Part 20

Landseer studied every animal he saw, but preferred dogs, horses, and deer, especially dogs. Fuseli, his master, used to speak of him as “my little dog-boy.” Pet after pet had its features transferred to canvas, and fine dogs were brought to him to be painted, exactly as their owners might go to Millais or Watts. They became in his hands something more than canine types; he saw in them individuals with characters and stories of their own. There is the Dog in High Life, and the Dog in Low Life; the tranquil big dog as Dignity, the impetuous little dog as Impudence.

(Plate II. from “Der Katzen-Raphael.”)]

Here a fine hound waits for the Countess (this dog, by the way, belonged to Lady Blessington, and was given to her by the at that time King of Naples); here, by a plain coffin, a collie waits for the master who will never return; and here two tiny silken spaniels guard a plumed hat and pair of gloves. These spaniels, which belonged to Robert Vernon, had an equally tragic fate--the Blenheim being killed by a fall from a table, and the King Charles by a fall through the staircase rails. Their picture is now in the National Gallery of London, where many a one lingers before it, admiring the great lustrous eyes, silken coats, and delicate, whimsical physiognomies of “The Cavalier’s Pets.”

(From the etching by Leon Richeton, after Sir Edwin Landseer, R. A.)]

Very near them hangs a painting called “The Sleeping Bloodhound.” The beautiful animal rests so easily that few would imagine her repose to be the sleep of death--yet so it is. Countess, as they named her, belonged to an old friend of Landseer, and running too eagerly one night to meet him, fell from a height and was killed. The next day he carried her to the studio; and the fine picture, now so familiar to all, commemorates both her own beauty and her master’s love.

(Drawn by Landseer when a child.)]

Brutus, Vixen and Boxer--all pets of the artist--appear in “The Ratcatchers;” Paul Pry, another intimate, figures as “A Member of the Humane Society.” As thoroughly appreciative of dog character in the extremes of poverty and ease, are two other pictures called “The Dustman’s Dog,” and “The Critics.” One is a mere sketch (drawn when Sir Edwin was as yet the child Eddie) of a faithful, homely, hard-worked cur; the other is a portrait of himself at work, with a noble canine friend at each shoulder, inspecting the result of his toil.

(After Landseer’s painting.)]

He had a liking--as what painter of animals has not?--for lions; and those in Trafalgar Square which guard the Nelson Monument, prove how well he understood them.

“They are not bumptious,” he said, “nor do they swagger; but look (I hope) as though they might be trusted ... and are all gentleness and tranquillity till Nelson gives the word.”

There is no doubt that Landseer’s memory will live. As man and artist his claims are great. He deserves to be counted among the world’s benefactors for the impulse his work has given to the right appreciation and treatment of the dog. If as great and widely known an artist had patronized Pussy, we should find her better treated to-day, and certainly better understood. Mind painted her with wonderful fidelity, but he lacked the dramatic instinct of Landseer. Pussy was Pussy to him--he never imagined in other situations than those he saw. It was not in him to create a feline Diogenes and Alexander.

(Landseer’s portrait of himself.)]

Sir Edwin has passed from us, but Rosa Bonheur still lives, and still occupies her serene life with the art she loves. There is a well-known and charming picture of her earlier self, with the dark hair tossed back from a bright, courageous face, and one arm resting in calm assurance of mutual good-will on the neck of a shaggy steer. This indicates a preference both personal and artistic. She has always delighted in painting cattle; and the patient oxen of the Nivernais, no less than the picturesque, long-haired cattle of the Scotch Highlands, attest her loving study of their ways. Deer, too, she enjoys painting, and horses; while Wasp, the terrier, will hold his own even beside Landseer’s canine portraits.

(After Landseer’s painting.)]

