public zoos, menageries and private parks. For this purpose he keeps a large stock of animals on hand.

At the time of the writer’s visit he had the following animals in his depot: Sixteen lions, eight Bengal tigers, seventeen pumas, black panthers and jaguars, twenty-one bears, hyenas and wolves, eleven elephants, eighteen wild pigs of different sorts, twenty-seven camels, six dromedaries, eight various llamas, six zebras, three wild asses, four Mongolian wild horses, eight American bison-buffalo, eighteen yaks and various antelopes, thirty-three deer of different varieties, nine various wild sheep and goats, twelve ostriches, sixty-one cranes and storks, one hundred and seventy-two swan, geese and ducks, lots of monkeys, reptiles, pheasants. vultures, eagles and different varieties of small animals.

Mr. Hagenbeck has won considerable fame as an animal importer, and now claims the distinction of being the largest dealer in wild animals and curious beasts in the world. He has made some decided hits at different times in securing specimens of the rarer animals. Thirty years ago he obtained an African rhinoceros for the London Zoological Society, which was the first rhinoceros seen in Europe since the days of the Roman Amphitheatre. Seven years ago he imported a Siberian tiger, and four years ago a Persian tiger. Four years ago, too, he landed in Hamburg two lions from Balkash Lake, in central Siberia, and a couple of tigers from Russia Turkestan. These beasts created quite a sensation in zoological circles, as they were the first species of their kind ever seen in Europe. A year ago his depot was enriched by a stud of twenty-eight wild horses from Mongolia. They were caught, as foals, in a district some twelve days’ march beyond Pekin, and after much trouble shipped to Hamburg, at a cost, all told, of over $25,000. They were quickly snatched up by the leading zoos, many of them being sold at $2,500 apiece. - Harold J. Shepstone, in Scientific American.

THE HAGENBECKS AND THEIR AINIMALS. The Minneapolis Journal, 23rd January 1904, page 9
Carl Hagenbeck, whose show comes to the Bijou to-morrow, has been handling wild animals for forty years. Before him the elder Hagenbeck, affectionately called ‘‘Unser Carl,” was a dealer and supplied the big zoos of Europe, with their rarest specimens. The third Carl Hagenbeck, now a man of 35, is prepared to assume the management of a business that shows an annual profit of a half a million dollars. In Hamburg, where the principal depot is located, they sell snakes by the foot and elephants by the inch. Twice a year a big catalog is issued in four or five languages, describing the goods on hand and calling attention to certain bargains in monkeys, job lots of camels or a few ostriches that have become shop worn in stock. Carl Hagenbeck III is the chief clerk in this animal emporium. In this country the house has one traveling man, Lee Williams by name, and the show that comes- o Minneapolis serves as his sample case. me o

Some sixty odd years ago, “Unser Carl” Hagenbeck was a fish monger in Hamburg. One day a whaling vessel just down from the North sea brought a healthy young polar bear,- consigned as a present to a young nobleman of the town. The nobleman was anything but delighted with the present. He was decent enough to keep the animal until after the whaler had left, Hagenbeck in the meantime supplying the fish that the bear ate. This fish bill soon came to an appalling figure and finally the nobleman gave Hagenbeck the bear to offset the obligation. Bruin was comfortably housed in the fish monger’s shop and every Sunday great crowds came to see him. The Germans called him the “ice bear’’ and marveled at his great white coat and wonderful capacity for fish. Later on Hagenbeck bought two sea lions and a monkey. Then he began charging an admission price. Little by little the zoological exhibit crowded out the fish stalls and Hagenbeck, much against the advice of his wife and neighbors, became an animal dealer. In the summer he formed a small caravan and exhibited at villages. The sailors, learning that Hamburg was a good market for all kinds of animals, brought specimens from every clime. It was not long before lions and tigers and finally an elephant found their way into the odd fish store.

The business of training animals was more or less of a side issue, tried at first more for amusement, and then simply to advertise the Hagenbeck name. But that, too, became profitable, and is now an important feature. The hundreds of specimens received in Hamburg gave the trainers unrivaled facilities. Only the best forest-bred animals were selected for this work. The more vicious beasts were rejected and the groups formed of animals that showed the best temper and the quickest intelligence, illustrative of this process of selection it is said that there is one group in the Hagenbeck show consisting of sixteen lions, tigers, leopards, pumas, bears, etc., for which over seventy-five animals were at least partially trained before the proper number was found that would live together in peace and harmony.

ENRAGED ELEPHANT ATTACKS KEEPER. The Saint Paul Globe, 25th January 1904, page 2
While Suffering From Frozen Ears She Inflicts Injuries That May Prove Fatal.
Crazed with pain from frozen ears, Pezitta, the pet elephant of the Hagenbeck show, turned upon her Keeper yesterday morning and inflicted wounds from which the man may die. Several broken ribs and one lung punctured are the extent of the injuries received by the keeper, Conrad Kastens, and it is thought the injuries will prove fatal. Kastens is being cared for at St. Joseph's hospital.

The Hagenbeck show closed a week's engagement at the Grand Saturday night, and early yesterday morning the animals were taken to the Milwaukee freight yards to be transported to Minneapolis. Kastens, who has been an elephant keeper thirteen years, took the greatest precaution to prepare the elephant for the cold trip to the depot. Three blankets and a tarpaulin were placed about the animal's body, and improvised shoes were put on her feet. Shortly after 5 o’clock yesterday morning, with the thermometer 33 degrees below zero [Fahrenheit], Kastens started for the train with the elephant. Before the freight yards were reached the elephant’s ears were frozen, and the animal became ugly. When the car was reached the animal rebelled and refused to step on the gangway leading to the car door. Kastens, who has always had control over her, became angered and prodded her with a sharp hook. No sooner had he done so than the elephant, with a roar which could be heard tor blocks, turned upon the keeper and encircled him with her trunk. Lifting Kastens above her head, she threw the body to the ground and stepped upon it, crushing the ribs.

Employes of the show ran to the rescue and drove the infuriated elephant away. Then began trouble which lasted for twelve hours. The maddened beast, suffering from the cold, ran amuck in the freight yards, and the half hundred people who were watching the loading of the animals fled to places of safety. Kastens was placed in a hack [hackney cab] and taken to the hospital. He was found to be seriously injured. and doubts were expressed as to his recovery.

After much trouble, during which Pezitta had things mostly her own way, the elephant was driven into the Milwaukee freight house. For several hours all attempts to get the animal out of the warm room were in vain, and more than once the little animal, smarting under the sting of frozen ears, made the onlookers and show employes run for places out of her reach. The other animals were taken to Minneapolis, and Pezitta was left behind. Shortly after noon she became more docile, and was loaded into a stock car and carried to Minneapolis by a special engine. Upon arriving there she was securely chained and every means was employed to ease the pain caused by the frozen ears.

