THE HUNTED STAG
_National Gallery, London_]
As he begins to tire, he resorts to stratagem as a substitute for
speed. Sometimes another deer comes to his aid, taking the track he
has made, while he hides in some thicket or flies in a different
direction. One of his tricks is to run backward over his course for a
number of yards, and then leap aside to start in another way. The
story of the Sandhill Stag tells how a deer used this device three
times in succession, the last time returning to a thicket near his
track from which he could discern his pursuer long before the trail
would bring him too near. After this, grown more desperate, the stag
circled round till he joined his old track, and then bounded aside to
let the hunter follow the cold scent.
When all such artifices fail, the hunted deer's last resort is the
water. Plunging into a lake or mountain stream, he swims up the
current, taking care not to touch any brush on the bank, lest he leave
a scent for the hounds. It is said that he can even hide under the
water, leaving only the tip of his nose above the surface.
The stag of our picture has reached the water too late; already the
hounds are upon him. The mass of struggling animals is swept along the
current of a mountain stream to an inevitable doom. The hunted
creature raises his noble head in his dying agony, seeking to escape
his tormentors. Even yet he strikes out in a brave attempt to swim,
but the end is only too plain.
The painter's art has set the tragedy very forcibly before us. Behind
is a lake, around which rises a range of high hills. A single break
in their outline admits a ray of sunlight into the sombre grandeur of
the scene. The narrow stream which issues from the lake falls between
huge boulders, in a steep descent. The struggle of the dogs with their
prey churns the torrent into foam about the body of the stag.
While we admire the art which can produce such a picture, the subject,
like that of War, is too painful for enjoyment. We must turn again to
the Monarch of the Glen, and from the contrast of the dying with the
living, we enjoy the more the splendid vitality of the animal.
XIII
JACK IN OFFICE
In the time of Landseer a familiar figure about the streets of London
was the itinerant dealer in dog's meat. His outfit consisted of a
square covered wheelbarrow in which he carried the meat, a basket, a
pair of scales, knives, skewers, and similar tools of his trade. His
assistant was a dog, whose duty was to guard the meat barrow while the
butcher called for orders or delivered his goods. In this capacity a
dog would serve even better than a boy, in keeping hungry animals from
his master's property. There is a quaint old saying that "it takes a
rogue to catch a rogue." The dog's wages were all the meat he could
eat, and having satisfied himself to the point of gluttony, there
would be no danger of any inroads on the meat from him.
In our picture a butcher has left his barrow standing on the
cobble-stone pavement at the corner of the narrow entrance to a
square. His dog Jack controls the situation in his absence, and rules
with undisputed authority.
Such is the master's confidence in the dog's ability to manage, that
he has taken no pains to put the meat away in the barrow. A large cut
is left in the scale pan, and a basket on the pavement contains some
choice bits. Naturally the tempting odor has drawn a number of stray
street dogs to the place.
From his elevated position Jack surveys them as a monarch receiving a
throng of obsequious courtiers. As a matter of fact he is himself a
low mongrel cur, vastly inferior in origin to some of the surrounding
dogs. Circumstances having raised him to a position of authority he
regards them all with supercilious disdain. A miserable, half starved
hound approaches the basket with eyes fixed hungrily on the contents,
the tail drooping between the shaking legs, the attitude expressing
the most abject wretchedness. He is a canine Uriah Heep professing
himself "so 'umble." Behind is a retriever, uplifting a begging paw,
and farther away are other eager dogs. A puppy in front has just
finished eating, and, still gnawing the skewer, looks up to ask for
more.
Not one of them all dares touch the meat, though Jack moves not a
muscle to prevent them. It is a question whether an overfed,
tight-skinned animal like this would prove a very redoubtable enemy in
a fight. Jack's influence, however, is due in no small measure to his
sagacious air of importance. Seated on his haunches, he holds between
his fore legs the handle of the scales as the insignia of office. A
broad collar and a small leather harness show he has to take his own
turn in serving another. Ignoring the appeal of the puppy, he turns to
the group of larger dogs, regarding them with a contemptuous
expression of his half-closed eyes. He has been a keen observer of dog
nature, and knows what value to place upon the professions of these
fawning creatures.
[Illustration: John Andrew & Son, Sc.
JACK IN OFFICE
_South Kensington Museum, London_]
The situation inevitably suggests corresponding relations in human
life. It often happens that a man of inferior qualities is raised to
some position of authority which he holds with arrogant assumption.
