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[Illustration: From an Engraving by Frank Cousins, John Andrew
& Son, Sc.
THE CONNOISSEURS
_Property of King Edward VII_]
The Riverside Art Series
LANDSEER
A COLLECTION OF FIFTEEN PICTURES
AND A PORTRAIT OF THE PAINTER
WITH INTRODUCTION AND
INTERPRETATION
BY
ESTELLE M. HURLL
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
_Published November, 1901._
PREFACE
The wide popularity of Landseer has been chiefly due to the
circulation of engravings after his works. This little book is, so far
as I know, the first attempt to bring together a collection of his
pictures made in the modern process of half tone, from photographs
direct from the original paintings. It is hoped that they may give a
fairly good idea of the range and character of his art.
ESTELLE M. HURLL.
NEW BEDFORD, MASS.
September, 1901.
CONTENTS AND LIST OF PICTURES
PAGE
THE CONNOISSEURS. PAINTED BY LANDSEER. (_Frontispiece_)
Picture from Engraving by Frank Cousins
INTRODUCTION
I. ON LANDSEER'S CHARACTER AS AN ARTIST vii
II. ON BOOKS OF REFERENCE x
III. HISTORICAL DIRECTORY OF THE PICTURES OF THIS
COLLECTION x
IV. OUTLINE TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS IN
LANDSEER'S LIFE xii
V. SOME OF LANDSEER'S CONTEMPORARIES xiii
I. KING CHARLES SPANIELS 1
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
II. SHOEING 7
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
III. SUSPENSE 13
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
IV. THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN 19
Picture from Engraving by Thomas Landseer
V. THE TWA DOGS 25
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
VI. DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE 31
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
VII. PEACE 37
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
VIII. WAR 43
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
IX. A DISTINGUISHED MEMBER OF THE HUMANE SOCIETY 49
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
X. A NAUGHTY CHILD 55
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
XI. THE SLEEPING BLOODHOUND 61
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
XII. THE HUNTED STAG 67
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
XIII. JACK IN OFFICE 73
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
XIV. THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNER 79
Picture from Photograph of the original Painting
XV. A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENT 85
Picture from Photograph by Franz Hanfstaengl
XVI. THE CONNOISSEURS 91
INTRODUCTION
I. ON LANDSEER'S CHARACTER AS AN ARTIST.
If the popularity of a painter were the measure of his artistic
greatness, Sir Edwin Landseer's would be among the foremost of the
world's great names. At the height of his career probably no other
living painter was so familiar and so well beloved throughout the
English-speaking world. There were many homes in England and America
where his pictures were cherished possessions.
While popular opinion is never a safe basis for a critical estimate,
it must be founded on reasons worth considering. In the case of
Landseer there is no doubt that a large element in his success was his
choice of subjects. The hearts of the people are quickly won by
subjects with which they are familiar in everyday life. A universal
love for animals, and especially for domestic pets, prepared a cordial
welcome for the painter of the deer and the dog. His pictures supplied
a real want among the class of people who know and care nothing about
"art for art's sake."
The dramatic power with which Landseer handled his subjects was the
deeper secret of his fame. He knew how to tell a story with a simple
directness which has never been surpassed. With almost equal facility
for humor and pathos, he alternated between such inimitable satire as
the Jack in Office and such poignant tragedy as the Highland
Shepherd's Chief Mourner. Before pictures like these, the keenest
criticism must confirm the popular verdict. Poetic imagination is one
of the most coveted of the artist's gifts, and Landseer's rich
endowment commands universal admiration.
The artist who is a story teller finds it one of the most difficult
tasks to keep within proper limits. He is under a constant temptation
to emphasize his point too strongly, to exaggerate his meaning in
order to make it plain. That Landseer never fell into such error none
would dare to claim. In interpreting the emotions of dumb animals he
sometimes overdrew, or seemed to overdraw, their resemblance to human
beings. Only those who have observed animals as closely as he--and how
few they are--are competent to decide in this matter. When one
thoroughly considers the question, the wonder is less that he
sometimes made mistakes, than that he made so few. As a sympathetic
critic has said: "Nothing short of the most exquisite perception of
propriety on his part could have enabled him to give innumerable
versions of the inner life of animals with so little of the
exaggeration and fantasticalness which would have easily become
repugnant to the common sense of Englishmen."[1]
[Footnote 1: Henrietta Keddie ("Sarah Tytler").]
Among Landseer's technical qualities the critic has highest praise for
his drawing. He was a born draughtsman, as we see in the astonishing
productions of his boyhood. He was besides a painstaking and faithful
student in the youthful years when the foundations of good work must
be laid. Another valuable quality was his artistic discrimination,
that which a certain critic has called "the selective glance that
discerns in a moment what are the lines of character and of life."
Seizing these, he transferred them to his canvas in the decisive
strokes which reproduce not merely the body but the vitality of the
subject.
His dexterity in texture-painting was remarkable. The glossy coat of
the bay mare, the soft long hair of the Newfoundland dog, the polished
surface of metal, were rendered with consummate skill. There are
marvellous tales of the rapidity of his workmanship. In the moment of
inspiration his practised hand made the single telling brush stroke
which produced the desired effect.
