university, for some of the students to hold a disputation in his
presence, that he might see their facility in logic, and that they
might do credit to their college. Well, King James once visited
Cambridge, and the Philosophy Act, as it was called, was kept before
him. The subject to be disputed was, “whether dogs were capable of
syllogisms.” Gravely was it argued, gravely did King James listen
(perhaps with a memory of Jowler) and great was the applause when young
Matthew Wren maintained that just as the king was mightier and wiser
than other men, so also, by virtue of their prerogative, were the
king’s dogs more gifted, and more capable than other dogs, even in the
matter of syllogisms. The royal listener was wonderfully pleased with
this bit of logic; and we may add that the logician rose high in his
favor, becoming eventually Bishop Wren.
The children of James and Anne inherited their love of animals, if
indeed they did not derive it from a source more remote. We know that
their unfortunate grandmother, Mary Stuart, had pets: and no more
piteous tale has ever been told than that of the little creature who
staid with her on the scaffold. It was a long-haired Skye terrier,
Bébé by name. When she knelt at the block, he lay concealed in the
folds of her dress; but after the fatal stroke, while the executioners
were despoiling the body, he crept out, and placed himself between the
severed trunk and head. There he was found by Jane Kennedy, and there
he clung, wet with his mistress’s blood, until removed by force. Who
can measure the agony of that faithful little heart, when, all in a
moment, its world of affection had shrunk to a lump of irresponsive
clay! One would fain know of Bébé--whether, as some say, he died of
grief, or, as others maintain, lived several years, well cared for by
a noble lady. And where, when death came, was he buried? Fidelity like
his deserves a memorial, and doubtless had it at the time, although
history is silent on the point. And after all, it does not matter, for
we do not forget him.
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.
[Illustration: PRINCESS ELIZABETH, ELDEST DAUGHTER OF JAMES I., AND HER
PETS.
(_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.”
[Illustration: PRINCESS MARY, DAUGHTER OF CHARLES I.
(_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.”
[Illustration: CHARLES II. AND PET SPANIEL, AT DAWNEY COURT, BUCKS,
SEAT OF THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND.
(_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.
[Illustration: PRINCESS AMELIA AND HER DOG.
(_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.
Her stables, too, contain favorites. Prince Albert’s horse survived, an
honored inmate, until quite lately; and the cream-colored Herrenhausen
horses dream their lives away here in luxurious ease, being used by Her
Majesty only on state occasions.
“A favorite at Marlborough House” indicates clearly one taste at least
of the exquisite princess who rouses so much enthusiasm in English
hearts; and emphasizes a little speech she made at a meeting of the
Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. “If,” said she, “I have
saved even one cat from misery, I shall feel that I have done some good
in the world.”
If the cats at Windsor and Marlborough House have anything to
complain of, it can only be over-indulgence. The bill for their silk
throat-ribbons and silver bells is a large one, even at the most
moderate estimate; they have their own special cushions and attendants;
they often go out riding with their royal mistresses, and when the
latter leave one palace for another, _Messieurs et Mesdames Les Chats_
travel with them, in such state and comfort as befit the possessions of
royalty.
But now let us turn from England to France, and glance at a few pets
there. A pleasant memory remains of Louis XIII.--his intercession, when
a child, for the poor cats that were to be burned as witches on St.
John’s Day. It availed not only for those particular cats, but for all
their race henceforth in France.
[Illustration: PRINCESS AUGUSTA, DAUGHTER OF GEORGE III.
PRINCESS AMELIA, DAUGHTER OF GEORGE III.
(_By permission of Messrs. Macmillan & Co._)]
One of his predecessors, Henry III., used to carry a daintily-lined
basket suspended from his neck by a silken cord. As he languidly
talked with his guests or courtiers, he would at intervals, with
hands delicate as a woman’s, sparkling with rings, caress the tiny,
long-haired dogs which occupied the basket.
[Illustration: A FAVORITE AT MARLBOROUGH HOUSE.]