Pezitta was not the only member of the animal show to suffer from the intense cold which prevailed in St. Paul yesterday morning. An educated cockatoo, one of the most expensive birds in the show, froze to death, and a number of employes had their ears and hands frozen while taking the animals to the train. The polar bears alone seemed not to mind the weather.

Kastens, the injured keeper, is forty-six years old, and has been in the animal training business thirteen years. He is a native of Germany, and his wife travels with him. The elephant, which is called a “baby,” weighs 3,800 pounds.

ANIMALS THAT ARE NOT EVEN NAMED. Star Tribune, Minneapolis, 28th January 1904, page 11
That entirely new species of animals may be created, is demonstrated by the latest achievement of the world's greatest animal hunter, Carl Hagenbeck, whose wonderful! trained wild animal show is at the Bijou this week. After a lifetime of study he has brought into existence a monster creature that has no place in the natural history, yet is the offspring of a Senegal lion and a Bengal tigress. On his animal ranch, near Hamburg, Germany, Hagenbeck for some time past has been devoting himself to the creating of new species of animals and birds. He has secured an entirely new breed of pheasants by crossing pheasants from Central Asia with European birds. He has obtained new varieties of deer and mules, and wonderful crosses between the horse and zebra.

A strange creature, the offspring of a leopard and puma, is now in the Berlin zoological garden, but of all these, the nameless monster now in his gardens at Stellingen is the most wonderful. From the time Hagenbeck began hunttng wild animals in India and Africa he wondered what sort of a beast of the two fiercest animals on earth would produce if they could be made to breed together. In order to try the experiment several years ago he secured a splendid specimen of the Senegal lion and a monster Bengal tigress. Eventually the monster, which is with the Hagenbeck trained animal show, was born. It is now larger than either the tiger or lion, and does not seem to have reached its full growth. From the nose to the tip of the tail, the lion-tiger measures ten feet two inches, which is a greater length than that of the full grown lion. When it stands on its fours its height to the shoulders is four feet. Its weight is 467 pounds. The body of the animal shows the stripes of the tiger, but its head is that of a huge lion, except that it has no mane. Yet in the face of its mammoth proportions and fierce aspect, the disposition and animal instincts of the beast are more like those of a dog then of either of the two fierce wild animals of which it is the offspring. Even to other animals it shows a remarkable mild nature. It possesses a great fondness for human companionship, and takes greater delight in being fondled and made much of than is characteristic of wild animals in general. But this is only one, perhaps the greatest of the marvels which the famous naturalist had brought about.

His gardens at Stellingen are now filled with birds and beasts which are the only ones of their kind in the world, and that these creatures themselves will shortly breed new and altogether unknown species of the animal kingdom is Hagenbeck's conclusion. It is his desire that the progeny of these hybrid parents shall continue to preserve their types as distinctly as is the case throughout numerous classes of animal species, and it is his prediction that in some way or other they will all ultimately be put to the use of man. Probably the furthest developed of the new species of animals he is creating is the cross between the zebra and the horse. A number of there are at his depot in Hamburg, and it is not an un- common sight to see him taking a drive behind two of these strange “horses.” The characteristic of these animals is that they possess the zebra’s body and a horse’s head and are as large as mules. The aim has been to obtain a stronger and better blood than that possessed by the existing equine breeds. At present Hagenbeck has six zebra-horses broken to harness. He has found them possessed of greater endurance and strength than horses of their weight, and seemingly possessed of greater intelligence.

HAGENBECK ARRIVES. The Daily Advocate, Illinois, 12th February 1904, page 2
Heinrich Hagenbeck has arrived from Hamburg, Germany, with the details of the immense trained wild annual exhibition to be given on The Pike at the World’s Fair. The exhibition possesses an entirely new feature in that the principal arena will have no barriers between the spectators and the beasts. Animals of all climes will roam at large on a sloping panorama of mountains and valleys, lakes and waterfalls. By a patent invisible device the absolute safety of the spectators is assured. No bars will mar the wild natural beauty of the scene. The animal kingdom will roam unrestrained in the surroundings known to them before their captivity. This arena will cover 300 x 300 feet. The most distant points will be carried to heights almost equalling the Tyrolean Alps. Beasts that Inhabit the mountainous parts of the arena may be seen from the Pike.

The Hagenbeck Zoo Circus and Panorama will be located at the intersection of the Pike and Hamilton avenue. It will have a frontage of 353 feet on The Pike by about 460 feet along the Hamilton avenue extension. An arcaded roof garden will surround the entire frontage. Golden hoops suspended from each arc of the arcade will hold macaws, parrots and other species of trained talking birds at perfect liberty. Open cages of a complete collection of the monkey tribes, 100 macaws, Amazon parrots, penantes [roselas], paraquets and other birds will be exposed along The Pike, where the passing throng may enjoy their antics. In addition to the open-air arena, a large covered auditorium is provided for the stage performances of the Hagenbeck trained animals, and 3000 spectators may be accommodated. The stage will be a circular caged performing arena extending into the auditorium far beyond the proscenium arch. Encircling the seats at the rear and extending from the boxes on one side to those on the opposite side a broad foyer or promenade will enable the audience to inspect dens of beasts sunk beneath the rising seats and fronting on the promenade.

The animals will be worked on the stage in relays, so that during the continuous performance, lasting from 9:30 a. m. until 10:30 p.m. the same animals will not be twice shown and but few of the acts repeated. Animals roaming in the open-air arena can be conducted to the stage or from the cages to the stage through a labyrinth of corridors. Extending around almost the entire open-air arena and the enclosed auditorium, an animal drive or riding track will be constructed, where visitors may ride elephants, dromedaries and camels, or drive teams of ostriches, zebra tandems, fat-tail sheep, sheep antelopes, and hybrids produced from the horse and zebra, the zebra and donkey, and the trotting horse and the zebra. This new animal is known as the zebrule.

The Hagenbeck exhibition will include more than. 1500 animals, representing all the available species of the animal kingdom, and in its completeness and variety will undoubtedly be the greatest collection over displayed.

HUGE HERD OF WILD BEASTS. The Cincinnati Post, 29th Feb 1904, page 3
Lee Williams Has Arranged for Transportation of Immense Cargo of Animals for St. Louis Exposition.
After 20 months’ absence from Cincinnati, Lee Williams, former Secretary of the Zoo, stopped over Saturday for a few hours’ conference with John Havlin, while on his way from Hamburg, Germany, to St. Louis, to arrange for the reception of what he declares is the mightiest herd of wild animals that ever visited America. Williams, Havlin, Carl Hagenbeck, the millionaire animal collector, and Samuel Tate, of St. Louis, are the incorporators of the Carl Hagenbeck Animal Company, which proposes to have nearly 700 animals at the St. Louis World's Fair. Of these 535 are to arrive at New York City, April 15, on the steamer Graf Waldersee, and the remainder are now touring this country with the Hagenbeck Animal Show. Williams estimates the value of the Graf Waldersee’s proposed animal cargo at $500,000.