With apparently little systematic effort towards orderly composition,
he often felt his way instinctively, as it were, to some admirable
arrangements. He sometimes showed a feeling for pose almost plastic in
quality, as when he painted A Distinguished Member of the Humane
Society and The Sleeping Bloodhound. His sense of the picturesque is
quite marked. He was fond of sparkle, and disposed very cleverly the
points of bright light in his pictures.
Landseer's admirers are wont to regret that he devoted himself to so
limited a range of subjects. The patronage of the rich absorbed much
of his time in unimportant work,--time which might better have been
spent in those works of creative imagination of which he showed
himself capable. His pictures of deer subjects reveal an otherwise
unsuspected power in landscape-painting which with cultivation might
have led him into another field of success. In portrait-painting, too,
his work was admirable, especially in the delineation of children.
It is idle to speculate upon what he might have been had he not been
what he was. Much greater artists than he might well envy him his
unique fame. To exceptional artistic ability he united a sympathetic
imagination which divined some of the most precious secrets of common
life. It was his peculiar glory that he touched the hearts of the
people.
II. ON BOOKS OF REFERENCE.
In the year following Landseer's death (_i.e._, in 1874), a memoir of
the painter was published by F. G. Stephens, made up in part of
material previously issued by the writer on the Early Works of
Landseer. A few years later (in 1880), this memoir served in turn, as
the substantial material, revised and somewhat enlarged, for Stephens'
biography of Landseer in the series "Great Artists." Besides Stephens,
Cosmo Monkhouse has devoted valuable critical work to the art career
of Landseer. Full of suggestive and illuminating comment is his large
volume "The Works of Sir Edwin Landseer, with a History of his Art
Life." The book is illustrated with forty-four engravings.
An interesting article on Landseer's art appeared in "The British
Quarterly Review" soon after his death, and was reprinted in Littell's
"Living Age," December 26, 1874. Some pleasant chapters on Landseer
are to be found in Elbert Hubbard's "Little Journeys to the Homes of
Eminent Painters." Comments on the artist's pictures and methods are
scattered through the works of Ruskin and Hamerton.
A catalogue of Landseer's works was issued by Henry Graves, London,
1875.
III. HISTORICAL DIRECTORY OF THE PICTURES OF THIS COLLECTION.
_The Connoisseurs._ Painted in 1865. The property of King Edward VII.
1. _King Charles Spaniels._ Painted in 1832, according to the
authority of F. G. Stephens. Monkhouse gives the date as 1845. In the
National Gallery, London. Size: 2 ft. 3-1/2 in. by 2 ft. 11-1/2 in.
2. _Shoeing._ Exhibited in 1844. Bequeathed by Mr. Jacob Bell to the
National Gallery, London, where it now hangs. Size: 4 ft. 8 in. by 3
ft. 8 in.
3. _Suspense._ Exhibited in 1834. In the South Kensington Museum,
London. Size: 2 ft. 11-3/4 in. by 2 ft. 3-1/2 in.
4. _The Monarch of the Glen._ Painted in 1851. Catalogued by Graves as
the property of Lord Fitzgerald in 1875.
5. _The Twa Dogs._ Signed E. L. 1822. In the South Kensington Museum,
London. Size: 1 ft. 9 in. by 1 ft. 4-3/4 in.
6. _Dignity and Impudence._ Exhibited in 1839. Bequeathed by Mr. Jacob
Bell to the National Gallery, London, where it now hangs. Size: 2 ft.
11-1/2 in. by 2 ft. 3-1/2 in.
7. _Peace._ Exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 1846. In the National
Gallery, London. Size: 2 ft. 10 in. by 4 ft. 4 in.
8. _War._ Exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 1846. In the National
Gallery, London. Size: 2 ft. 10 in. by 4 ft. 4 in.
9. _A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society._ Exhibited at the
Royal Academy, in 1838. In the National Gallery, London. Size: 3 ft.
6-1/2 in. by 4 ft. 7 in.
10. _A Naughty Child._ Exhibited at the British Institution, in 1834.
In the South Kensington Museum, London. Size: 1 ft. 3 in. by 11 in.
11. _The Sleeping Bloodhound._ Exhibited at the British Institution in
1835. Bequeathed by Mr. Jacob Bell to the National Gallery, London,
where it now hangs. Size: 3 ft. 3 in. by 4 ft. 1 in.
12. _The Hunted Stag._ Exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 1833. In the
National Gallery, London. Size: 2 ft. 3-1/2 in. by 2 ft. 11-1/2 in.
13. _Jack in Office._ Exhibited at the Royal Academy, in 1833. In the
South Kensington Museum, London. Size: 2 ft. 2 in. by 1 ft. 7-3/4 in.
14. _The Highland Shepherd's Chief Mourner._ Exhibited at the Royal
Academy, in 1837. In the South Kensington Museum, London. Size: 2 ft.
by 1 ft. 6 in.
15. _A Lion of the Nelson Monument._ Commission received in 1859.
Lions set up in Trafalgar Square, 1868.
IV. OUTLINE TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL EVENTS IN LANDSEER'S LIFE.
1802. Landseer born in London.
1815. "Honorary Exhibitor" at Royal Academy, studies
under Haydon.
1816. Admittance to Royal Academy as student.
1817. Portrait of Brutus exhibited.
1818. Fighting Dogs exhibited.
1822. Premium of L150 awarded by Directors of British
Institution for Larder Invaded.
1824. First visit to Highlands and to Sir Walter Scott
at Abbotsford.
Cat's-Paw exhibited.