Louis XIV. petted himself more than any living creature; yet he had
some sympathy to spare for his numerous dogs; he even had their
portraits painted, at a considerable cost; and he also, presumably, had
a favorite cat--if the story in Swift’s Memoirs is one to be relied
upon. This story is to the effect that during the reign of Queen Anne,
a Miss Nelly Bennet, a young lady who took prestige as a great beauty,
visited the French court.
She traveled in the care of witty Dr. Arbuthnot, who in a letter to
the Dean, describes the outbursts of admiration that greeted his fair
charge.
“She had great honours done her,” he remarks, then adds, “and the
hussar himself was ordered to bring her the king’s cat to kiss.”
When this important bit of news came to be reported in England, a wit,
now unknown, wrote a poem on the event, describing how--
“... When as Nelly came to France
(Invited by her cousins),
Across the Tuileries each glance
Killed Frenchmen by whole dozens.
The king, as he at dinner sat,
Did beckon to his hussar,
And bid him bring his tabby-cat
For charming Nell to buss her.”
Louis XVI. had a favorite spaniel, playful and intelligent, like
all its race. It accompanied him to the prison which he was only
to exchange for the scaffold, and was bequeathed by him as a last
remembrance to his daughter. Through four years of imprisonment it
was her only friend and companion, and when upon her release “Madame
Royale” went to her relatives in Austria, it was not left behind.
But when, in 1801, the royal exiles were in Warsaw, the poor little
favorite fell from a balcony in the Poniatowsky Palace, and was
instantly killed.
The first Napoleon cared little for any animal--except his war-horses.
Cats, indeed, he detested; and of Fortune (a pet dog of the Empress
Josephine) he was always jealous, and could not bear to see his wife
caress it. But age, they say, brings wisdom; and in his case, it
certainly brought toleration--of one dog at least. Here is the story:
The seventeen-year-old Marie Louise, who was to be his second wife,
had a favorite Italian greyhound which accompanied her on her way into
France. Her Austrian suite was replaced at the frontier by a French
one; and at Munich her last Austrian attendant was dismissed, together
with the dog--a thing never intended by Napoleon, and only effected
by intrigue. We can imagine the young girl’s grief, and can readily
believe, as the historian says, that “the acquisition of a colossal
empire did not console her for the loss of a little dog.”
[Illustration: PET SPANIEL OF LOUIS XVI., COMPANION OF HIS DAUGHTER
“MADAME ROYALE,” IN PRISON.]
Fortunately for all concerned, the story found its way to Napoleon.
At once he rubbed his Aladdin’s lamp (an article all emperors
possess), and when he met his bride a few days later at Compiègne, he
led her--not to a grand state-chamber, but to a cosey room, with a
strangely familiar look. Her husband was a stranger; it was a new land,
a new language, and new faces everywhere. But--what was that hysterical
bark and scramble that greeted her on the threshold? What was that
frantic little figure bounding up into her arms? What but her own
little greyhound brought there with other familiar objects from her old
home, by Napoleon’s thoughtful care! She welcomed her pet with a cry of
delight; then turning, thanked, with wet eyes, the husband who was no
longer a stranger.
A few years later, and the wheel of fortune suddenly turned. Napoleon
was an exile, and Louis XVIII. (uncle to the Prisoners of the Temple)
was king. About the time when his royal brother was guillotined, there
also perished a M. de Vieux Pont, whose only crime was the possession
of a parrot which said _Vive le roi!_ The bird came very near sharing
the fate of its master, but citizeness Lebon promised, if its life
was spared, to teach it better sentiments, and was allowed to take
it home. This happened in the Reign of Terror; but now when the Fat
King reigned, a worse fate, through him, befell a parrot of Napoleonic
sympathies. A dog had comforted Madame Royale in her prison; but
neither she nor her uncle, when they arrived at power, had any pity for
Napoleonists.
[Illustration: PET ITALIAN GREYHOUND OF MARIE LOUISE.]