“We have already two giraffes worth $6000 each,’’ says Williams, “and we expect two more from the Egyptian Sudan. We also have the largest specimen of the monkey tribe ever seen in America. Our prize in this line is a fierce mandrill from South Africa. I stood alongside this fellow, and he is taller than I am with my hat on. We got him while the Berlin Zoo was dickering for him, and when they woke up he had been shipped to us at Hamburg. We have a herd of nine trained elephants from the sawmills at Rangoon, where they stack and haul lumber. These will form part of our Singalese village, and will be in charge of a band of Singalese natives. The hybrid of the lion and tiger, with the contour and face of the lioness and the stripes of the tiger; the hybrid of black panther and tiger, and the zebola, or hybrid of the horse or ass and zebra, is also included in our collection. We would have to pay $190,000 duty on our animal army if it were not for the World’s Fair, and on this ground the animals get into this country duty free for one year.”

BEASTS OF JUNGLE SUBDUED. Realistic Show Is to Be Given at St. Louis This Summer.
Imagine meeting a lion or Bengal tiger face to face, without so much as a mosquito netting between yourself and these man-killers! It is something to send the thrills along the spine and make the hair stand on end with apprehension. You will have this experience at the World’s Fair. The ingenious feat is accomplished on the Pike, in the largest assemblage of beasts ever presented for the close study of man. Before the startled gaze of the timid person the elephant is seen grazing beside the panther, still hunting for his prey; the gentle deer lifts his noble head to sniff at the passing wolf. Peace reigns over the animal paradise. With absolutely no screen separating even little children from this unusual picture, the great mimic jungle land rises in primitive beauty across various zones of vegetable life to snowy peaks of highest altitude and glaciers of the frozen north. It is a vision every one has dreamed while the story-book years possessed their charm for the young imagination. The eye runs from the fleecy lamb to the ferocious lion, and the parable seems fulfilled. The daring of Carl Hagenbeck of Hamburg, Germany, has for the first time in the world established intimate relationship between the highest and the lowest type of animate life, with perfect safety to humankind. His barbaric spectacle has a scientific place in the wonders of the greatest exposition.

Tracing backward the evolution of the human race, as it has been done in the rare ethnological and anthropological display of living peoples at the exposition, the chain is again taken up by the tremendous wild animal show and followed through these lower orders of life to the invertebrates. When the visitor enters the immense arena in which 800 animals of all species are exhibited at large, his nerves may be shaken at first glance at the apparent danger. A tiger hesitates at 100 feet from him and licks his chops as the cruel eyes feast upon the intruders. A sensation of fear is hardly lessened by the knowledge that an invisible device extending across and concealed by the ground of the panorama makes the visitor immune. Beginning at your very feet natural scenery stretches away in gentle undulations, across wide meadow lands, covered with real grass and growing shrubs, over wilder belts of jungle, into treeless tracts of loftier altitudes, ending in high mountain ranges hundreds of feet distant. As the topography of the panorama recedes, cud-chewing and bug-eating animals and fowls move in the foreground; beyond, the razor-toothed families of the tropical and torrid climes appear in their natural environment. In the rocky uplands furry monsters climb and swing from tree to tree, and where more distant icebergs glisten the heavier coated kind roam at perfect liberty. Polar bears, arctic brown bears, sea lions, seals, cormorants, diving birds and all other winged varieties enter into the animal life of the frigid zone. The tropical section contains lions, tigers, leopards, hyenas, pumas, jaguars, brown bears, Tibette black bears, boar hounds and other species. In the immediate foreground are giraffes, elephants, zebras, dromedaries, camels, hybrids of the zebra and domestic horse, dwarf donkeys, shetland ponies, llamas, alpacas, guanacos, vicunas, ducks, swans, geese of all countries, flamingoes, cranes of all kinds, black and white storks, marabus, white pea fowl, guinea fowl, different sorts of pheasants, cocks, ostriches, casuaries, emus, rheas, black bock, antelope, fallow deer of all colors, rock kangaroos, giant kangaroos, fat-tailed sheep, African goats and other animals. The giants of various species are exhibited, including giant reptiles weighing 180 to 225 pounds, giant tortoises weighing 350 pounds and measuring five to gix feet across the shells, giant lizards seven feet long, giant salamanders and giant monkeys.

The cunning hand of the animal trainer has provided the most curious mount in the world for children. A bridle and bit fastened in the mouths of the giant tortoise, makes him an obedient animal under the guiding fingers of a child seated on his monster shell. These strangest of all rides are frequently enjoyed by the grandchildren of Carl Hagenback on the spacious lawn in front of his residence at Hamburg. Although as slow as the tortoise of Aesop’s fables in running his race, the unwieldy animal is sure-footed enough to make this childish pleasure without danger to the merest baby. Losing the saddle from the back of a tortoise is nothing more than a sprawl from a height that cannot injure the innocent rider. Mr. Hagenback has brought some of his famous riding turtles to the World’s Fair.

A forest full of talking birds swinging at perfect liberty on golden hooks above the heads of those who promenade the entire length of 700 feet around the arcaded roof garden at the animal show, is a diversion recalling the barbaric splendor of the ancient East. One hundred parrots, macaws and cockatoos are suspended after this ingenious fashion under each arch of the garden. Their shrill jabber and brilliant plumage will make one of the rarest scenes at the Universal Exposition. In open dens fronting on the Pike, outside of the Snow enclosure, the lively chatter of 200 monkeys and the screams of parakeets, rose cuckatoos [sic], yellow crested, white crested and nose [sic] cockatoos, macaws, Amazon parrots, penantes, rozella and blue mountain cockills, assure a chorus of sounds seldom heard outside the domain. of Brazilian forests of an African jungle.

A new chapter in natural history has been opened by the recent experiments of Hagenbeck in the production of hybrid animals and in this sphere of the show marvelous possibilities are suggested to the breeder of animal life. The hybrid offsprings of the lion and tiger are exhibited with their parents of the pure species. These cubs of strained pedigree have reached the age of three and four years without betraying that the man-created species is inferior to those classified by the natural law. Perhaps the most interesting results of this scientific experimentation are the results achieved by the commingling of the zebra with the shetland pony, the domesticated horse of burden and the finer trotting animal. A great array of these new animals are exhibited. Encircling the natural panorama and a theater for the performance of trained beasts is a riding track where the visitors may enjoy the sensation of driving elephants, camels, dromedaries, llamas, ostriches, and the horse-zebra or zebrule. Zebra tandems or the same style of driving with fat-tailed sheep and antelopes afford amusing scenes. In the great theater, seating 5,0000 persons, a continuous performance will be given daily, beginning at 9:30 a, m. and lasting until 10:30 p. m., without repeating any of ¢he features. A caged circular arena filling the entire proscenium arch of. the theater separates the beasts from the orchestra floor, sloping backward to the semi-circular rear of the auditorium. At the back the seats rise higher than a. foyer following the curving wall of the theater. Sunk beneath the seats and. facing the foyer along its entire swing around the orchestra circle, will be dens of beasts. Catacombs leading from these: dens to the stage and from the open air, panorama to the stage, permits the safe transferal of the animals to the performing arena. The entire wild animal. show covers an area of 400 by 400 feet.


