Sir Edwin’s lion pictures were by no means numerous. “A Lion disturbed at his Repast,” 1821, before alluded to, was the first, and accompanied by “A Lion enjoying his Repast.” The next was “Van Amburgh and his Lions,” 1839; the other, derived from the same materials, appeared in 1847. The lions of Trafalgar Square were the last we owe to Sir Edwin. Our readers remember how tardy was the appearance of these sculptures—how long Nelson’s monument remained unfinished. Besides the above, Landseer painted a picture which has not been exhibited, styled “The Lion’s Den.” This was engraved by John Landseer.
“The Lion-Dog of Malta—the last of his Tribe,” was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1840, and shows the white flossy little creature, with a hawk’s-bell at his neck, lying on a table close to the head of a huge Newfoundland dog, on whose nose the smaller beast has placed a puny, long-fringed paw. The latter looks with glittering ferret’s eyes through its overhanging mane. The enormous head of the larger dog is bigger than the whole carcase of the little one; and his eyes have the trick of a deep, earnest expression, which none caught so well as Landseer. On the front of the group are instruments for drawing, a porte-crayon, brushes, pencils, a stump, and quill pen. Before these lies a piece of bread for rubbing out; a mouse has stolen into light, and hastily nibbles at the bread.
Many stories have been told of Landseer’s bonhomie in general company, but probably the best was that Leslie related of a dinner-party at which the two friends met in Sir Francis Chantrey’s house. This meeting happened in one of the later years of the life of Sir Francis, some time before his death in 1841. This story is best related in Leslie’s words, and as follows, from “The Autobiography” of that artist:—“Edwin Landseer, the best of mimics, gave a capital specimen of Chantrey’s manner, and at Chantrey’s own table. Dining at his house with a large party, after the cloth was removed from the beautifully polished table,—Chantrey’s furniture was all beautiful,—Landseer’s attention was called by him to the reflections, in the table, of the company, furniture, lamps, &c. ‘Come and sit in my place and study perspective,’ said our host, and went himself to the fire. As soon as Landseer was seated in Chantrey’s chair, he turned round, and imitating his voice and manner, said to him, ‘Come, young man, you think yourself ornamental; now make yourself useful, and ring the bell.’ Chantrey did as he was desired; the butler appeared, and was perfectly bewildered at hearing his master’s voice, from the head of the table, order some claret, while he saw him standing before the fire.”
The “Roebuck and rough Hounds,” a picture of 1840, represented a broken hill-side, where a young deer has fallen from one of its ledges to a lower table of rock, where the dogs have found it, and now guard the spoil until the huntsmen come. There are four dogs; one behind the prone head of the prey has the vantage-ground for watching, and looks out with globe-like, glistening eyes. Lower is a rough deer-hound, lapping blood as it flows from the buck. In front, and at the foot, are the heads of the other dogs, one with a placid expression, the other expectant of a step. It is now at South Kensington.
Another work of this year was the famous “Laying down the Law.” The picture belongs to the Duke of Devonshire, and is too well known to need description here; suffice it that, in our opinion, it shows one of the best of Landseer’s designs of that class, by investing animals with human expressions and feelings; it is to be looked on less as an animal-picture proper than as a representation of human passions in animal forms. We must accept this non-natural characteristic, this artistic heresy, otherwise the work is naught; notwithstanding all possible objections, it is never less than a fascinating satire, one of those works which override principles by innate strength. In 1841 Sir Edwin did not contribute to the Academy.
In 1840, 1841, 1842, 1843, and 1844, the Queen and Prince Albert amused themselves by etching certain designs by Landseer: impressions from these plates are very scarce. These transcripts are named in Mr. Algernon Graves’ catalogue of Sir Edwin’s works, p. 41.
“Otters and Salmon,” one of the pictures of 1842, shows the fruit of one of those visits to the Highlands which, since the tour was made with Leslie, were annual: it has been finely engraved by Mr. Gibbon. It exhibits a huge silver salmon lying on its flank, and a long-bodied, long-waisted, brown otter, cringing stealthily at the side of the fish, showing his teeth, and turning half round, snarling in the fashion of his kind. The year 1843 found the painter at work on the fresco for the garden-house at Buckingham Palace; it represents “The Defeat of Comus,” of which the sketch in oil was given to the nation by Mr. Jacob Bell. But to return to the otter. This proved the artist at work on a novel theme, which he made his own by the well-known “Otter speared” of 1844. So various had been the painter’s studies in sporting subjects,—including wild cattle, dogs of all kinds, horses of all sorts, fish, deer, ptarmigan, swans, rats, ducks, eagles, hawks, falcons, otters, to say nothing of lions; and huntsmen of all English ranks—that people naturally fancied Sir Edwin was a keen sportsman. Nevertheless, such was by no means the case; in truth, he often carried the gun as an introduction to the sketch-book.
This is proved by the story we obtain from a painter, who, while sketching in the Highlands, fell in with Ewen Cameron, an old forest-keeper of Glencoe, who for more than four-and-twenty years accompanied Landseer with the sketch-book and the gun; he had been with him from his first shooting excursion, and described the knight as but a poor shot at first, but one who improved as he grew older. He was, nevertheless, often laughed at. But one day Sir Edwin had the laugh at all the party, for, knowing that he was not the best of shots, they had deliberately posted him where the herd was not expected, “when,” as the old forester said, “it so happened that the greater number of the stags went his way, and he just made by far the biggest bag of the party;” in fact, “we found him surrounded with dead stags lying all about.”
On another occasion the gillies were astonished, just as a magnificent shot came in the way, to have Sir Edwin’s gun thrust into their hands, with “Here, take, take this,” hastily ejaculated, while the sketch-book was pulled out. The gillies were often disgusted by being led about the moors, walking with more sketching than shooting; and they grumbled dreadfully in their own tongue; “but,” said Ewen, “Sir Edwin must have had some Gaelic in him, for he was that angry for the rest of the day, it made them very careful of speaking Gaelic in his hearing after.” “The last time he was here,” repeated the forester, referring to but a few years ago, “I could not but observe to him, ‘Sir Edwin, ye’re becoming like the ptarmigan,’” alluding to that bird’s turning white as the winter approaches.
Another picture of the year 1842 was the pathetic “Highland Shepherd’s Home,” which was engraved by Mr. Gibbon, and is very popular. This was at the Academy; but a not inferior picture, painted in the Highlands, is, “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like Home,” which was at the British Institution in that year, and is now comprised in the Sheepshanks Gift at South Kensington; it was bought by Mr. Sheepshanks from Landseer, A spaniel cowers at the entrance