1825. Removal to house in St. John's Wood, London.
1826. Associate of Royal Academy.
1830. Royal Academician.
1834. Landseer's highest level in art; Suspense exhibited.
Highland Shepherd Dog rescuing Sheep from
Snowdrift.
1837. Highland Shepherd's Chief Mourner.
1840. Travel on Continent.
1843. The Sanctuary.
1846. Peace; and War.
The Stag at Bay.
1848. A Random Shot.
1850. Knighthood conferred.
1853. Gold medal from Paris Exhibition.
1859. Commission for lions of Nelson Monument.
1860. Flood in the Highlands.
1868. Lions placed in Trafalgar Square.
1869. The Swannery Invaded.
1873. Death, October 1.
Funeral in St. Paul's, October 11.
V. SOME OF LANDSEER'S CONTEMPORARIES.
ARTISTS:--
Sir Charles Eastlake, 1793-1865 }
C. R. Leslie, 1794-1859. }
Henry Fuseli, 1741-1825. }
William Mulready, 1786-1863. } Painters
J. M. W. Turner, 1775-1851. }
Benjamin West, 1738-1820. }
Sir David Wilkie, 1785-1841. }
John Gibson, sculptor, 1790-1866.
Thomas Landseer, engraver, 1796-1880.
AUTHORS:--
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1809-1861.
Robert Browning, 1812-1889.
Lord Byron, 1788-1824.
Charles Dickens, 1812-1870.
George Eliot, 1819-1880.
James Hogg, 1770-1835.
Walter Savage Landor, 1775-1864.
John Ruskin, 1819-1900.
Sir Walter Scott, 1771-1832.
Tennyson, 1809-1892.
Thackeray, 1811-1863.
Wordsworth, 1770-1850.
I
KING CHARLES SPANIELS
Edwin Henry Landseer was the most gifted member of a family of
artists. His father was a well-known engraver, and his brother Thomas
distinguished himself in the same profession. As soon as he could hold
a pencil, the boy Edwin began to draw. The family were then living in
the outskirts of London, and there were open fields near the house.
Here the future animal--painter used to spend long afternoons
sketching cows and sheep, and at the end of the day his father would
criticise his work.
At an early age the young artist began to show a preference for the
dog above other animals. A drawing of a foxhound made when he was five
years old is still exhibited as a remarkable production. At the age of
fourteen he became a pupil at the Royal Academy, "a bright lad with
light curling hair, and a very gentle, graceful manner and much
manliness withal." The following year all the critics were surprised
when he exhibited an admirable portrait of a dog called Brutus. The
painter Fuseli was at this time at the head of the Academy, and was
very fond of his precocious pupil, whom he playfully called his
"little dog boy," in reference to the Brutus.
It was by means of another dog picture that the artist took his next
step towards fame. "The Fighting Dogs" was a remarkable work for a
painter sixteen years old, and upon its exhibition in 1818 it was
purchased by an English nobleman. This was the real beginning of
Landseer's professional career, and from this time forward his success
was assured.
It became a fashion among people of means to bring their dogs to
Landseer for their portraits. He even counted royalty among his
patrons, painting the favorite pets of Queen Victoria and her husband,
Prince Albert.
The spaniels of our picture were the pets of a certain Mr. Vernon, who
not unnaturally deemed the beautiful little creatures a worthy subject
for a master's brush. This kind of dog, as its name implies, is
supposed to have come originally from Spain. Both Stuart kings,
Charles I. and Charles II., were specially fond of the breed, each
having a favorite variety. One of the dukes of Marlborough was also a
lover of spaniels, and imported into England the variety called, from
his palace, the Blenheim. The difference of color between the King
Charles and the Blenheim is seen in the picture, the former being
black and tan, with a few white touches; the other white, with spots
of liver color. Both have characteristic silky coats, round heads, big
lustrous eyes set wide apart, and long ears hanging in folds.
[Illustration: Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
KING CHARLES SPANIELS
_National Gallery, London_]
The little dogs lie side by side on a table. The Blenheim has his paws
over the edge, resting his nose comfortably upon them. The King
Charles nestles upon the brim of a high-crowned hat ornamented with a
long ostrich plume drooping over the brim. Such a hat was worn among
the Cavaliers or king's party in the reign of Charles I.; hence the
title of the Cavalier's Pets,[2] often given to the picture. The hat,
it must be understood, serves an important artistic purpose in the
composition, the height, from crown to feather tip, relieving the
otherwise flat effect of the picture.
[Footnote 2: The idea suggested in this title is made the basis of an
imaginary story woven about the picture in Sarah Tytler's little book,
_Landseer's Dogs and their Stories_.]
The attention of the dogs seems attracted by some object across the
room. It is the painter talking to them soothingly over his sketch: he
has learned the secret of dog language. As his pencil moves rapidly
over the paper, they watch him with wide eyes, full of wonder but with
no fear. They are like spoiled children gazing at a visitor with an
expression half wilful, half beseeching. The fresh ribbon bows they
wear are evidence of the fond care bestowed upon them.
Though the spaniel is not of the highest order of canine intelligence,
it is an affectionate and lovable pet often known to fame in
distinguished company. Tradition has it that it was one of these
little creatures which followed the unfortunate Mary Stuart to the
executioner's block--
"The little dog that licked her hand, the last of all the crowd
Which sunned themselves beneath her glance and round her footsteps
bowed."
