The French Count and the Stag.
Mr Scrope, in his "Deer-Stalking," describes a grand deer-drive to Glen-Tilt, headed by the Duke of Athole. Many an incident of this and subsequent drives was watched by "Lightfoot," who was present, and whose pictures, under his name of Sir Edwin Landseer, have rendered the life of the red deer familiar to us, in mist, amid snow, swimming in the rapid of a Highland current, pursued and at rest, fighting and feeding, alive and dead, in every attitude, and at every age.
In this encounter, the Duke killed three first-rate harts, Lightfoot two, and other rifles were all more or less successful. A French count, whose tongue it was difficult to restrain,—and silence is essential to success in the pursuit,—at last fired into a dense herd of deer.
Mr Scrope adds,[257] "Everything was propitious—circumstance, situation, and effect; for he was descending the mountain in full view of our whole assemblage of sportsmen. A fine stag in the midst of the herd fell to the crack of his rifle. 'Hallo, hallo!' forward ran the count, and sat upon the prostrate deer triumphing. 'Hé bien, mon ami, vous êtes mort, donc! Moi, je fais toujours des coups sûrs. Ah! pauvre enfant!' He then patted the sides of the animal in pure wantonness, and looked east, west, north, and south, for applause, the happiest of the happy; finally he extracted a mosaic snuff-box from his pocket, and with an air which nature has denied to all save the French nation, he held a pinch to the deer's nose—'Prends, mon ami, prends donc!' This operation had scarcely been performed when the hart, who had only been stunned, or perhaps shot through the loins, sprang up suddenly, overturned the count, ran fairly away, and was never seen again. 'Arrêtes, toi traître! Arrêtes, mon enfant! Ah! c'est un enfant, perdu! Allez donc à tous les diables!'"