Part 15

One of the most charming figures in this connection, is the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I. As is usually the case with royal children, she was educated apart from her parents. They sent her with six little companions to Combe Abbey, to be under the charge of Lord and Lady Harrington. Through the park of this pleasant country-seat, flowed a river, and in the river was a tiny island which they gave to the princess for her very own. A house was built upon it for the manager of the small farm, and the farm itself was stocked with cattle, equally diminutive. An aviary was also given her, netted over with gilt wire, and filled with birds of gay plumage or musical throats. Furthermore, there was a garden, in which grew flowers for pleasure, and herbs “for ye animalls’ helth.” It was as nearly a child’s paradise as anything can be; and I fancy that many a time the discrowned Queen of Bohemia looked back with longing to the “Fairy Farm” of her youth.

Lord Harrington’s account-books are often and amusingly enlivened by such items as: so much “to shearing her Hieness’ great rough dog;” to making cages for her birds, or, to supplying cotton for her monkey’s bed, etc. A further evidence of her tastes is the childish portrait preserved at Combe Abbey, which represents her surrounded by her pets. And many another proof is given, her whole life through, in the presents of animals her friends sent her, in her own pleasant mention of her pets, and in her correspondence. Here, for instance, is an amusing note, dated 1618:

“To Sir Dudley Carleton, from the fair hands of Mrs. Elizabeth Ashley, chief gouvernante to all the monkeys and dogs. The monkeys you sent came hither very well, and are now grown so proud that they will come to nobody but her Highness, who hath them in her bed every morning, and the little prince. He is so fond of them that he says he desires nothing but such monkeys of his own.”

All of Elizabeth’s children inherited her fondness for pets, but most of all, Prince Rupert, whose devotion to Boy became a by-word among the Roundheads.

(Sketch from painting.)]

As a child Charles I. liked animals, but little is said of his favorites, after he became king. The times were too serious, a revolution was seething, and writers were busy with larger themes. Still, a few anecdotes have reached us. “Methinks,” says Sir Philip Warwick, “because it shows his dislike of a common court vice, it is not unworthy the relating of him, that one evening his dog scratching at the door, he commanded me to let in Gipsy; whereupon I took the boldness to say, ‘Sir, I perceive you love a grayhounde better than you do a spanell.’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘for they equally love their masters, and yet do not flatter them so much.’”

Not long before his execution, Charles bade farewell to his dogs and had them sent to the queen, lest their presence might distract him from more solemn thoughts. Of this queen, Henrietta Maria, a charming story is told, which, though it says little for her prudence, bears ample witness to her affectionate heart. On her return from Holland, she landed at Burlington, and staid there over night. Before daybreak the Parliamentary forces were at hand, and she with her ladies fled in haste. They had not gone very far when she noticed that Mitte, her lap-dog, had been left behind. Madame de Motteville calls it “an ugly old dog,” but adds that the queen was extremely fond of it. So it would seem, for heedless of remonstrance, back she rushed, caught up Mitte, who was still dozing on her bed, and once more sped away--in safety.

It may be added that there was formerly, in Holyrood Palace, a painting of Charles and Henrietta, surrounded by their dogs. Prominent among these is a white Shock, which some think to be the identical Mitte of Burlington fame.

Of the little dogs petted in former reigns, numerous specimens may be seen in pictures and engravings. A rare print of Lady Margaret Lenox, the mother of Darnley, shows one of them playing at her feet, with a dapper air that contrasts amusingly with her dignified appearance.

It was reserved for Charles II. to bring the “Comforter” cult to its highest development, and win thereby much sarcastic notice from the writers of the time. Old Dr. Carns, who lived in Elizabeth’s reign, was particularly severe on this folly, but he could not have dreamed to what lengths it would reach a few years later. We might, with a little change of spelling, apply his words directly to the pug and terrier craze of fashionable ladies to-day. Speaking of the “spaniells gentle, or comforters,” he says:

“These dogges are little, pretty, proper, and fyne, and sought for to satisfie the delicateness of daintie dames, instrumentes of folly for them to play and dally withal, to tryfle away the treasure of time, to withdraw their mindes from more commendable exercises.”

Sarcasm and good advice alike were wasted. Where a king set the fashion, fine gentlemen and ladies delighted to follow, and lap-dogs became as necessary to their equipment as lace ruffles or brocades. Charles II. and his brother, James II., always liked dogs; and some fine canvases by Vandyke remain, in which the royal children are grouped with their four-footed friends. In one painting, Prince Charles is the central figure; one hand hangs idly at his side; the other rests on the head of a huge mastiff, near which frisks a tiny spaniel. The same spaniel probably, and another that might be its twin, act as “supporters” in a second painting to the three oldest children.