It is also supposed that Sir Isaac Newton's little dog Diamond was a
spaniel, the mischief-maker who destroyed his master's priceless
calculations, and drew from the philosopher the mild exclamation,
"Diamond, Diamond, thou little knowest the mischief thou hast done."
Again, it was a spaniel whom Elizabeth Barrett Browning cherished as
the companion of weary hours of illness and confinement. The charming
verses to Flush celebrate the dog's beauty and affection.
The history of our picture illustrates Landseer's remarkable facility
of workmanship. After making the first sketch at Mr. Vernon's house in
Pall Mall, the painter was for a long time too busy to do any further
work upon it. One day artist and patron chanced to meet upon the
street, and the former was reminded of his promise. The sketch was
taken out and, two days later, the finished painting was delivered to
the owner. The picture lost nothing, however, by the haste with which
it was executed. A competent critic (Cosmo Monkhouse) has said that
Landseer never excelled it as a piece of painting. Much praise has
been bestowed upon the few dexterous strokes which have so perfectly
reproduced the texture of the plume on the hat. Even in the black and
white reproduction we can appreciate some of the best points of the
picture.
II
SHOEING
At the blacksmith's shop the bay mare Betty is being fitted to new
shoes. Already the fore feet are nicely shod and the blacksmith now
has the near hind foot in hand. The other occupants of the place are a
small donkey and the bloodhound Laura.
Betty is a sensible horse and enjoys the shoeing process. When the
time comes around for her regular visit to the forge, she walks off of
her own accord and unattended to the familiar spot. No halter is
necessary to keep her standing; in fact, she would not tolerate such
an indignity. She takes her place by the window as if perfectly at
home.
Blacksmith and horse are old friends who understand each other well.
The man has won the animal's confidence by the care he has taken to
fit the shoes comfortably. Though a plain, rough fellow, he is of a
kindly nature and knows his business thoroughly.
The shop is a quaint little place such as one finds in English
villages. The thick masonry of the walls shows how old the building
is; the floor is paved with large blocks of stone. Between the anvil
and the forge there is only space enough for the horse to stand. Yet
all the necessary tools are at hand, and a good blacksmith may shoe a
horse as well here as in the most elaborate city establishment.
At this stage of the process the preparations are all over. The old
shoes were first removed and the feet pared and filed. New shoes were
chosen as near the right size as possible, and one by one shaped for
each foot. Holding the shoe in his long tongs, the blacksmith thrusts
it into the fire, while he fans the flames with the bellows. Thence it
is transferred, a glowing red crescent, to the anvil. Now the workman
swings his hammer upon it with ringing strokes, the sparks fly out in
a shower, and the soft metal is shaped at will. The shoe may be made a
little broader or a little longer, as the case may be; bent a trifle
here or there, to accommodate the foot to be fitted. The steel toe
calk is welded in, the ends are bent to form the heels, the holes for
nails are punctured, the shoe taking an occasional plunge into the
flames during these processes.
Now there must be a preliminary trying-on. The shoe still hot is held
to the foot for which it is intended, and the air is filled with the
fumes of burning hoof. Yet the horse does not flinch, for the thick
hoof is a perfect protection for the sensitive parts of the foot. If
the careful blacksmith is not quite satisfied with the fit, there must
be more hammering on the anvil, and another trying on. When the shoe
is satisfactory, it is thrust hissing into a barrel of cold water,
and, cooled and hardened, is ready to be nailed on.
[Illustration: Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
SHOEING
_National Gallery, London_]
It is at this point in the story that we come upon Betty. The farrier,
after the approved method of his trade, holds the foot firmly between
his knees, and bends to his task. The nails, long and flat, are in the
tool-box on the floor beside him. A few firm blows of the hammer drive
each one into place, first on one side, then on the other; the
projecting points are twisted off every time, and finally, all the
rough ends are filed smoothly on the outside of the hoof. Betty is at
last fully shod and will step complacently home.
Our painter has arranged the four figures of the picture in a sort of
circular composition, so that we may see each one in a characteristic
pose. The bay mare is, of course, the chief attraction, a fine
high-bred creature, with straight legs, arching neck, and gentle face
marked on the forehead with a pure white star. Landseer exerted his
utmost skill in reproducing the texture of the glossy hide. Its
beautiful sheen is more striking by contrast with the shaggy hair of
the donkey. It was a clever thought to place this plebeian little
beast beside the aristocratic, high-spirited horse.
The donkey bends his head in a deprecating way below Betty's handsome
neck, and the horse permits the companionship of an inferior with
gentle tolerance. There is something very appealing about the donkey,
a patient little beast of burden, meekly bearing his saddle. The
bloodhound shows no little curiosity as to the shoeing process, as if
it were something new to her. She sits on her haunches, thrusting her
head forward, the long ears drooping, the sensitive nose sniffing the
strange odors.
Among these dumb companions the blacksmith feels himself surrounded by
friends. He is a lover of pets, as we see by the birdcage hanging in
the window. His sturdy frame looks equal to the demands of his trade,
which are in fact very laborious. It is grimy work, and only the
roughest clothes can be worn. A big leather apron with a cut down the
middle is, as it were, his badge of office. Our farrier does his work
with conscientious earnestness, concentrating all his thought and
energy upon each blow of the hammer. The task completed, he will take
an honest pride in the good piece of work he has done for Betty.
