IV.

“THE UPPER TEN.”

Biography is so genial nowadays, and full of easy gossip, that we cannot help wondering a little at her former stiffness. Nothing is below her notice now, but the personalia of earlier times slip into her pages more by accident than design. This, no doubt, is the reason why she referred so seldom or so briefly to the pet animals of royalty. There was a divinity in monarchs then, and she treated them with such ceremonious respect that if we had only her account to look to, we should know but little of their real selves.

Fortunately for us, letters have been written in every age, and countless private journals. From these sources come the anecdotes, the jests, the bits of gossip which recall the past more vividly, and make these old rulers seem life-like even yet. In this way many a simple, natural trait has been preserved to relieve the court background of formality and grandeur; many a little incident is told that proves our common blood. Kings and queens loved and hoped, or grieved and feared, even as ourselves who wear no crowns; and while the soft afterglow of years falls on royalty surroundedby its pets, we realize anew how one touch of nature can make the whole world kin.

About the beginning of the seventeenth century, there might have been seen in India at the magnificent court of Jehangir, a favorite of unusual intelligence and size, whose story has come down to us in memoirs written by the Emperor himself. It reads like a page from the Arabian Nights.

“Among my brother’s elephants,” he says, “was one of which I could not but express the highest admiration, and to which I gave the name of Indraging (the elephant of India). It was of a size I never beheld before—such as to get upon his back required a ladder of fourteen steps. It was of a disposition so gentle and tractable that under the most furious incitements, if an infant then unwarily threw itself in its way, it would lay hold of it with its trunk, and place it out of danger with the utmost tenderness and care. The animal was at the same time of such unparalleled speed and activity that the fleetest horse was not able to keep up with it; and such was its courage that it would attack with perfect readiness a hundred of the fiercest of its kind.

“Such in other respects, although it may appear in some degree tedious to dwell upon the subject, were the qualities of this noble and intelligent quadruped, that I assigned a band of music to attend upon it; and it was always preceded by a company of forty spearsmen. It had for its beverage every morning a Hindostany maun (twenty-eight pounds) of liquor; and every morning and evening there were boiled for its meal four mauns of rice, and two mauns of beef or mutton, with one maun of oil or clarified butter. From among all the others this same elephant was selected for my morning rides, and for this purpose there was always upon its back a howdah of solid gold. Four mauns of gold were moreoverwrought into rings, chains, and other ornaments for its neck, breast and legs; and lastly, its body was painted all over every day with the dust of sandal-wood.”

There is something quite captivating in the idea of all this oriental pomp enshrining the favorite of an emperor—in its careful tendance, its perfumes, jewels and musicians—the latter, in particular, being an attention as delicate as unusual.

One would like to know its after-history—whether it survived so magnificent a patron, and whether, in that case, its splendor remained undiminished to the end. But the story of the Elephant of India stops with Jehangir.

About the same time that this liberal-minded monarch ascended the throne of the East, there died in Genoa another imperial favorite—the hound Roldarno, which had belonged to CharlesV., and was by him given to Andrea Doria. Such at least is the common version; but it is also stated that Roldarno belonged to a later Doria, and did not die until nine years after the old Admiral was in his grave. In either case, he was a notable dog, and received the final honor of interment at the foot of a statue of Jupiter—to the end “that Roldarno still might guard a king.” His life-size portrait may be seen in the Doria palace.

This same Emperor had an almost feminine liking for birds and flowers; and he who would not lift a finger to keep his heretic subjects from the flames, once ordered his tent to be left standing in the camp, otherwise dismantled, simply because a swallow had nested in its folds.

“And it stood there all alone,Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,Till the brood was fledged and flown,Singing o’er those walls of stoneThat the cannon-shot had shattered.”

“And it stood there all alone,

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered,

Till the brood was fledged and flown,

Singing o’er those walls of stone

That the cannon-shot had shattered.”

In the last years of his life at Yuste, he made great pets of a cat and parrot. After his death, they were transferred to his daughter, the Princess Juana, who with true Spanish courtesy, dispatched a litter for them in charge of a faithful servant. In due time they reached Valladolid, well and happy, having traveled together a number of days without one single recorded peck or scratch.

Charles’s contemporary, William of Orange, liked dogs—and with reason—for he owed his life to a pet spaniel. It roused him from sleep just in time to escape by one door as the enemy entered the other.

FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS SISTER WILHELMINA.(From the painting by Antoine Pesne.)

FREDERICK THE GREAT AND HIS SISTER WILHELMINA.

(From the painting by Antoine Pesne.)

Either this dog, or another of the same race, after William was murdered, detected the assassin beneath a pile of rubbish. Having done this act of justice, he refused food, and died upon the corpse of his master. William’s monument at the Hague represents him in armor, reclining under a marble canopy, with the faithful dog at his feet. Bunsen says that as he looked at it he could not help hoping the two friends were buried together. Why not?

A monarch who not only liked dogs, but much preferred them to men, was Frederick the Great of Prussia. His grim father,who curtailed all the son’s amusements, his freedom, friendships, and food, was probably unaware of his fondness for animals, or he would have curtailed them also. The moment Frederick became his own master, a crowd of Italian greyhounds began to caper at his side across the historic stage. He was never without a half dozen at the least to divert his leisure moments. When they were not at their sport, they occupied the blue satin chairs and couches in his room. Leather balls were supplied for their amusement, but in spite of this precaution they kept the furniture ragged.

“How can I help it?” said the king; “if I should get the chairs mended to-day, they would be as badly torn to-morrow; so it is best to bear with the inconvenience.”

He was found one day upon the floor with a platter of fried meat, from which he was feeding his dogs. He kept order among them by means of a little stick—now driving back an over-greedy applicant, and now shoving a choice morsel towards some special favorite.

He was apt to dislike any one whom they disliked, and to favor those they favored. If his pets were ill, he sought medical advice, and nothing more enraged him than to find—as he several times did—that the physicians considered it beneath their dignity to prescribe for an animal.

The best beloved, the Joseph among his dogs, was Biche. The story goes that when reconnoitering one day during the campaign of 1745, he was pursued by the enemy, and concealed himself under a bridge, with Biche in his arms. Discovery was imminent—the least whine or snuffle would have betrayed them; but the nervous little creature crouched motionless, almost breathless, and the pair escaped.

It was this dog, which along with the king’s baggage, was capturedat Sohar, and at whose return he wept with joy. An elaborate monument at Sans Souci commemorates its virtues. All his dogs lie buried there, at either end of the terrace, under flat stones inscribed with their names. Frederick wished to be buried with them, but his successor was unwilling, and interred the great king with his ancestors. In his last illness he would sit for hours together on the sunshiny terrace—averse as ever to the society of his kind, but always with a chair at his side for a dog, and a feeble hand ready to pat its head. A few hours before he died, he bade the attendant throw an extra quilt—not over his own chill form—but over a shivering greyhound at his feet! What a tragic contrast to the joyous little drummer shown in the painting by Pesne.

No less fond of dogs than Frederick, is Prince Bismarck to-day. It is his ardent wish that they too may live on in another world, so that death need not separate us from them. One noble hound twice saved his life, and—trustiest of confidants—accompanied him to the conference between the Emperors of Germany and Austria—behaving there with a diplomatic courtesy and reserve that would have done credit to Metternich.

Sultel, or Sultan, a remarkably intelligent animal, was poisoned in 1877, at his master’s country-seat. He died, after some hours of intense suffering, throughout which Bismarck watched by his side. He has been long and deeply mourned. The princess offered a life pension to any one who would point out the assassin—but in vain; the wretch is still undetected.

PRINCE BISMARCK AND HIS DOGS.(From life photograph.)

PRINCE BISMARCK AND HIS DOGS.

(From life photograph.)

It is said that Prince Bismarck feeds his dogs himself, and (whisper it low!) that he actually feeds them at table! No unpleasant “Off with you!” reminds his four-footed friends that they are not as men and brothers, and hence, as diners-out. Admitted to an honorableintimacy, the companions of their master’s walks andmeals, the habitués of his study—they live with him on terms of mutual respect, and show by their stately bearing how truly they are dogs of distinction.