To please the children who will visit the World’s Fair Carl Hagenbeck, the noted wild-animal trainer of Hamburg, Germany, will provide a giant tortoise. With bridle and bit, the tortoise is as docile as a well-trained horse. Instead of a saddle the children will ride on the hard shell of the monster, guiding it about at pleasure. While slow. the big turtle is sure-footed, and even if unhorsed by a balky tortoise, there is little danger to a child who may fall from its back. Mr. Hagenbeck has brought some of his riding turtles to the World's Fair, and has placed them with his other animals in his menagerie on the Pike.

Aside from the riding turtles, there are many other interesting and perhaps startling features in the Hagenbeck exhibit of wild animal life. Meeting wild beasts face to face is not a pleasurable experience, but thousands of visitors will have the opportunity to study ferocious animals at close range, without the protection of the large iron bars that ordinarily separate man and beast at a circus. There will be a great mimic jungleland, where wild beasts of all kinds will roam at will in an animal Eden. Neither bar nor screen will separate visitors from beasts, birds and reptiles. An invisible device extending across and concealed by the ground of the panorama will restrain the beasts. The menagerie will be a reproduction of the five zones of vegetable and animal life - from the Arctic to the Antarctic.

When the visitor enters the great arena in which 800 animals of all species are exhibited at large, he may be nervous, but this sense of fear will pass away when he knows that he is safe. Natural scenery stretches away in gentle undulations, across wide meadow lands, covered with real grass and growing shrubs, over wilder belts of jangle, into treeless tracks higher up, ending in mountain ranges. The five zones will be pictured with the vegetable end animal life Indigenous to them. In the foreground there will be cud-chewing and bug-eating animals and fowls; beyond, the razor-toothed families of the tropical and torrid climes appear in their natural environment; while in the rocky uplands furry beasts will be seen. In the frigid zone there will be polar bears, Arctic brown bears, sea lions, seals, cormorants, diving birds and all other winged varieties. The tropical section will contain lions, tigers, pumas, leopards, hyenas, jaguars, brown bears, Tibet black bears, boar hounds and other species. In the temperate zone will be seen giraffes, elephants, zebras, dromedaries, camels, hybrids of the zebra and the domestic horse, dwarf monkeys, shetland ponies, llamas, alpacas, guanacos, vicunas, ducks, swans, geese of all countries, fiamingoes, cranes of all kinds, black and white storks, marabus, white pea fowl, guinea fowl, pheasants and many others.

The giants of various species will be exhibited, including reptiles, weighing -from 180 to 225 pounds, like boa constrictors; giant tortoises from five to six feet across the shells; lizards seven feet long, giant salamanders and monkeys. A forest of talking birds, swinging at liberty on golden hooks above the heads of those that promenade the entire length of 700 feet around the arcade roof garden at the animal show, is a diversion recalling the barbaric splendor of the ancient East. One hundred parrots, macaws and cockatoos are suspended after this ingenious fashion under each arch of the garden. Their shrill jabber and brilliant plumage will make one of the rarest scenes at the Exposition. In open dens fronting on the Pike, outside the show enclosure, the lively chatter of 20 monkeys and the screams of many parrakeets, rose cockatoos, yellow crested, white crested and rose cockatoos, macaws, Amazon parrots, penantes, rozelia and blue mountain cockills, will make a chorus of sounds seldom heard outside the domain of Brazilian forests or an African jungle.

A new chapter in natural history has been opened by the recent experiments of Hagenbeck in the production of hybrid animals. In this sphere of the show many possibilities are suggested to the breeder of animal life. The hybrid offsprings of the lion and tiger are exhibited with their parents of the pure species. These cubs of strained pedigree have reached the age of 3 and 4 years without betraying that the man-created species is inferior to those classified by the natural law. Perhaps the most interesting results of this scientific experimentation are the results achieved by the commingling of the zebra with the shetland pony, the domesticated horse of burden and the finer trotting animal A great array of these new animals are exhibited.

Encircling the natural panorama and forming an arena for the performance of trained beasts is a riding track, where the visitor may enjoy the sensation of driving elephants, camels, dromedaries, llamas, ostriches, and the horse-zebra, or zebrule, zebra tandems or the same style of driving with fat-tailed sheep and antelopes will afford amusing scenes. In the theater, seating 3,000 persons, a continuous performance will be given daily, beginning at 9:30 a m. and lasting until 10:30 p. m., without repeating any of the features. A caged, circular arena, filling the entire proscenium arch of the theater, separates the beasts from the orchestra floor, sloping backward to the semi-circular rear of the auditorium. At the back the seats rise higher than a foyer following the curving wall of the theater. Sunk beneath the seats and facing the foyer along its entire swing around the orchestra circle will be dens of beasts. Tunnels leading from these dens to the stage and from the open-air panorama to the stage, permit the safe transfer of the animals to the performing arena. The entire wild animal show covers an area of 400 by 400 feet.

HAGENBECK HAS SURPRISE. The Coffeyville Daily Journal, Kansas, 4th April 1904, page 1
Will Have Wonderful Collection of Animals at St. Louis.
Hamburg, Germany, April 4.–Carl Hagenbeck, the famous Hamburg dealer in wild beasts, intends to make a sensation at the St. Louis exposition. He has chartered the steamship Bethania to cross the Atlantic with the pick of his collection, both tame and wild. Fifty elephants of the largest size will leave Hamburg, including two “lady” elephants, who hope to present the world with babies before the doors of the exposition open. Hagenbeck cannot tell how many lions, tigers, panthers and leopards he shall take across, but there will be hundreds at any rate. Two of the panthers are snow white. Twenty of the choicest camels and dromedaries will go over.

Lorenz Hagenbeck, youngest son of Carl Hagenbeck, the “Animal King,” who has been appointed by his father representative of the Hagenbecks in America, with headquarters in New York City, has known a career in the jungles of South Africa and India that few men of his immature years may boast. Mr. Hagenbeck has been a resident of St. Louis during the season of the Hagenbeck Trained Wild Animal Show at the World’s Fair. Few of the thousands of persons who have been thrilled or amused by this greatest assembly of the brute creation have ever suspected that the youth who directed the capture of many of these beasts often has stood at their elbows as they commented upon the prowess of captors and trainers.