It is interesting to know that old Betty's owner was Mr. Jacob Bell,
an intimate friend and business adviser of Landseer.
III
SUSPENSE
A wounded knight has been brought home to his castle, and a line of
blood-stains on the floor shows where he was carried through the hall
to the room beyond. The family and servants press after, the door is
closed, and the favorite hound is shut out in the hall alone. Only the
meaningless murmur of voices, broken perhaps by the groans of his
master, tells what is going on within. It is a moment of suspense, and
the dog waits with drooping head, and eyes fixed mournfully on the
barrier which separates him from the object of his devotion.[3] So
alert is every sense that at the slightest touch upon the door he will
spring forward and push his way in.
[Footnote 3: A similar situation is described in the story of _Bob,
Son of Battle_, where the shepherd dog waits in suspense outside the
sickroom of his mistress.]
It is some such story as this which the painter tells us in the
picture called Suspense.[4] Every detail is full of meaning to the
imagination. The heavy door, studded with great nails, calls to mind
the old Norman castle; the gauntlets on the table and the plume on the
floor suggest the armor of the mediaeval knight. The picture is like an
illustration for one of Scott's novels. Our knight may have been
wounded, like Ivanhoe, in a tournament. The scene of the lists rises
before us, the opposite lines of mounted knights charging upon each
other with their lances, the shock of the meeting, the unhorsing of
many, the blows of the battle axe upon helmet and coat of mail, and
finally the entrance of the squires to bear their wounded masters to a
place of safety.
[Footnote 4: A pretty imaginary story is woven about the picture in
Sarah Tytler's little book, _Landseer's Dogs and their Stories_.]
The hound had no part in the sports of the tourney, but the scene of
his glory was the chase. When the knight went forth for a day's
hunting in the forest, the whole pack went with him, waking the
woodland echoes with their baying. Some familiar verses tell of
"The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounding up the rocky way,
And faint from farther distance borne,
The echo of the hoof and horn."
The dogs' delicate sense of smell enables them to track game with
unerring precision. It seems impossible to exhaust their perseverance
or their wind, and it is surely not their fault if a hunting-party
returns unsuccessful.
While hunting brings out the more ferocious elements of the nature,
the hound is on the other hand capable of an affectionate devotion
which makes him a valued friend of man. The English country gentleman
is a lover of dogs and horses, and knows how to appreciate their good
qualities. Out of the many animals in his kennels one dog is usually a
chosen favorite which becomes his master's inseparable companion.
Such a favorite is the dog of our picture, and we like to fancy that
the knight is worthy the love of so noble a creature.
[Illustration: John Andrew & Son, Sc.
SUSPENSE
_Kensington Museum, London_]
The hound is represented in his best and noblest aspect: all the
forces of his being seem concentrated in loving anxiety. It is as if
suffering brought out in the dog's nature those higher qualities by
which he is allied to human beings. His countenance is intensely
expressive yet thoroughly canine. Every line of the drawing brings out
the dog's character,--the squat of the haunches, the position of the
legs far apart, the rising of the hair on the crest of the back, the
droop of the head, the flattening of the tail.
The broad collar with the ring is a symbol of his subjection. The
privilege of man's friendship has cost the dog his freedom. To offset
the hours of delightful companionship with his friendly master are the
weary times when he must tug impotently at the chain which keeps him
within the castle enclosure.
It has been said that Landseer looked upon most animals with the eyes
of the artist, the poet, and the natural historian, but the dog alone
he painted as a friend. Our picture is good evidence of the truth of
the statement. Every resource of the painter's art was lavished upon
his favorite subject with the loving care that one gives only to a
friend.
The massive size of the dog is seen by comparing the figure with the
height of the table and the door. The great creature practically
fills the canvas. The pose is so finely conceived, the figure itself
so admirably "modelled," to use the critic's phrase, that it seems
almost like a work of sculpture. The light and shadow are carefully
studied. The light seems to come from some source at the right,
bringing out strongly the expressiveness of the dog's face. Landseer,
we are told, was fond of introducing into his pictures a bit of
sparkling metal. Here the reflected light on the gauntlets, like that
on the spurs beside the King Charles Spaniels and on the helmet near
the Sleeping Bloodhound, adds an effective touch to the composition.
Suspense has been a popular favorite among Landseer's works, and is
one of the pictures referred to in the Memorial Verses published in
"Punch" after the artist's death. This is the stanza describing it:--
"The lordly bloodhound with pricked ear,
And scent suspicious, watches for his lord
At the locked door, from whose sill, trickling clear,
The blood bespeaks surprise and treacherous sword."
IV
THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN
An annual visit to the Scottish Highlands was one of Landseer's
pleasures. It was here that he learned to know the habits of the deer,
the subject of many of his noblest paintings. His first journey to
this region was as a young man of twenty-two, in company with a friend
and fellow painter, Leslie. An incident of the excursion was a visit
to Abbotsford, the home of Sir Walter Scott. The painter and the
novelist had much in common in their attachment to dogs, their
fondness for vigorous out-of-door exercise, and their love of nature.
Landseer was deeply impressed with the rugged grandeur of the Highland
scenery. Especially was his imagination stirred by the mountain
solitudes, the haunt of the deer, which Scott had described in his
poems. A favorite resort was the valley of Glencoe, a singularly wild
and romantic spot where a long narrow ravine is shut in between almost
perpendicular hills.