Statesmen are very apt to make friends of animals, for they realize that no intimates are so safe as those who cannot betray them—who understand, but never repeat. Daniel Webster had his favorite horses, and Randolph of Roanoke his dogs, who traveled with him wherever he went, and were served at table with clean plates, choice beefsteaks and new milk—anything less excellent than the best being, in their master’s opinion, unworthy of himself and them. Henry Fawcett had Oddo, who was promoted from the post of house-dog to be his companion, and Lord Eldon had the inimitable Pincher. The latter reached a good old age, contrary to all expectations, since in the matter of diet he lived “not wisely but too well.” In the character of a sitter he made acquaintance with Sir Edwin Landseer, who pronounced him “a very picturesque old dog, with a great look of cleverness in his face.” He figured with his master in several other portraits and drawings, was a faithful, amusing little friend, and as such was remembered by name in Lord Eldon’s will. When he died, in 1840, he was buried in a peaceful garden, where, to this day, his tombstone may be seen.

Among the powers that were, who had their pets, Peter the Great must be included—the Czar whose evil-tempered monkey was a terror to all the attendants at court, obliged as they were to endure without resenting its malice. A much more agreeable favorite was Lisette, an Italian greyhound presented to Peter by the Sultan. Once she saved a life, and her Victoria Cross is the record in history of this achievement. A poor fellow had been condemned, for some small error, to the knout. All intercessionhad failed, and the hour of execution was at hand, when his friends bethought them of fastening a petition to Lisette’s collar and sending her with it to the Czar. This was done, and what he had refused to his loyal subjects he granted to little Lisette. Not without reason is the skeleton of this timely advocate still preserved in the city where she lived!

The Norman kings of England were for the most part sturdy soldiers, with a passion for the chase in their leisure hours. Very naturally, therefore, such pets as they possessed came under the head of knightly belongings, and were either horse and hound or hawk. In truth, they were too stern a race to spend much time in endearments of any kind. We can hardly imagine them tending a “fringie-pawe,” or toying with “spaniels gentle.” The aristocratic greyhound was their favorite instead, and they spared no pains to develop its peculiar excellencies. Old Wynken de Worde tells us in a rather bald rhyme, that the thorough-bred greyhound should be:

Headed lyke a snake,Neckyed lyke a drake,Footyed lyke a catte,Taylled lyke a ratte,Syded lyke a temeAnd chyned lyke a beme;—

Headed lyke a snake,

Neckyed lyke a drake,

Footyed lyke a catte,

Taylled lyke a ratte,

Syded lyke a teme

And chyned lyke a beme;—

while another rough-edged rhyme bears witness to the fact that dogs as well as ancestors came over with the Conqueror. Thus it runs:

William de ConigsbyCame out of Brittany,With his wyfe Tiffany,And his maide Manfas,And his dogge Hardigras.

William de Conigsby

Came out of Brittany,

With his wyfe Tiffany,

And his maide Manfas,

And his dogge Hardigras.

Richard Cœur de Lion was called an excellent judge of a hound, a characteristic remembered by Scott in his novel of “The Talisman”; but a life of crusading left him small leisure for canine friendships. His brother John is thought to have given the famous Gellert to Llewellyn, but this is far from certain. Perhaps, as modern authorities seem to think, the pathetic story of this hound is only a myth, but in any case it is too well-known for repetition, and we pass on to the hound of RichardII.

“It was informed me,” says Froissart, “that Kynge Richard had a grayhounde, who always wayted upon the kynge, and wolde knowe no man els. For whensoever the kynge did ryde, he that kept the grayhounde dyd lette hym lose, and he wolde streyght runne to the kynge, and faun uppon hym, and lepe with his fore-fete uppon the kynge’s shoulders. And as the kynge and the Erle of Derby talked togyder in the courte, the grayhounde, who was wonte to leape uppon the kynge, left the kynge, and came to the Erle of Derby, Duke of Lancastre, and made hym the same friendly countenance and chere he was wonte to do to the kynge. The Duke, who knew not the grayhounde demanded of the kynge what the grayhounde wolde do; ‘Cosin,’ quod the kynge, ‘it is a greate goode token to you and an evyl sygne to me.’ ‘Sir, how know ye that?’ quod the Duke. ‘I know it well,’ quod the kynge; ‘the grayhounde maketh you chere this day as king of Englaunde, as ye shal be, and I shal be deposed. The grayhounde hath this knowledge naturally, therefore take hym to you: he will followe you and forsake me.’ The Duke understood well these words, and cheryshed the grayhounde, who wolde never after followe Kynge Richard, but followed the Duke of Lancastre.”

