“Hope is a curtal dog in some affairs,”
denoted “originally the dog of an unqualified person, which, by the forest laws, must have its tail cut short, partly as a mark, and partly from a notion that the tail of a dog is necessary to him in running.” In later usage, curtail dog means either a common dog, not meant for sport, or a dog that missed the game, which latter sense it has in the passage above.[416]
Dragon. As the type and embodiment of the spirit of evil, the dragon has been made the subject of an extensive legendary lore. The well-known myth of St. George and the Dragon, which may be regarded as a grand allegory representing the hideous and powerful monster against whom the Christian soldier is called to fight, has exercised a remarkable influence for good in times past, over half-instructed people. It has been truly remarked that “the dullest mind and hardest heart could not fail to learn from it something of the hatefulness of evil, the beauty of self-sacrifice, and the all-conquering might of truth.” This graceful conception is alluded to by Shakespeare, in his “King John” (ii. 1), where, according to a long-established custom, it is made a subject for sign-painting:[417]
“St. George, that swinged the dragon, and e’er since,
Sits on his horseback at mine hostess’ door,
Teach us some fence!”
In ancient mythology the task of drawing the chariot of night was assigned to dragons, on account of their supposed watchfulness. In “Cymbeline” (ii. 2) Iachimo, addressing them, says:
“Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven’s eye!”[418]
Milton, in his “Il Penseroso,” mentions the dragon yoke of night, and in his “Comus” (l. 130):
“the dragon womb
Of Stygian darkness.”
It may be noticed that the whole tribe of serpents sleep with their eyes open, and so appear to exert a constant watchfulness.[419]
In devising loathsome ingredients for the witches’ mess, Shakespeare (“Macbeth,” iv. 1) speaks of “the scale of dragon,” alluding to the horror in which this mythical being was held. Referring, also, to the numerous legends associated with its dread form, he mentions “the spleen of fiery dragons” (“Richard III.,” v. 3), “dragon’s wings” (“1 Henry VI.,” i. 1), and (“Pericles,” i. 1), “death-like dragons.” Mr. Conway[420] has admirably summed up the general views respecting this imaginary source of terror: “Nearly all the dragon forms, whatever their original types and their region, are represented in the conventional monster of the European stage, which meets the popular conception. The dragon is a masterpiece of the popular imagination, and it required many generations to give it artistic shape. Every Christmas he appears in some London pantomime, with aspect similar to that which he has worn for many ages. His body is partly green, with the memories of the sea and of slime, and partly brown or dark, with lingering shadow of storm clouds. The lightning flames still in his red eyes, and flashes from his fire-breathing mouth. The thunder-bolt of Jove, the spear of Wodan, are in the barbed point of his tail. His huge wings—bat-like, spiked—sum up all the mythical life of extinct harpies and vampires. Spine of crocodile is on his neck, tail of the serpent, and all the jagged ridges of rocks and sharp thorns of jungles bristle around him, while the ice of glaciers and brassy glitter of sunstrokes are in his scales. He is ideal of all that is hard, obstructive, perilous, loathsome, horrible in nature; every detail of him has been seen through and vanquished by man, here or there, but in selection and combination they rise again as principles, and conspire to form one great generalization of the forms of pain—the sum of every creature’s worst.”[421]