The painter first made the acquaintance of the deer after the ordinary
manner of the sportsman. For sport in itself, however, he cared little
or nothing; the great attraction of hunting was the chance to study
the action of animals. His friends laughed at him for a poor shot,
but his true weapon was the pencil, not the gun. One day, while
deerstalking, just as a magnificent shot came his way, the gillies
were astonished to have the painter thrust the gun into their hands,
and hastily take out his sketch-book. It was the life and not the
death of the animal in which he was chiefly interested.
The Monarch of the Glen seems to be a picture caught in just this way.
The very life and character of the animal are transferred to the
canvas as by a snap shot of the camera. The stag has heard some
strange sound or scented some new danger, and, mounting a hill, looks
abroad to see if all is well. The responsibility of the herd is his,
and he has a tender care for the doe and the young deer. He must
always be on the alert.
His attitude reminds one of Scott's "antlered monarch" in "The Lady of
the Lake," which
"Like crested leader proud and high
Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky;
A moment gazed adown the dale,
A moment snuffed the tainted gale."
It is with a proud sense of ownership that the monarch surveys his
domain. With head erect he seems to defy the whole world of sportsmen.
Behind him are piled the massive crags of the mountain peaks, with the
mist rising from the valley below. This fog, so dangerous to the
traveller, is a blessing to the deer, tempering the heat of the summer
sun and hiding him from his enemy, man. It appealed to Landseer on
account of its weird sublimity, and he liked to get the effect of
it in his landscapes, especially when illumined by a burst of
sunlight.
[Illustration: From an Engraving by Thomas Landseer, John Andrew &
Son, Sc.
THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN]
The Monarch of the Glen is a splendid specimen of his kind. The
spreading horns above his head are like the boughs of an oak tree. We
know from the number of branches that he is seven years old. The horns
are developed at the end of the first year, and every year thereafter
are displaced by new ones with an additional branch.
The large ears are held erect as if the animal could fairly see with
them. His fine eyes scan the horizon with a searching glance which
misses nothing. His sensitive nose detects from afar the approach of
any stranger to his fastnesses. The end is always moist, in order that
he may catch the way of the wind, as the hunter catches it on his
moistened finger. His neck is encircled with a heavy mane, falling in
a broad band, like the collar of a royal order. His body is rather
short, thick, and round.
The legs, which are seen only half their length, seem strangely
disproportioned to the weight of so heavy an annual. That the deer's
horns are so large and his legs so small are two perpetual mysteries
about this wild creature. An amusing fable by La Fontaine relates how
a stag, gazing at his reflection in the water, deplores the
awkwardness of his legs, and admires the beauty of his antlers. A
moment later, fleeing for his life, he learns the value of his
despised legs, while the boasted horns impede his progress by catching
in the branches of the forest trees.
The speed of which the deer is capable is indeed marvelous. He adds to
his power of fleet running a wonderful trick of bounding through
space. It is said that a deer may leap six or eight feet into the air,
and cover in a single bound a distance of eighteen to thirty feet. The
leap is performed without apparent haste or effort, the animal rising
gracefully into the air by a tiny toe-touch of the dainty hoofs. It is
a sort of wingless flying.[5] The deer is besides a strong swimmer,
and lakes and streams are no obstacles in his way.
[Footnote 5: See _The Trail of the Sandhill Stag_, by Ernest
Seton-Thompson, from which is also drawn the information about the
deer's moist nose.]
As we look into the noble face of the Monarch of the Glen, we feel a
sense of kinship with him, like the experience of Yan in the beautiful
story of "The Sandhill Stag." It was after following the trail of the
deer many days that the youth at last came suddenly face to face with
the object of his desire, "a wondrous pair of bronze and ivory horns,
a royal head, a noble form behind it." As they gazed into each other's
eyes, every thought of murder went out of Yan's heart, and gave place
to a strange sense of fellowship. "Go now without fear," he said, "but
if only you would come sometimes and look me in the eyes, and make me
feel as you have done to-day, you would drive the wild beast wholly
from my heart, and then the veil would be a little drawn, and I should
know more of the things that wise men have prayed for knowledge of."
V
THE TWA DOGS
The Scotch poet Robert Burns, who died a few years before Landseer's
birth, was a kindred spirit of the painter in his love of dogs and his
sense of humor. An early picture by Landseer illustrating the poem of
"The Twa Dogs" fits the verses as if painter and poet had worked
together. We are told that Burns once had a collie which he named
Luath, after a dog in Ossian's "Fingal." The favorite came to an
untimely end, through some one's cruelty, and the poet was
inconsolable. He determined to immortalize Luath in a poem, and this
is the history of the tale of "The Twa Dogs."
The poem relates how
"Upon a bonny day in June
When wearing through the afternoon,
Twa dogs, that were na thrang[6] at hame,
Forgather'd ance upon a time."
[Footnote 6: Busy.]
Of the two dogs, one is the collie Luath, here represented as the
friend and comrade of a ploughman. He is described in broad Scotch
as
"A gash[7] and faithfu' tyke
As ever lap a sheugh[8] or dike.
His honest, sonsie,[9] baws'nt[10] face,
Aye gat him friends in ilka place.
His breast was white, his touzie[11] back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gaucie[12] tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung o'er his hurdies[13] wi' a swirl."
[Footnote 7: Knowing.]