Such is the tragic legend whose embroidery does not hide the underlying fact. It is easy to see that, with crown, and queen, and life itself in the balance, the king had yet another pang to endure, when his own dear hound turned from him, and fawned upon his rival.

Of the hapless princes who were murdered in the tower, little is known. There is a picture of them, however, painted long years afterward by Paul Delaroche, which everybody knows. Seated on the antique bed, they have been looking together at a book, when, all at once, speech and motion are arrested by the sound of a stealthystep, or it may be a whisper in the passage outside their room. With tense gaze and bated breath they listen; meanwhile, their little spaniel peers around the corner of the bed, in an attitude of keen attention. Like his masters, he is aware of danger, if indeed he was not the first to detect it. And thus united by a common fear, the three remain—a tragic, listening group—immortal forever on the painter’s canvas.

QUEEN ELIZABETH IN HER PEACOCK GOWN.(From the painting by Zucchero, at Hampton Court.)

QUEEN ELIZABETH IN HER PEACOCK GOWN.

(From the painting by Zucchero, at Hampton Court.)

Several English kings kept a menagerie, HenryI. having formed one at Woodstock, and HenryIII. at the Tower, while their successors kept up and amplified the collections already formed. In this connection an unpleasant story is told of HenryVII., a story that proves him no lover of the canine race. It seems that a lion from the royal menagerie was baited one day for the king’s amusement, its opponents being four noble English mastiffs. The struggle was long and severe, but in the end the mastiffs conquered. Then Henry, who feigned to believe that the lion was lawful king over other beasts, caused the four luckless victors to be hung, as traitors to theirlord. In this way he pointed a moral for the use of his turbulent nobles.

A pleasanter story concerns his parrot. It fell from a window in Westminster Palace into the Thames. “A boat! twenty pounds for a boat!” screamed Polly at this dreadful crisis; and twenty pounds the king actually paid to the waterman who restored his pet. This was doing pretty well for a parsimonious king.

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, AT THE AGE OF TEN.(From the painting in Lord Napier’s collection.)

MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, AT THE AGE OF TEN.

(From the painting in Lord Napier’s collection.)

Baitings, whether of bull, bear, or lion, were greatly in vogue during his reign. HenryVIII. also enjoyed them, but preferred the chase, and his account-books are full of items referring to hawk and hound. Spaniels, mastiffs, greyhounds; their muzzles, collars and chains; their keeper’s salary; the cost of their transportation in accompanying the king from place to place—all these items help to swell the bill of His Majesty’s personal expenses. Occasionally, too, they get into mischief, killing some poor fellow’s sheep or cow, a loss invariably paid for, and as duly chronicled in the account-book. Dogs are often given to the king, who of course does not fail to reward the donor. One man presents him with a mastiff that has been taught to fetch and carry, and gets twenty shillings for his gift. Another time fourshillings, eight pence are paid “to one that made the dogges draw water.” A poor woman gets “four shillings, eight pence in rewarde for bringinge of Cutte, the kynge’s dog.” He had been lost at least once before, as is proved by an entry of ten shillings “for bringing back Cutte, the kynges spanyell.” Other five shillings went for restoring “Ball, that was lost in the forreste of Walltham.”

From this and similar evidence we may infer that the dogs of yesterday comported themselves very much like the dogs of to-day; that they learned tricks, and were skilled in field-sports; that occasionally they poached; that they were lost, and again found—after the time-honored fashion of dogs.

LADY MARGARET LENOX, MOTHER Of LORD DARNLEY.(In the Hampton Court Collection.—From a rare print.)

LADY MARGARET LENOX, MOTHER Of LORD DARNLEY.

(In the Hampton Court Collection.—From a rare print.)

About this time, there seems to have been a growing attachment on the part of the court ladies to “lytel dogges” as pets. When Catherine of Aragon was queen, each maid of honor to Her Majesty was allowed one maid, anda spaniel. Anne Boleyn followed the example of her predecessor—at least where dogs were concerned. The tell-tale account-books name several of her favorites, but refer most often to a greyhound, Urian, which, owing to an unruly disposition, was often in trouble. Once it killed acow, but Henry recompensed the cow’s owner by a present of ten shillings.