Himself the servant of another, he delights in the exercise of a petty
tyranny. He is forthwith surrounded by a throng of flatterers seeking
the benefits he has to bestow. It is pitiable to see how some who were
originally his superiors humiliate themselves before him. Like the
sycophant hound and the imploring retriever, they seem to lose all
sense of self-respect.
One can see how easily the picture of Jack in Office could be
converted into a caricature, and it is not surprising to learn that it
has been used in England as a political cartoon. American politics
might also produce many a parallel situation. The party boss in a
municipal government holding petty appointments in his control is a
veritable Jack in Office surrounded by his followers.
The humor of the picture is, as we see, a trifle keener than in
Dignity and Impudence. Arrogance and sycophancy are such despicable
qualities, whether in dog or man, that they are held up not only for
our laughter but for our contempt.
As may be inferred from our previous illustrations, the greater
number of Landseer's dog subjects were drawn from animals of the finer
breeds. Jack in Office is unique in our collection as dealing with the
commoner animals of the street. Even here, however, the painter found
material for his favorite theme of the dog's fidelity to his master.
Jack is, as it were, the butcher's business partner, sharing alike in
his labors and his gains. As we are to see again in our next picture,
the dog which is made the companion of daily labor is even more to his
master than one which is merely a playmate.
It is instructive to examine one by one the details of the
composition, which the painter has rendered with much technical skill.
The vista of the square at the end of the alley is a pleasant feature
of the composition, giving a more spacious background to the group.
XIV
THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNER
While the mountains of the Scottish Highlands are haunted by deer, the
valleys are the pasture ground for large flocks of sheep. Here our
painter, Landseer, made the acquaintance of two unique characters, the
Highland shepherd and his dog. In former times the shepherds of
Scotland were no ordinary men. The loneliness of the life in these
wilds left an impress upon their nature, making it stern and serious.
Not infrequently great readers were found among them, and even poets.
The Ettrick shepherd James Hogg was one of Scotland's first men of
letters.
The poet Wordsworth, whose boyhood was passed in the north of England,
describes in "The Prelude" his admiration for the shepherds of that
region:--
"There, 't is the shepherd's task the winter long
To wait upon the storms: of their approach
Sagacious, into sheltering coves he drives
His flock, and thither from the homestead bears
A toilsome burden up the craggy ways,
And deals it out, their regular nourishment
Strewn on the frozen snow. And when the spring
Looks out, and all the pastures dance with lambs,
And when the flock, with warmer weather, climbs
Higher and higher, him his office leads
To watch their goings, whatsoever track
The wanderers choose.
* * * * *
A rambling schoolboy, thus
I felt his presence in his own domain,
As of a lord and master, or a power,
Or genius, under Nature, under God,
Presiding; and severest solitude
Had more commanding looks when he was there."
The shepherd would be helpless without his dog, the collie, whose
astuteness and skill can hardly be overstated. The trained sheep dog
learns to know every individual member of the flock, so that if a
straggler goes beyond bounds, he will reclaim it; if an intruder
enters he will drive it out. When the flock is to be led home, he
gathers the scattered portions into a compact body and keeps them in
the way. A sagacious dog belonging to Hogg once amazed his master by
gathering together a flock of seven hundred lambs which had broken up
at midnight and scattered in three directions.
The collie is fitted by nature with special qualifications for his
peculiar work. His neck is long and arched, that he may put his nose
well to the ground and stretch it when running. His half pricked ears
are the best possible for distinguishing sounds at a distance, and the
part that falls over protects the inner ear from the rain. His thick
coat is proof against rain, snow, or wind, and the heavy mane shields
the most vulnerable part of his chest, like a natural lung protector.
With bare hind legs, long and springy, he can make his way easily in
the heather. The long, tapering muzzle gives a peculiarly
intelligent look to the face. An authority on dogs says, "There is, if
the expression may be used, a philosophic look about him which shows
thought, patience, energy, and vigilance."
[Illustration: John Andrew & Son, Sc.
THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD'S CHIEF MOURNER
_South Kensington Museum, London_]
The shepherd and his dog are constant companions from dawn to sunset,
sharing the responsibilities of their charge. Common hardships seem to
knit the friendship, and the tie between them is unusually close. We
can easily understand that a faithful dog deprived of his master would
mourn him deeply. Such grief is the subject of our picture, The
Highland Shepherd's Chief Mourner.