Lorenz Hagenbeck is only 23 years old, but he is already a mighty hunter, unknown to the world. He is almost diffidently modest. It is seldom that he can be induced to relate his personal exploits in the capture of wild animals. Yet he will tell by the hour of the peculiar methods used by his father’s many expeditions to ensnare the most savage beasts and the feats of some of the hunters during these hazardous quests. The giant blue-nose mandrill of the Hagenbeck collection is a living trophy of young Mr. Hagenbeck’s prowess the chase. All of the young elephants in the show were taken wild in the Indian jungles by native hunters, acting under his personal directions. Mr. Hagenbeck rode on the backs of these pachyderms for hundreds of miles across the wastes and forded the Ganges with the animals. That is the manner in which the great Hagenbeck secures his beasts.

When the elder Hagenbeck shall have passed away, the sons, Heinrich and Lorenz, will succeed to the greatest animal-collecting business In the world. The young men have been learning both branches of the strange calling. Heinrich will remain at the head of affairs in Hamburg. Lorenz will have charge of the operations in the wilds of many countries. Lorenz Hagenbeck is an expert woodcraftsman. His intuition in the matter of animal “signs” and “trails” is a remarkable gift. He loves the work. That, perhaps, accounts for his keen proficiency which has not only led him unerringly to the bagging of big game, but has often saved his life in perilous moments when kings of the jungle have turned at bay. Trapping tigers and lions is rare sport to a person of the temperament of young Mr. Hagenbeck, but the taking of a blue-nose mandrill is a fearful strain on the courage of the bravest man.

CARL HAGENBECK VS. THE METHODS EMPLOYED BY CIRCUS TRUSTS. Oklahoma State Register, 20th September 1906
Carl Hagenbeck first came into prominence in America in 1893 at the Chicago World's Fair, where his trained wild beast exhibition made a natural reputation. As the descendant of generations of wild animal dealers and, trainers, he alone to-day produces the world famous trained wild beast acts. The success won at Chicago was again, duplicated at the World’s Fair at St. Louis in 1904, where on the Pike of the latter exposition, he entertained over 2,000,000 visitors with examples of the marvelous control of human brains, over brute strength.

In the fall of 1904 Carl Hagenbeck shipped from Germany the nucleus of a new giant circus. He associated himself with American capitalists and show men and has constructed and is now offering the greatest tented amusement enterprise in every way, in the world today. The success when immediately attended the efforts of the Hagenbeck Corporation were due to the fact that the show was constructed on a more up-to-date basis and with DIFFERENT, MORE NOVEL, and HIGHER EDUCATIONAL attractions than the American public has before seen. On a gigantic scale, in 5 rings, Carl Hagenbeck now presents a performance necessitating the employment of over 1100 persons, 500 horses, 700 performers and the biggest circus equipment ever constructed. The performance, whilst it includes, all the best aerial, acrobatic, equestrian, and other circus, acts, mainly depends upon its novel features of The INDIAN PERAGHERA of exposition, in which over 200 East Indian natives take part, and also on trained wild beast performances which absolutely cannot be duplicated.

The natural course of events following upon the wonderful success achieved by this new circus was, that the circus trust composed of 4 of the biggest circuses found their business depleted. The public appreciated the Hagenbeck performance and made comparisons. Sam Weller, when a boy, is credited with saying, ‘‘I would rather take a good licking than miss my breakfast.” The feeling of the juvenile Weller have been shared by the circus trust. The pocket book has been hurt; “the lickings” were immaterial as long as public patronage remained as good as ever. Failing in their attempts to belittle the Hagenbeck attractions, the circus trust, since the beginning of the present season, has organized, combined and schemed to prevent this new circus from being able to present their performance in the various cities of America. With the vast resources at their every turn, they have employed some or all of the following methods of shutting out the Hagenbeck shows.

1. To make exclusive railroad contracts where possible.
2. To endeavor to lease every show let in every town, whether they themselves show that town or not, and whether they use any one of the lots or not.
3. To “wedge in” the Hagenbeck shows between one or more of the trust shows.
4. To lease all advertising space possible in every city, town and rural districts, whether they were showing in that neighborlood or not.
5. To endeavor to cover Hagenbeck circus advertisements with trust ad vertisements.
6. Post their dates on Hagenbeck advertising space to confuse the public.
7. To state by their agents or authorized representatives that the Hagenbeck shows “were not coming.’’

AND THE CONSEQUENCES. Dear old P. T. Barnum once said, “You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all the time.” The American public of to-day is not slow to grasp the situation such as have developed in the circus fight. The public demands for the rights to conduct business of whatsoever nature, with an open conscience and with open and above board methods, are too strong to permit of the means employed by the circus trust not reacting upon itself. The Hagenbeck motto has been and is, “WE SHOW–TO LIVE; WE LIVE– TO SHOW.” In short the Hagenbeck attractions have shown the American public that there is a newcomer in the field, in a class by itself, superior in every way, and that is here to stay.

The victory has been with one big, independent circus. The press of New York, Philadelphia, Washington, Baltimore, Pittsburg, Buffalo, Cleveland, Detroit, Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, and in fact, every city of any size, has spoken in the highest terms of America’s new giant circus and have elevated it to a plane where it stands superior to any method of attack. The public has greeted it as the creation of a master mind and will welcome it again with open arms. The victory in the Southwest this fall must and will be for the CARL HAGENBECK GREATER SHOWS. The public will demand it and “superior goods are their own best advertisement.” Respectfully submitted on behalf of the CARL HAGENBECK GREATER SHOWS
By Sherman Denby.

CARL HAGENBECK DEAD. The Daily Ardmoreite, Oklahoma, 16th April 1913, page 2
Was Famous Wild Animal Collector - Died in Germany.
Hamburg, April 14.–Carl Hagenbeck, the animal collector and senior partner of the Handels Menagerie and Tierpark at Stellingen, near Hamburg, died today. Carl Hagenbeck was born in 1844. His father, who had commenced the animal business in 1848 with a few seals and a polar bear, brought to Hamburg by a whaler, transferred the business to him when he was 21 years old. In 1875 he began to exhibit a collection of the representative animals of many countries, accompanied by troops of natives, throughout Europe. The French government in 1891 awarded him the diploma of the academy. Several sovereigns bestowed decorations on him.