The parrot’s mistress had fled from her home in Ecouen on the approach
of the Royalists, leaving the bird locked up in the closet of her room,
with plenty of food and water. Now it so chanced that Louis XVIII.
spent the night in Ecouen, on his way to Paris, and was lodged in this
very room. In the midst of his slumbers, he was suddenly startled by
a shrill cry, close to his ear, of _Vive l’empereur!_ Nothing could
be seen, yet again and again was the cry repeated. At last the poor,
insulted, gouty king managed to pull the bell-rope and summon his
attendants. After considerable search, they found a door behind the
tapestry, and forced it open. There sat the criminal, chuckling to
herself, and still shouting at intervals, _Vive l’empereur!_ Poor
Polly! her triumph was short. It was _A bas!_ with Napoleonists now;
in a moment her neck was wrung, and a limp little feathered body bore
silent witness that the Bourbons had returned.
[Illustration: CARLO ALBERTO AND HIS FAVORITE HORSE.
(_After the painting by Vernet._)]
Far, far more pleasant is a story told of the young Duchesse de Berri.
On the day of her marriage to Louis’ nephew, she retired to her room
after the ceremony, and was supposed to be resting. After a while
her husband entered. Fancy the surprise, the amusement with which he
witnessed his pretty bride’s diversion. She yet wore her magnificent
marriage robes--a white brocade heavily embroidered with silver, and a
diamond coronet surmounted by white ostrich plumes; but the enormous
train--six yards long--she had twisted several times over her arm. Thus
disencumbered, she was singing blithely, and dancing to her song with
a pet spaniel she had brought from Naples, and which she held by the
forepaws.
[Illustration: VICTOR EMMANUEL AND HIS DOG.
(_From life photograph._)]
Another turn of the wheel, a few years later, seated a third Napoleon
and Eugénie upon the throne. The latter was particularly fond of a
Mexican parrot called Montezuma. When, in 1870, the Empire came to an
end, and she fled to England, all her possessions were left behind in
her hurried flight from the Tuileries. It was not until the imperial
family was settled at Chiselhurst, that, remembering Montezuma, she
sent a trusty attendant to France, to search for him. Almost a year
passed by before he was found, exposed for sale in a shop! Then he was
re-bought; he crossed the Channel in safety; a few hours more, and
the ex-empress was petting him as of old. But not as of old did he
respond to her endearments, nibble the sweetmeats she offered, and say
with flattering approval, _Vive l’impératrice!_ No, all was changed.
Sullenly he declined sugar, pineapple, sweet biscuit; sullenly he
withdrew from her caressing touch; and sullenly at last he spoke: _Vive
la république!_ Truly the empire had passed away.
The princes of Savoy have always entertained a soldierly liking for
horse and hound; and with war for their occupation, and hunting
for diversion, they have had abundant opportunity to test the good
qualities and friendship of these animals. There is a museum in
Turin where many of their favorite horses--stuffed and mounted--are
preserved. Especially interesting is the “Favorito Cavallo” of Carlo
Alberto, which, according to the inscription, was his chosen mount in
peace, and which bore him safely through the campaign of 1848-49. It
accompanied him into exile, and finally (1866) died in Turin, at the
age of thirty years.
Several horses in the museum belonged to Victor Emmanuel. This
patriotic and jolly king was “_innamorato dei cani_,” especially of
four hounds, the companions of his hunting trips. He was never so
happy as when off on one of these expeditions. Often he would dismount
and stretch himself on the ground beneath a tree, his horse and dogs
grouped around him. Then, with a sigh of luxurious comfort, he would
say: “Ouf! how happy am I here, and thus! What a beastly trade, what a
pig-occupation, is this of being a king!” (_Che porco mestiero è quello
di fare il Re!_)
And again: “How well off should I be if I only always could live
quietly, at ease among these friends!” patting, as he spoke, first
one dog, then another. Poor king! he had given a United Italy to his
people; to himself he could grant few hours of ease.
_V._
_A NOTABLE CANINE TRIO._
V.
A NOTABLE CANINE TRIO.
In almost every library where the owner has an antiquarian taste may
be found a pair of stout, leather-bound volumes, bearing a kind of
“important-facts” appearance which the title, stamped in gilt, airily
contradicts. _Nugæ antiquæ_, it reads. Trifles, in fine; anecdotes,
memoranda of things passed by.