When, after many vicissitudes, Charles finally reached the throne, his devotion to pets was more marked than ever, and he gave them a good deal of attention that by rights belonged elsewhere. Under date of September 4, 1667, Repys notes in his Diary that he “went by coach to Whitehall, to the Council Chamber. All I observed there is the silliness of the king’s playing with his dog all the while, and not minding the business.”

As a matter of course, contemporary wits and playwrights are not silent, and have many a squib too at this foible of Charles:

“His dogs would sit at Council Board, Like judges in their furs; We question much which had most sense,-- The Master, or the Curs.”

(From etching by Modgin of painting by Sir Peter Lely, in the Hampton Court Collection.)]

John Evelyn, another diarist, speaks with some disgust of the lengths to which Charles’ affection for his pets led him. The king would have them always about him, and allowed them to consider his bedroom and study their kennels.

That dogs were lost and stolen with modern frequency, that rewards were offered for their return, is shown by notices like the following:

“Lost out of the Mews, on the 6th of the present month (March, 1667) a little brindled greyhound belonging to His Majesty; if any one has taken her up, they are desired to bring her to the Porter’s Gate at Whitehall, and they shall have a very good content for their pains.”

The king might often be seen when the weather was fine, sauntering along in St. James Park, his dogs beside him; and stopping every now and then to feed the ducks in the water. It is a pleasant picture--one we like to remember, and more creditable to Charles than most other scenes in his life. Such as we see him here, good-natured, kind-hearted, self-indulgent, just so he passed from the scene of the world. He had enjoyed the last gleam of prosperity that was to fall on the Stuart race. Their good fortune died with him, and with him, too, passed the golden age of the “Comforter.”

With William of Orange came in pugs; and for a long time their odd ugly faces might be seen in all establishments of rank. Garnished with orange ribbons, in compliment to the king, they were known as Dutch pugs, and commanded high prices in the market.

The Georges divided their royal favor impartially between spaniels, terriers and pugs. The Princess Charlotte, a sister of George III., was particularly fond of terriers, and had herself painted with a long-haired darling of the species in her arms. The Duchess of York (wife to a son of George III.) was such a lover of dogs as to have forty at one time, of different varieties. All her favorites were buried at Oatlands, where even yet some sixty or more tombstones may be seen. The Duchess herself wrote most of their epitaphs, of which the following may serve as a specimen:

“Pepper, near this silent grotto, Thy fair virtues lie confest; Fidelity thy constant motto,-- Warmth of friendship speaks the test.”

(From old and rare print.)]

Little Princess Amelia, the darling of all who knew her, petted every thing that came in her reach--her family, her servants, her horses, kittens, dogs and birds. One painting represents her as a chubby, winsome baby, playing with a King Charles; another shows her as a merry little girl with her pet bird. When she had grown up into a young lady, her sister Augusta gave her a bird which she greatly prized. Two days after her death it was brought by an attendant to the donor. The Princess Amelia had so ordered it, she said, requesting only that it should not be returned the day of her death, nor yet the day after, lest its presence might affect her sister too deeply in those first hours of sorrow.

(From painting by Hoppner, in St. John’s Palace.)]

Both Victoria and Prince Albert had many favorites, which in being painted by Landseer have established a claim to immortality. The artist Leslie tells a pretty story of the young queen on her coronation day. The ceremony took an unconscionable time, and when she returned from it, she heard her pet spaniel barking wildly in the room where he was shut up. “Oh! there is Dash,” she cried, and hastened to lay off her splendid robes so that she might give him his long-deferred bath. There is a burial-place on the terrace at Windsor, as at Sans-Souci, and in one sunny corner rest the bones of this early favorite.

Eos and Cairnach, Prince Albert’s dogs, were painted together by Landseer, and form a most dignified, graceful group. Islay, one of the Queen’s terriers, was painted with a mackaw and several love-birds, which reveals another trait of his royal mistress. She is very fond of birds, and in the fowl-house, in the Home Park, are preserved the bodies of various feathered pets who have paid their last debt to nature. The most celebrated is a dove, which many years ago, when she visited Ireland with Prince Albert, was thrown into her carriage--a living message of good will. She cherished it to the end of its life; and its descendants still flutter around the towers of Windsor.