CARL HAGENBECK DEAD. GREATEST MENAGERIE OWNER IN THE WORLD. The Shepton Mallet Journal, City of Wells Reporter and County Advertiser, 18th April 1913.
The death of Carl Hagenbeck, the greatest menagerie proprietor of the world, and the man who has revolutionised the construction of the modern Zoological Garden, is announced from Hamburg. Hagenbeck, who was sixty-nine years of age, had arranged to present his great animal entertainment at Olympia next Christmas. He received last March the medal of the Royal Zoological Society in recognition of his life’s work, and his scheme of keeping animals in captivity has been to some extent adopted for Regent’s Park. The Sultan of Morocco and the Emperor of Japan have been amongst the customers of the Hagenbeck Animal Emporium, where white mice by the gross could be supplied with as much readiness as lions or elephants. Camels, guaranteed quiet to ride or drive, were included in the stock-in-trade. The climatic conditions under which the animals lived in their natural home were carefully studied, and Hagenbeck had his own theories, proved in practice time and again, of the best way to acclimatise the animals in captivity.

London had an opportunity of seeing something of the Hagenbeck animal entertainment in the Somali Village which he brough to the Crystal Palace in 1895, where he installed native of the district and the wild beasts in an interesting combination of human and animal life. In 1903, the scheme, long and closely thought out, of showing the world what could be done by way of a model oological garden, took shape, and in the pleasant suburb of Hamburg known as Stellingen, Hagenbeck laid out his Tierpark. Larger than the London Zoo, it was laid out so that the visitor might believe himself to be in the natural haunts of the animals, although all the time actually in absolute security. Concealed ditches divide the animals from the visitor, and they may be approached quite closely without danger. The place was stocked with eighty lions, tigers, and leopards; fifty different varieties of bears; seventy camels and dromedaries; 750 monkeys; and representatives of almost every other kind of animal life. Over 100 flamingoes in a big aviary formed an interesting feature.

HOW HAGENBECK BECAME THE WILD ANIMAL KING. Various, 20th April, 1913 (following his death on 14th April)
The Extraordinary Career of the Man Who, Starting as a Humble Fishmonger’s Boy, Became the Source of Supply for Zoos, Menageries and Circuses, and Whose Hunting Expeditions Scoured Every Corner of the Globe.
Fifty-five years ago a man who had been most of his life a fishmonger in Hamburg, but who had suddenly branched out, in a small way, as an exhibitor of wild animals, summoned his fourteen-year-old son and said to him: “Karl, the time has come for you to decide whether you will be a fishmonger or a dealer in wild beasts. I advise you to be a fishmonger. It is far less precarious. Which do you choose?”

“Wild beasts,” said Karl. The father acquiesced. Within a year the boy, not quite fifteen, was practically placed in charge of the collection which his father already had, and at once set out to increase it. When he died last Monday, nearly seventy years old, he was the most renowned animal collector and dealer in the universe. His name was Karl Hagenbeck.

When the cable announced his death it is safe to say that there was not a region, however remote, to which the daring hunters working for him had not penetrated, at the risk of their lives, to snare the animals of every known species with which their chief supplied zoological gardens, circuses and other institutions and individuals. Hagenbeck it was who stocked the great Barnum circus, and, with absolute impartiality, shipped scores of wild beasts to Barnum's rival, Forepaugh, when the two were locked in a great struggle for the circus supremacy of the New World. And when Bailey took over the Barnum interests, he continued the huge orders for animals from Hagenbeck at Hamburg - especially for elephants, of which the American has always been especially partial. Hagenbeck it was who kept the London Zoo and other famous zoos supplied with rare animals and won for himself a reputation for absolute honesty and fairness. Commenting on his first meeting with the great Hamburg collector, P. Chalmers Mitchell, Secretary of the Zoological Society of London. wrote recently:

‘Soon after I became Secretary of the Zoological Society of London, there called on me a tall, lean man, with a bony weather-beaten face, shaven lips and a short, grizzled beard of the kind known as a "chin-fringe". His shrewd and kindly face, slow speech with nasal intonations and general air of confident but watchful friendliness made the impression of an individuality very unlike the composite photograph I have in my mind of the Germans I know. But for the presence of a German accent and the absence of the tobacco habit, Carl Hagenbeck might pass for a New England ship captain. He is in the first place a business man with a strong spirit of adventure that must have led him into many losses, and as he has none the less built up a great and successful business, it must be supposed that he also knows how to make profits. But those who deal with him soon learn that they may rely implicitly on his directness and candour in arranging a purchase or sale, and on his scrupulous carefulness in carrying out his share of the bargain. He has been a notable pioneer in the handling of wild animals. He is an able man and sees that the crude methods do not pay; he is a naturalist with a genuine affection and sympathy for animals and in all his handling of them he sees to it that their health and general condition is the first care.’

Hagenbeck kept his stock of animals in a splendid park at Stellingen, near his native Hamburg. Where the housing conditions and general system of caring for the animals are models for the whole world. In his later years he himself never journeyed far from home and his adventures were limited to an occasional bite or scratch from one of the more unruly denizens of the place. But year in and year out the intrepid hunters ventured into jungle and (crest and steppe in search of new treasures. And it is fortunate that, a few years ago, Hagenbeck sat down to write a. history of himself and his business, in which the exploits of these daring men are chronicled in most generous terms of admiration. This book, entitled “Beasts and Men,” was translated into English, and published in England and here by Longmans, Green & Co.

By the time that Hagenbeck decided to venture into the domain of writing his business had grown to huge proportions. and his headquarters was one of the prime sights in Hamburg. He took a census just before writing his book. according to which Stellingen Park was inhabited by more than 2,000 animals of all descriptions. including the following: Fifteen orang-utans. chimpanzees, and gibbons. 109 monkeys of twenty-two other species. 49 lions, 26 tigers, 3 lion-tiger hybrids, 18 polar bears, 12 other bears, 40 hyenas and carnivores of fifteen different species, 18 elephants, 3 hippopotami, 2 African rhinoceroses, 4 tapirs, 8 giraffes, 21 camels, dromedaries and llamas, 57 deer, 12 bison, 17 buffalo, 84 wild sheep, domestic sheep, ibexes and goats of eighteen different species, 43 antelopes, including elands, waterbucks. kudus, &c.; 1 warthog, 21 zebras, 3 walruses. 4 sea-lions, 1 sea-bear [elephant seal?], 3 seals, 9 armadillos, 12 kangaroos, 77 ostriches, 13 cassowaries, 90 flamingoes, 11 crocodiles and alligators, and 68 snakes. The total value of this variegated collection was estimated at $250,000. And all this started when Hagenbeck’s father. the fishmonger. exhibited half a dozen seals in two tubs at his home in Hamburg!