Mlle. Bonheur’s home at Fontainebleau is fairly alive with pets; sheep, horses, goats and dogs; creatures with pedigree and without it; creatures famous for their beauty or remarkable for their rarity. Not only does she entertain peaceable, home-loving animals, but also such fierce inmates as lions and tigers. From one of the former was painted her magnificent “Old Monarch,” which fronts squarely the spectator like one “every inch a king.” Her “Tiger” is the faithful likeness of a pet brought to her as a cub from the jungles of Bengal. Nero was his well-bestowed name--a name appropriate to the latent power and ferocity which might become terribly apparent should he ever have the chance or wish to exert them. But this has never happened. Temptations to naughtiness are carefully removed from his path, his will is rarely crossed, his tastes are consulted. Roomily lodged, amply fed, he is probably the most civilized tiger in existence.

Mlle. Bonheur is convinced of his affection, but it is doubtless as fortunate for the world as for herself that she never entered his cage. This superb favorite cost about three thousand dollars, and as His Majesty’s meat diet is also very expensive, he may be accounted in more ways than one a dear pet.

Several wild horses were at one time added to the studio “properties”; and lately a Russian nobleman presented Mlle. Bonheur with a couple of magnificent Russian bears, to which she is said to be much attached.

Paris is a city dear to artists, and almost every nationality is represented in its salons. Henry Bacon, for instance, is American; and among the paintings and sketches that fill his studio, are many reminiscences of his far-off home. In no way, moreover, is he so genuinely American as in his devotion to pets. It is a pity that in many cases their beautiful portraits are all of themselves that remain to him. Most notable among them, and perhaps also best beloved, was Glen, a black-and-tan collie from Aberdeenshire, born in 1879, whose parents, Jock and Miss, had both obtained prize medals.

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)]

Miss made a rather careless mother--often allowing her puppies to wander out of sight; but this was pure absent-mindedness--for when in their rovings beyond the kennel they came to grief, she appeared conscious of her maternal short-comings, and employed all her intelligence to serve her little ones.

(After Rosa Bonheur’s painting.)]

The farmer who had charge of the kennels, stepped out of his cottage one morning into the first snow of the season, to be met by Miss in a state of terrible excitement. She jumped upon him, pulled at his coat, and neither caress nor threat could quiet her. At last, having thoroughly attracted his attention, she made a dash down the avenue, looking back over her shoulder as she ran. The farmer, being versed in “canese,” understood that he was expected to follow--and followed!

Without diverging to right or left, or running in curves, as is the habit of shepherd dogs, Miss preceded him through the fresh-fallen snow down the avenue and across a field, stopped at the edge of a large post-hole, and after looking down rushed back to hurry up the help she was bringing. Her favorite pup, Glen, had gone out on an early morning voyage of discovery, had fallen into this hole, and would have perished there but for this timely aid.

Nor does the story end here. After Glen was pulled out, and on his way home under the farmer’s great-coat--for he was only a little thing, not yet a month old--Miss staid behind, and with much scratching and barking filled in the hole, being of opinion, probably, that post-holes, like barn doors, should be closed after an accident has happened.

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)]

A few months later Glen went to live in Tunbridge Wells, England, with his brother Jock, and if they had not quarreled, would still be, in all likelihood, a British subject; but owing to their many disputes, Glen was sent abroad. The next summer, and indeed each summer of his life, has been passed on the Normandy coast at Etretât. From what he knows of Glen’s character, Mr. Bacon does not think him entirely to blame in these family quarrels. Besides, his brother Jock’s short life was not exemplary, for it was reported that he bit a child; and although the child recovered from the bite, “it was the dog that died.”

(After the painting by Rosa Bonheur.)]

Glen, being a shepherd dog, is delighted when he encounters upon the downs a flock of sheep, and if not called off, will instantly herd them into a compact, frightened mass, much to the distress of their guardian and his dog. When he cannot find sheep, he will amuse himself by gathering together the hens and chickens he finds in an orchard; and once, in default of these, while his master was sketching on the sands of Mont-Saint-Michel, he herded the fishermen’s children who were playing at low tide beyond the town. Unheeded by his master, he had made a wide circle round the children, frightening them together like a flock of sheep; and when discovered, he was capering round the group as though the task had been set him of keeping them together.