[Footnote 8: Ditch.]
[Footnote 9: Comely.]
[Footnote 10: White-striped.]
[Footnote 11: Shaggy.]
[Footnote 12: Bushy.]
[Footnote 13: Hips.]
Luath's companion was a foreign dog, from "some far place abroad,
where sailors gang to fish for cod," in short, Newfoundland. He was,
moreover, a dog of "high degree," whose "locked, letter'd, braw brass
collar showed him the gentleman and scholar." The "gentleman" is
appropriately called Caesar, a name commonly given to Newfoundland
dogs.
The picture carries out faithfully the poet's conception of both
animals. Luath is here to the very life, with shaggy black back, white
breast, and honest face. We only regret that his position does not
allow us to see the upward curl of his bushy tail. Caesar is a black
and white Newfoundland dog with a brass collar. The model is said to
have been Neptune, the dog of a certain Mr. Gosling.[14]
[Footnote 14: Two years later (1824) Landseer painted the portrait of
Mr Gosling's Neptune, showing head and shoulders in front view.]
Though representing opposite stations in life, The Twa Dogs were
excellent friends. On this occasion, weary of their usual diversions,
they sat down together on a hillock
"And there began a lang digression
About the lords o' the creation."
It is Caesar who opens the conversation, expressing curiosity as to how
the poor man can endure his life. Luath owns that the cotter's lot is
a hard one, but declares that in spite of poverty and hardships the
poor are "maistly wonderfu' contented." The talk then drifts to the
corruption of politics and the vices of the rich. Caesar at last brings
it to an end by describing the wearisome monotony and emptiness of the
fashionable life.
[Illustration: John Andrew & Son, Sc.
THE TWA DOGS
_South Kensington Museum, London_]
By this time it was sundown, and the two friends separated, rejoicing
"that they were na men, but dogs."
The contrast between the two canine types is well brought out in our
picture. Even the attitudes show their opposite temperaments. The
collie is a somewhat awkward figure, sitting on his haunches, with
legs far apart, nervously alert. The Newfoundland dog lies at his ease
with one paw elegantly crossed over the other. They talk muzzle to
muzzle, the one long and pointed, the other thick and square.
In those days the collie was chiefly the poor man's dog, the
indispensable aid of the shepherd, and the friend of the laborer. It
was not until later years that, following the example of the Queen,
the rich began to notice his good qualities, and he became a popular
favorite. But neither Burns nor Landseer needed to be taught by the
dictates of fashion to understand the collie's fine nature. The dog
they portrayed, however, was not the luxuriously reared pet we know
to-day, but the unkempt companion of humble folk.
The Newfoundland dog, though of plebeian origin, and a hard worker in
his native land, is generally regarded as an aristocrat. He is
dignified, gentle, and kindly in nature.
Both dogs are very sagacious, and the painter and poet agreed in
giving them the thoughts and feelings of human beings. In the picture
Caesar seems to be describing the fashionable revels he has witnessed,
while honest Luath listens in amazement to the recital. The landscape
is such as one might see in Scotland. At the foot of the hill lies a
lake, beyond which is a range of low mountains.
Two years after painting the picture of The Twa Dogs, Landseer made a
pilgrimage to Ayr, the birthplace of Burns, and rambled about the
spots associated with the poet's memory. That he took a peculiar
interest in the subject of the poem is shown by the fact that over
thirty years after he painted it a second time, with some slight
variations.
VI
DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE
Any one with a sense of humor must often be struck by the resemblance
between the ways of dogs and the ways of men. The dignified dog, the
vulgar dog, the nervous dog, the lazy dog, the impudent dog, are all
types of which there are many human counterparts. The dog, indeed,
seems at times almost to mimic the manners of men. So in our picture
of Dignity and Impudence we are at once reminded of a corresponding
situation in human life.
The hound Grafton, posing as Dignity, lies at the entrance of his
kennel, his paws overhanging the edge. His handsome head is held erect
as he surveys an approaching visitor with the air of an elderly
statesman receiving a political candidate. There can be no doubt that
his opinions are decidedly conservative.
A small Scotch terrier has been playing about him, having no awe of
his big host, but making himself quite at home in his cosy quarters.
He is like a frolicsome child, playing about the statesman's chair,
while the old gentleman pursues his train of thought quite
undisturbed. Now at the sound of approaching footsteps the
impertinent creature peeps forth, with the curiosity of his kind, to
see who the newcomer is. His tongue is thrust halfway out at one side
like that of a saucy street boy making faces at the passers by. Though
Dignity apparently ignores the presence of Impudence, we may be sure
that the little fellow's antics afford him a quiet amusement. Plainly
the two dogs are the best of friends.[15]
[Footnote 15: A story of a dog friendship as odd as that between
Dignity and Impudence is told apropos of this picture in Sarah
Tytler's little book, _Landseer's Dogs and their Stories_.]
There is the greatest possible contrast between them, both in
character and appearance. The bloodhound is of a ponderous nature
which does not act without deliberation. Thoroughly aroused he may
become quite terrible, but he is not hasty in his judgments. The
terrier is a nervous creature, full of activity. We can see from the
tense position of his head in the picture that his whole body is
quivering with motion.