An old shepherd living alone in his rude cottage has thrown down his
hat and staff for the last time. His neighbors have prepared his body
for decent burial, the coffin has been closed and nailed, and now
stands on the trestles ready for removal. The shepherd's plaid has
been laid over it as a sort of pall, and a bit of green is added by
some reverent hand. For the moment the house is deserted, and the dog
is left alone with all that represents his master's life to him. His
mute grief is intensely pathetic; speech could not express more
plainly his utter despair.
A beautiful description by Ruskin suggests the important points to
notice in the picture,--"the close pressure of the dog's breast
against the wood, the convulsive clinging of the paws, which has
dragged the blanket off the trestle, the total powerlessness of the
head laid close and motionless upon its folds, the fixed and tearful
fall of the eye in its utter hopelessness, the rigidity of repose
which marks that there has been no motion or change in the trance of
agony since the last blow was struck on the coffin-lid, the quietness
and gloom of the chamber, the spectacles marking the place where the
Bible was last closed, indicating how lonely has been the life--how
unwatched the departure of him who is now laid solitary in his sleep."
The critic shows that the skill with which the painting is executed,
remarkable as it is, is not so great a thing to praise the painter for
as the imagination which could conceive so pathetic a scene. The
picture is, he says, "one of the most perfect poems which modern times
have seen."
The incident which Landseer imagined has doubtless many a parallel in
actual life. There is a story of a traveller who was killed by a fall
from a precipice near Mt. Helvellyn. Three months later his remains
were discovered, watched over by the faithful dog. Scott's poem
"Helvellyn" commemorates the incident,[21] and the line telling how--
"Faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,"
expresses well the spirit of our picture.
[Footnote 21: Wordsworth's verses on Fidelity apparently refer to the
same story.]
XV
A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENT
Our conception of the range of Landseer's art would be quite
inadequate if we failed to notice his studies of the lion. Though his
works on this subject were not numerous, he was all his life greatly
interested in the noble animal called the king of beasts. As a boy, he
used to visit a certain menagerie called Exeter Change, and make
drawings of the beasts there. A drawing of a Senegal lion, made here
at the age of nine, is very creditable. The same menagerie furnished,
many years later, the material for his first serious lion study. One
of the animals having died, Landseer obtained the body for dissection.
His methods of work were always thorough. He believed that it was only
by mastering an animal's anatomy that a painter could faithfully
reproduce its motions and attitudes. The result of his studies on this
occasion was an interesting series of pictures,--A Lion disturbed at
his Repast, A Lion enjoying his Repast, and A Prowling Lion.
Naturally opportunities for dissecting lions were not frequent, and
the painter had to bide his time for further studies. A friend who
could help him in this respect was Mr. Mitchell, secretary of the
Zooelogical Society. Whenever the secretary happened to have a dead
lion on his hands, he offered Landseer the first chance to obtain it.
An amusing story is told of one of Mr. Mitchell's efforts in his
friend's behalf. A company of guests was gathered one evening at
Landseer's house, when suddenly a man servant appeared at the
drawing-room door, and quietly asked, "Did you order a lion, sir?" The
inquiry was made in a matter-of-fact tone, precisely as if ordering
lions were an every-day affair, like ordering a rib of beef, or a leg
of mutton. There was a sensation among the guests, and much merriment
was caused by their pretended alarm. Tradition says that Charles
Dickens was of the party, and it was he who often told the story
afterwards. As it proved, Mr. Mitchell had sent the painter a lion
which had died that day in the Zooelogical Garden of Regent's Park.
In 1859 Landseer received an important commission from the English
government requiring all his knowledge of the lion. His task was to
model some lions to ornament the Nelson monument in Trafalgar Square,
London. This monument had been erected more than fifteen years before
(1843), in memory of the admiral under whose leadership the English
fleet had won their victory off Cape Trafalgar, October 21, 1805. It
consisted of a tall granite column surmounted by a statue of Nelson.
To make the base of the column more imposing, it now seemed desirable
to place colossal bronze figures of lions at the four corners.
[Illustration: Fr. Hanfstaengl, photo. John Andrew & Son, Sc.
A LION OF THE NELSON MONUMENT
_Trafalgar Square, London_]
With characteristic thoroughness, the artist made his preparatory
studies. Two of these are rough sketches on canvas in the National
Gallery of London, and show distinctly the original data for his final
conception. Apparently they are studies from menagerie animals. One is
in profile, showing the beast as he creeps in snarling discontent
within the limited area of his cage. The other sketch has caught the
attitude of the animal lifting his head to scan an approaching
visitor. In these two studies, Landseer obtained the proper
proportions of the side face, from nosetip to ear, and the length of
the front face, from the crest of the mane to the lower jaw. They also
show completely the manner in which the mane grows, both along the
back and on each side the face.