As early as 1864 Karl Hagenbeck had closed a contract with Cassanova, a famous animal hunter, whereby the latter agreed to sell whatever animals he should bring to Europe tor a definite price - thus becoming the first of the long list of mighty hunters who devoted years to ranging the haunts of big game throughout the world in the interests of the Hagenbeck firm. Cassandra’s first contribution consisted of two elephants, several lions, and a number of hyenas, panthers, antelopes, gazelles, and ostriches. A few more such consignments placed Hagenbeck on a secure footing as the world's great dealer in animals. In the early [eighteen-]seventies he and Phineas T. Barnum were doing a thriving business with each other. On his first visit to Hamburg Barnum bought $15,000 worth of animals. Said Hagenbeck:

‘He was touring Europe, he told me, in search of new ideas. and as I was able to supply him with some such, (among other things I told him about the racing elephants of India and of the use of ostriches as saddle animals,) he paid me the compliment of inviting me to join him in his enterprise, with a one-third share of the profits. I preferred, however, to remain in Hamburg, and develop my own business. After this Barnum obtained his animals exclusively from me and his successor, Mr. Bailey, continued this arrangement until 1907, when he disposed of his business.’

The largest consignment of African animals that Hagenbeck ever received came to him way back in the [eighteen-]seventies, when the Dark Continent was simply alive with big game. He received a dispatch from Cassanova, saying that he and another Hagenbeck traveling agent called Migoletti were on their way to civilization from the interior of Nubia at the head of huge caravans of captured animals. Cassanova added that he was dangerously ill and asked Hagenbeok to come to Suez in person and take charge or the animals. Hagenbéck did. With his younger brother he journeyed to Suez and there came to face an extraordinary sight. He wrote:

‘On entering the station at Suez we were greeted by some of our prospective pets, for in another train opposite we saw several elephants and giraffes; who pushed out their heads to welcome us. This, however, scarcely prepared us for what met our gaze when we reached the Suez Hotel. I shall never forget the sight which the courtyard presented. Elephants, giraffes, antelopes, and buffaloes were tethered to the palms; sixteen great ostriches were strolling about loose; and in addition there were no fewer than sixty large cages containing a rhinoceros, lions, panthers. Cheetahs, hyenas, jackals, civets, caracals, monkeys, and many kinds of birds. It was naturally no easy matter to transport this immense collection of wild beasts to Europe. The amount of food required was enormous. Besides the hay, bread, and sundry other vegetable foods which were needed for the elephants and other herbivores, we also took along with us about a hundred nanny-goats in order to provide the young giraffes and other baby animals with milk. When these goats were no longer able to supply us with milk they were slaughtered and given to the young carnivores to devour.

The journey to Alexandria, where we were to embark for Trieste, was by no means uneventful. On the way to the station the ostriches escaped, and were only recovered after considerable delay. Then one of the railway trucks caught fire, endangering the entire menagerie; and finally we were furnished for the last part of the journey with a drunken engine-driver who nearly burst his boiler. Moreover, the poor creatures were so closely packed together that it was impossible to feed them. We travelled all through the night, and arrived in Alexandria at 6 a.m. Here we joined forces with Migoletti's caravan. The whole of the next day was occupied in feeding and in general attendance upon my unfortunate beasts, which had suffered considerably from their long train journey.

However, at last they were all safely deposited on deck, and the passage to Trieste was accomplished without serious mishap. Our arrival at that port caused great excitement among the townsfolk. And small wonder! No such collection of wild beasts had ever before been seen in Europe. The united caravans of Cassanova and Migoletti included, apart from the smaller creatures, five elephants, fourteen giraffes, four Nubian buffaloes, a rhinoceros, twelve antelopes and gazelles, two wart-hogs, four aard-varks, and no fewer than sixty carnivores. Among the latter there were seven young lions, eight panthers and cheetahs, thirty hyenas, and many smaller representatives of the cat tribe. There were also twenty-six ostriches, of which sixteen were full-grown birds. One of these, a female, was the largest specimen I have ever seen. This hen could easily reach a cabbage which I placed eleven feet from the ground.

Pretty nearly the whole population of Trieste must have turned out to watch us unload. And whenever an elephant or a giraffe came sprawling across in the crane a roar of delight would go up from the multitude on shore. It was truly marvellous that we ever reached the railway station without an accident, for the crowd in the streets was enormous, and we had the greatest possible difficulty in making our way through. We travelled to Hamburg via Vienna, Dresden and Berlin, and as some of our possessions found new homes in the Zoological Gardens in each of those cities out numbers were greatly reduced by the time we finally arrived at our destination.’

Cassanova did not live to see the arrival of this record shipment in Europe. Broken by the dangers and privations he had undergone in collecting the animals, he died at Alexandria just before the departure for Trieste. Thus died one of Hagenbeck's greatest coadjutors, but there were others well qualified to step into his shoes. One of the best of these was Josef Menges, who from 1876 on has been the most trusted of the Hagenbeck “travelers.” Before entering the employ of the Hamburg magnate he accompanied Gen. Gordon - "Chinese Gordon" - to the headwaters of the Nile, and saw almost all his companions succumb to fever. Another man who did splendid work for Hagenbeck was Essler, a Hungarian. Once, when he ventured into the African wilds, he was captured and held a prisoner for six years by King Theodore of Abyssinia, from whose clutches he was rescued by a British expedition. Soon after he joined forces with Cassanova, who was prospecting about for wild beasts to ship to Hagenbeck, and became one of the most valuable of the firm's employes. His specialty was capturing wild monkeys alive and to him was due the appearance in Europe of numerous extremely rare specimens of simians.

Cassanova was also responsible for securing for his employer the services of Kohn. an aged Bavarian daredevil, “dry as a. mummy, dug from a grave.” Meeting Kohn, once in the wilds. when he was trading with the natives, Cassanova pointed out to him the pecuniary advantages of collecting animals for Hagenbeck. The talk impressed the old fellow so deeply that he turned up some time later in Europe with a troop of giraffes, which Hagenbeck promptly snapped up. Afterward. on four separate occasions, Kohn traveled into the very heart of Africa for the firm until he was finally murdered during the Mahdist uprising in the Soudan.

Then there was Grieger, who brought to Hagenbeck the first specimens of the so-called Prjevalsky wild horse ever seen in Europe. With one assistant he traveled into Turkestan, hundreds of miles from the nearest station on the Siberian Railway, and, while endeavoring to get the natives to help him in his quest, was exposed to a temperature of 50 degrees below zero, and could not kindle a fire owing to the difficulty of collecting fuel. When milder weather came Grieger organized a hunting party of natives who worked with such zeal and skill that they rounded up thirty of the coveted wild horses. This presented a new dilemma to Grieger. The order from his chief called for only six. Ought he to incur the additional expense and trouble of taking the others back with him?