The bloodhound seems large even for his breed, which averages about
twenty-seven inches in height. One of his huge paws is almost as large
as the terrier's head and could easily crush the little creature. But
in spite of his reputation for fierceness his expression here is not
at all savage. It is rather grave and judicial, as if carefully
summing up the character of his visitor. While the terrier saucily
asks "Who are you?" the bloodhound is steadily gazing at the intruder,
as if to read his secret thoughts. A modern authority on dogs quaintly
says of the bloodhound's discrimination, "If he puts you down as a bad
character, or one who cannot be thoroughly trusted, there must be
something radically wrong about you, indeed."
[Illustration: Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
DIGNITY AND IMPUDENCE
_National Gallery, London_]
Perhaps something of the gravity of the hound's countenance is due to
the looseness of the skin about the head, making folds which suggest
the wrinkles in an old man's face. The eyes, too, are rather deep set
and impress one with the unfathomable depths of the dog's
intelligence. How unlike are the shining round orbs of the little
terrier. The hound's sleek short-haired coat comports well with his
dignity, while the long tangled hair of the terrier suits his impudent
character. With the long overhanging ears of the larger dog are
amusingly contrasted the small sharp points standing upright on his
companion's head. Finally, were the two dogs to lift up their voices
to greet the new arrival, an odd duet would be produced by the deep
baying of one, broken by the short sharp yelps of the other. Dignity
and Impudence would each find perfect vocal expression.
Our picture illustrates admirably Landseer's genial gift of humor and
shows us how varied was his power. As we have occasion to see
elsewhere in our book, some of his works deal with pathetic, even
tragic, subjects.[16] Like other men of poetic imagination the painter
seemed equally ready to call forth smiles or tears. While no one can
look at Dignity and Impudence without smiling at the contrast, the fun
is without irony. Pomposity and impertinence are amusing qualities
alike in dogs and men, but are altogether harmless.
[Footnote 16: See Suspense, The Highland Shepherd's Chief Mourner, War,
and The Hunted Stag.]
The painter has here kept strictly within the proper limits of his
art. A few slight changes would entirely transform the character of
the picture. By exaggerating only a little the human quality of
expression in the dogs' faces and suggesting a resemblance to some
particular individuals, the picture would become a caricature.
Cartoonists have not scrupled to borrow the design and adapt it to
such purposes. Landseer himself, however, had no aim but to produce a
humorous effect of contrast between the two dogs.
VII
PEACE
A flock of sheep and goats are pasturing on the meadowland above some
cliffs which rise abruptly from the sea. To those familiar with the
scenery of England the place recalls at once the white cliffs of
Dover. The caretakers are a lad and his sister, who have brought with
them a younger child. A shepherd dog is their assistant, one of those
intelligent animals trained to keep the flock together and to lead it
about.
It is noontide of a bright summer day. The sea lies blue and still
under the clear sky. The flock no longer graze industriously, but rest
in scattered groups. The young people amuse themselves quietly on the
grass, and the dog has stretched himself for a nap. Overhead two large
sea gulls take their flight through the air.
There is a single reminder here of a time when all was not so
peaceful,--the rusty old cannon in the midst. From these uplands a
battery once frowned across the Channel, threatening destruction to
the approaching enemy. The booming of guns resounded where now is
heard only the lowing of cattle and the laughter of children. Happily
the cannon has now so long been out of use that it has become a part
of the cliff, like one of the rocks. The flock gather about it as a
rallying place, and in its black mouth grow tender herbs for the lambs
to crop.
No cottage is in sight, and we judge that our young people have
brought their flock from a little distance. Two sturdy goats act as
beasts of burden in the family, both equipped with saddle and bridle.
As they rest now at one side they are the impersonations of docility
and dignity, but a hint of mischief lurks in their complacent
expressions. One feels decidedly suspicious of the old fellow with the
long beard. Twin lambs lying at the cannon's mouth are the softest and
daintiest little creatures of the flock. So, evidently, thinks the
sheep beside them, gently nosing the woolly back of the one nearest.
The children are of the best type of English villagers, with fresh,
sweet, happy faces. All three are well dressed and have the tidy
appearance which is the sign of family thrift and prosperity. The girl
has her hair brushed back smoothly from her forehead and knotted at
the back like a little woman's. She bears herself with a pretty air of
motherliness toward her brothers. Like other English village maidens,
she is skilled in all sorts of domestic duties and has few idle
moments through the day. Her sewing-basket lies beside her on the
ground, and while the dog looks after the sheep, she busies herself
with her work.
[Illustration: Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
PEACE
_National Gallery, London_]
Evidently she has some knitting under way, and the work comes to a
pause while she winds a new skein of yarn. The little toddler may now
make himself useful by holding the skein. He is proud of the honor and
watches the rapidly moving thread with fascinated eyes. So deftly do
the fingers untangle the snarls that the task is converted into a game
as absorbing as a cat's cradle puzzle. Even the older lad, of the
manly age to feel himself superior to such amusements, peers over the
little one's shoulder with genuine curiosity. In the excitement of
their occupation, the little knitter's straw bonnet has slipped from
her head far down her back, leaving the plump neck exposed to the sun.
The full significance of the picture is best understood in contrast
with the companion subject, War. The two pictures have been called by
a critic "true poem-pictures." The painter means to show here that the
choicest blessing of Peace is the prosperity of the humbler classes,
who are the bulwark of the nation. Agricultural pursuits can flourish
only when arms are laid down. Happy is the land where innocent
children and dumb beasts can roam in safety over the country.