This was in Anne’s day of prosperity, when she and hers could do no wrong in the king’s sight. A few years later, when the son she had hoped for was born dead, and Henry’s dislike was apparent to all; when ill, sad and apprehensive, we see her once more with her dogs. The king is away, taking his pleasure, and she mopes alone at Greenwich Palace. Here, in what was called the Quadrangle Court, we are told that she “would sit for hours in silence and abstraction, or seeking a joyless pastime playing with her little dogs, and setting them to fight each other.”

A few weeks more, and the curtain fell on poor Anne with her short-lived royalty; erelong, too, on Henry himself, his sickly son, and unhappy daughter Mary; and now, amidst general rejoicing, Elizabeth mounted the throne. This remarkable queen, in whose character blended some very masculine traits with others equally feminine, revealed her twofold nature in amusements as well as in more serious affairs. She was fond of singing-birds, of apes, and little dogs; but much fonder of the chase and bear or lion baitings. Her greatest pet was the famous wardrobe which at her death numbered three thousand dresses, and of which a queer specimen is shown in a painting by Zucchero at Hampton Court. He has depicted her in a loose short robe, figured with birds and flowers, and wearing an Oriental cap. Her expression is decidedly ill-tempered, and rather vain. One cannot help congratulating her many suitors on their lack of success.

As in dress, so in other things—Elizabeth liked to be thought original; and her fancy for the tiny hunting-dogs called beagles,made them the fashion during her reign. It is to this whim that Dryden’s lines refer:

“The graceful goddess was array’d in green—About her feet were little beagles seenThat watched with upward eye theMotions of their queen.”

“The graceful goddess was array’d in green—

About her feet were little beagles seen

That watched with upward eye the

Motions of their queen.”

But it is not until the time of the Stuarts that we find something like the modern feeling for pets—a feeling based on genuine kindly regard for the animal race. Some of them carried it to excess, no doubt, but still it is a trait that adds to our liking for these luckless kings—a pleasant feature in the story of lives that were continually passing from mirth to tears, from poetry to prose, and from a throne to the cushionless seat of a Pretender. There is no sadder lesson in history than this of the Stuart kings, who began with so much, and ended with nothing. They had beauty, talent, high estate, devoted friends, and good intentions; yet somehow, what they touched did not prosper, their good gifts did not avail them.

CHILDREN OF CHARLESI., WITH SPANIELS.(From a painting by Vandyke.)

CHILDREN OF CHARLESI., WITH SPANIELS.

(From a painting by Vandyke.)

Beneficent fairies were present at their birth, and brought priceless gifts; but all was counteracted by one fatal oversight,since the malevolent fairy, uninvited, came only to punish the slight.

CHILDREN OF CHARLESI.; PRINCE CHARLES AND HIS MASTIFF.(From a painting by Vandyke.)

CHILDREN OF CHARLESI.; PRINCE CHARLES AND HIS MASTIFF.

(From a painting by Vandyke.)

“What boots it thy virtue?What profit thy parts?If one thing thou lackest—The art of all arts?”

“What boots it thy virtue?

What profit thy parts?

If one thing thou lackest—

The art of all arts?”

Something—whatever it might be—they assuredly lacked, and atoned for the lack by their misfortunes. Meanwhile they enjoyed life, and in many ways made it pleasant, exhibiting wit, ready courtesy, and a good-will that, as before said, extended to both animals and men.

JamesI., like his Tudor predecessors, was extremely fond of the chase. Contemporary writers give queer accounts of his awkward, headlong riding, and disgusting eagerness for the trophy. “The King of England,” says one, “is merciful except in hunting, where he appears cruel. When he finds himself unable to take the beast, he frets and storms, and cries ‘God is angry with me, but I will have him for all that!’”

Dogs were a prominent feature in the royal establishment, and one hound named Jewel, Jowel, or Jowler, is often mentioned. Almost his first appearance in history is in the character of a petitioner. Royal visits in these earlier days were luxuries expensive to the host, however welcome. Letters yet exist that prove how much they were dreaded. Elizabeth bestowed many such marks of honor on her subjects, and no matter how great the inconvenience, her involuntary entertainers dared not hint it. That a hint on the matter was once given to James, may be taken as a proof of his good nature.

He had gone with his retinue to Royston, where, erelong, thepresence of so many guests made a deep hole in their host’s larder and purse. Therefore—but this part of the story is best told in a letter written at the time by Edmund Lascelles, a groom of the Privy Chamber.