Why not telegraph?" That occurred to Grieger just as it would to anybody else. To the nearest telegraph office and back was one thousand miles. The journey consumed three weeks. But he did it. And Hagenbeck. with characteristic enterprise, ordered his agent to bring the whole lot of horses to Hamburg. When the agent got back to camp he found that his industrious Mongolian helpers had increased the thirty horses to fifty-two. But he had had enough of trips to the telegraph office and started homeward with the entire outfit without consultation with his distant chief. After his arrival at Hamburg Grieger told Hagenbeck all about his arduous journey and Hagenbeck wrote of it thus:

‘Slowly the caravan wound its way over hill and dale, in rain and sunshine, in heat and cold. Anxiety for the safety of the captives was never absent. Many of them, as was inevitable, died on the journey in spite of all the care that could be exercised. And in other ways the journey was decidedly eventful. Before many days were passed the first incident occurred, namely, the escape of the camels owing to the carelessness of the attendants; and it was only with great trouble that their recapture could be effected. The attendants turned out to be, a bad set, for after a few weeks Grieger noticed that they were becoming discontented. At last a deputation approached him and announced the intention of the entire company to throw up the work and abandon the caravan, saying that the way was too long, the journey too difficult, and making many other similar excuses. The money, paid them in advance, they would as conscientious men return.

In vain did the traveller use all the arts of persuasion to induce the people to remain. In vain did he point out to them that the caravan would be totally lost if they were to desert him at this moment. At last the leaders of the mutiny professed themselves ready to remain, if a rise in salary were granted them. As soon as Grieger discovered that the whole affair was merely a vulgar attempt at extortion, he changed his tactics. Seizing his Kirghise whip, he promptly proceeded to distribute the augmentation of salary asked for, but in heavy blows instead of coin! This treatment was immediately successful, the mutiny calmed down, the ringleaders begged for pardon; and before long the caravan was jogging merrily along again, without the desertion of a single man.

In all, the transportation to Hamburg took eleven months. Out of the fifty-two wild horses which had started, twenty-eight arrived safely at their journey's end, where they were henceforth placed upon a diet of hulled oats, warm bran and carrots. Thus ends the story of how wild horses first came to Northern Europe.’

Some idea of the scope or the big business deals put through by Hagenbeck may be gained from the following:

In 1905 the German Government asked him whether he could secure 1,000 dromedaries, provide each with a suitable saddle, transport them from East Africa to German Southwest Africa, a distance of thousands of miles, and deliver the first shipment, to consist of between 800 and 400 beasts, within the short space of three months. ‘I can,’ said Hagenbeck.

He set to work without losing a moment. His two sons, together with several of his most trusted veterans, including Josef Menges, were rushed to East Africa to secure the dromedaries there. In the meantime, Hagenbeck practically invented a suitable saddle, as none of the makes available was quite what was needed, and ordered one thousand of them from Hamburg saddlemakers. Next he chartered a steamer outright, built stalls in it for the beasts, filled it with suitable fodder, and sent it full steam ahead to East Africa. At the various ports to which the dromedaries secured by the Hagenbeck agents had been rushed the steamer picked up a total of 403 of the animals, and proceeded to Swakopmund in German Southwest Africa. On its arrival, well within the stipulated three months, only six of the beasts had perished in transit – an amazingly low number, which spoke volumes for the excellent system of the Hagenbeck organization. The other shipments followed in due course. The German Government was so eminently satisfied with the handling of this remarkable order by Hagenbeck and the quality of the ‘goods’ delivered that it promptly ordered another thousand, as per sample.

Hagenbeck was indefatigable not only in buying and selling animals but in training them, developing new methods of caring for them and looking out for every conceivable kind of novelty in the animal kingdom. One of his last achievements before his death was the creation of a model ostrich farm, where he obtained very successful results. Emperor William of Germany paid a visit to this unique place and personally inspected the ostriches, big and little, which inhabited it.

THE ZOO AND THE PARK. St Louis Post, 19th October 1913
Some Inside Information About That Spirited Engagement Along the River des Peres - As to Wild Animals, Ditched and Unditched - The Park Commissioner’s Concern for the Peace and Quiet of Night in the West End, if Any - Other Facts and Fancies, Caged and Uncaged. By Clark M'Adams.
MR. LORENZ HAGENBECKE, who has succeeded his late father as the wild animal king, looked in the other day on our big zoo controversy. He went out to Forest Park, looked everything over carefully and decided that the zoo ought to be in the park. In reversing our esteemed Park Commissioner, Mr. Hagenbeck was governed by long familiarity with animals and some knowledge of parks. His decision has greatly encouraged our Zoological Society, and there is a probability now that the zoo will not, after all, have to move out of town.

Mr. Hagenbeck thinks kindlier of wild animals than Mr. Davis does. There is a way, he says, to render the animals unobjectionable, either to the eye or the ear. In progressive zooism there are no pens. The animals are inclosed by deep ditches. The community stands upon one side of the ditch and the lion or whatever it is stands upon the other side. There is no fence to obstruct the view of either. This exhibits the wild animal in an unfenced estate which visually approximates actual freedom. Mr. Hagenbeck did not say how wide a ditch would be safe for the community in the case of a Numidian lion, but he left us to infer that it need not be either very wide or very deep. We have, however, recently seen it positively stated by several naturalists of good repute that a kangaroo can leap from twenty-five to thirty feet. The kangaroo, when we get one, would therefore have to be bounded by pretty wide ditches. It would probably be found advisable to park him in one of the sharp elbows of the River des Peres.

How far a lion can jump we do not know, but with nothing but an open ravine between us and the specimen, we would want to be sure. There are small boys among us, just as there are in every community, and they will not be above occasionally stirring the animals up. We would have to see such a Zoo as Mr. Hagenbeck describes, and talk at length with members of the community, to discover if they have ever been chased. We have never known any bear hunter to feel himself safe for being on the other side of a canyon from a grizzly bear. How would Mr. Hagenbeck ditch such a wild animal as that? Not that we question his word; but that a grizzly bear is a grizzly bear.

There is another feature of the ditch zoo which commends itself to consideration: We are told that ditched animals, as opposed to the plain penned variety, are comparatively quiet. It is the iron cage that makes the lion roar, and the starlight beyond the hole in the roof that makes the night hideous otherwise where wild animals are exhibited. It is supposed that this is one of the scores upon which Mr. Davis opposes the Zoo in the park. He wants to conserve the peace and quiet of night in the West End. Whether a Zoo would take more liberties with the peace and quiet of night in the West End than are already taken by joyriders and the Wabash railroad is a question; but it might. Mr. Davis, like everyone else, has read that the roar of a lion can be heard on a still night as much as three miles. That would keep virtually everybody awake on summer nights in the entire district beyond Grand avenue.

The Zoological Society has not been in a position to combat this objection. It had never heard of anything of the sort. It will, in time, know what is done for sleep In the vicinity of the Bronx, in New York, and Lincoln Park, in Chicago. All such information is being accumulated. We shall know absolutely within a very short time what animals howl at night, how often they howl, how long, with what carrying capacity and whether the noise conduces to wakefulness or to sleep. [. . .]