It could not be expected that a man who had been all his life a
painter would immediately acquire proficiency as a sculptor. Landseer
had his lions under way nearly ten years, and in the mean time
practised himself in the new art by modelling the figure of a stag.
Certain qualities of sculpture he had already shown in some of his
paintings. The pose of the Newfoundland dog called A Distinguished
Member of the Humane Society is conceived in the spirit of plastic
art. So also is The Sleeping Bloodhound. When it came, therefore, to
modelling a figure, the artist understood well how to secure a
monumental pose. In this point his work is especially successful.
The lion lies in a grand, majestic attitude. The mane rises like a
crown on his brow, and falls in splendid masses on either side his
head. The mouth is open, and the expression a little mild for dignity.
One is reminded of the tamed spirit of the menagerie captive rather
than of the proud majesty of the animal in his native wilds. A work of
this sort must necessarily have a certain stiffness and
conventionality which we should not like in a painting.
It is said that Landseer modelled only a single figure, and the others
were cast from the same model with slight variations. When at last the
work was completed, the colossal figures were mounted on huge
pedestals radiating diagonally from the four corners of the square
base of the monument.
XVI
THE CONNOISSEURS
The story of Landseer's art career was a series of continuous
successes from his precocious boyhood to his honored old age. He was
an exhibitor at the Royal Academy when he was in his teens, and early
in his twenties he was successful enough in his profession to set up
an establishment of his own. He then took a small house in a pleasant
part of London known as St. John's Wood, and fitted up the barn into a
studio. The place was called Maida Villa, as a compliment to the
famous staghound which was Sir Walter Scott's favorite dog. Here
Landseer lived, like Sir Walter himself, surrounded by dogs. He never
married, and his sister, Mrs. Mackenzie, was for many years his
housekeeper.
His life was, of course, a very busy one, filled with commissions
which came much more rapidly than he could execute them. His house was
enlarged as his means permitted, and became a delightful resort for
many favored guests. The painter was of a frank nature, genial and
kindly among his friends, witty in conversation, and a clever mimic.
An invitation to one of his parties was a privilege. Many were the
distinguished patrons who visited his studio; even the royal
carriages were sometimes seen standing at the door of Maida Villa.
His work was duly rewarded with the proper honors. At the age of
twenty-eight, the painter was elected to membership in the Royal
Academy, and twenty years later he was knighted. Thereafter he was
known as Sir Edwin Landseer, probably the most popular painter of his
day.
He is described as a man of heavy figure, six feet in height, with a
weather-beaten countenance. He used to wear a sober gray tweed suit,
and had the general appearance of an English country gentleman. His
movements were quick and energetic.
Our portrait shows him at the age of sixty-two, when his beard was
white. His face is attractive because of the kindly expression, but it
is by no means handsome. The redeeming feature is the high broad
forehead, the sign of the fine poetic temperament of which so many of
his works are proof.
It was characteristic of Landseer to paint his portrait with his dogs.
Neither the man nor his art can be separated from the animal to which
he devoted his best gifts. The dogs give the title to the picture, and
with the genial humor natural to the painter, he represents himself as
the subject of their criticism. Holding his sketch-book across his
knees, he appears to be making a pencil study of some dog subject,
while over each shoulder peers the grave face of a canine
"Connoisseur." The dog at the painter's right seems to express
approval, while his more critical comrade on the other side reserves
judgment till the picture is completed.
It would appear that Landseer's dog pictures were faithful enough to
satisfy the judgment of the originals. "We cannot help believing,"
writes an admiring critic,[22] "that the manner in which Landseer drew
the forms and expressed the character of the canine race would have
been rewarded with the gratitude, if not the full satisfaction of such
a critic.... On the whole, seeing that he was but a man [the
Connoisseurs] must, we fancy, have allowed that he was a good artist,
a fair judge of character, and meant kindly by them."
[Footnote 22: Cosmo Monkhouse.]
The honors bestowed upon Landseer culminated at the time of his death
in the magnificent funeral ceremonies attending his burial at St.
Paul's Church, London. His body was laid near those of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Turner, Fuseli, and other famous English painters. In the
memorial sermon following the funeral, the painter's character was
fittingly summed up in a few lines from Coleridge's "Ancient Mariner."
"He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast,
"He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small,
For the dear God who loveth us
He made and loveth all."
The Riverside Press
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