He says: “One day, one of the king’s special hounds, called Jowler, was missing. The king was much displeased at his absence; he went hunting notwithstanding. The next day, when they went to the field, Jowler came in among the rest of the hounds; the king was told, and was glad of his return, but, looking on him, spied a paper about his neck. On this paper was written. ‘Good Mr. Jowler, we pray you speak to the king (for he hears you every day, and so he doth not us), that it will please His Majesty to go back to London, for else the country will be undone; all our provision is spent, and we are unable to entertain him longer.’”

This plain hint was not taken amiss—in fact, it was not taken at all; and His Majesty staid on at Royston until it quite suited him to leave, which was not until some days later.

Poor Jewel’s end was untimely. The court was at Theobalds, and Queen Anne, who liked hunting as well as James, went out to shoot deer. “She mistook her mark,” writes Sir Dudley Carleton, “and killed Jewel, the king’s most principall and special hound, at which he stormed exceedingly a while; but after he learned who did it, was soon pacified; and, with much kindness, wished her not to be troubled with it, for he should love her never the worse; and the next day he sent her a diamond worth two thousand pounds, as a legacy from his dead dog.”

How vividly the scene rises before us—the richly dressed huntress and courtiers, the too confident aim, the brief suspense then the horror-struck certainty that no deer, but a hound is the victim—even Jewel, “most speciall” to the king! And then, itmay be, an embassy was sent to break the news; and we can imagine how cautiously it was done. But still, there follows a bad half-hour, for the king raves and storms, until at last the embassador ventures to say, “The queen is full of grief at her mischance.”

“The queen, ye rogues!” he shouts, “was it her mischance? Why not have said so before?”

The storm is over, and kind-hearted James hurries off to comfort his wife.

JAMES STUART, DUKE OF RICHMOND, SON OF ESME STUART.(From a painting by Vandyke.)

JAMES STUART, DUKE OF RICHMOND, SON OF ESME STUART.

(From a painting by Vandyke.)

He does not appear in so amiable a light on all occasions, and often tried the patience of his friends by asking for such of their dogs or hawks as happened to particularly please him. A royal request was in the nature of a command, and our former kings were not very nice in the matter. It was assumed as a matter of course that people would be only too happy to gratify their wishes; so they asked for what they wanted, and rarely failed to get it.

Besides this indirect levy, King James was at considerable pains to import valuable hawks and hunting-dogs. There is extant a letter of his to the Earl of Mar, asking him to send for three or four couples of Earth-Dogs, as terriers were then called.

“Have a special care,” he urged, “that the oldest of them be not passing three years of age;” and again, “Send them not all in one ship, but some in one ship, some in another, lest the ship should miscarry.”

It was customary in these days, when the king visited a school or 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 ofthat 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 JamesI. 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 isgiven, 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.

PRINCESS ELIZABETH, ELDEST DAUGHTER OF JAMESI.,AND HER PETS.(Sketch from painting.)

PRINCESS ELIZABETH, ELDEST DAUGHTER OF JAMESI.,AND HER PETS.

(Sketch from painting.)

As a child CharlesI. 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 CharlesII. 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. CharlesII. and his brother, JamesII., 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.”

“His dogs would sit at Council Board,

Like judges in their furs;

We question much which had most sense,—

The Master, or the Curs.”

PRINCESS MARY, DAUGHTER OF CHARLESI.(From etching by Modgin of painting by Sir Peter Lely,in the Hampton Court Collection.)

PRINCESS MARY, DAUGHTER OF CHARLESI.

(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 GeorgeIII., was particularly fond of terriers, and had herselfpainted with a long-haired darling of the species in her arms. The Duchess of York (wife to a son of GeorgeIII.) 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.”

“Pepper, near this silent grotto,

Thy fair virtues lie confest;

Fidelity thy constant motto,—

Warmth of friendship speaks the test.”

CHARLESII. AND PET SPANIEL, AT DAWNEY COURT, BUCKS,SEAT OF THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND.(From old and rare print.)

CHARLESII. 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 broughtby 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.

PRINCESS AMELIA AND HER DOG.(From painting by Hoppner, in St. John’s Palace.)

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 Chatstravel 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 LouisXIII.—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.

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