[CHAPTER XIV.]
PRINCIPLES OF UNIVERSAL APPLICATION IN MOUNTING
THE HIGHER VERTEBRATES.
General Remarks.—We may assume that any one who is ambitious to excel in taxidermic work desires to do so by the high character of his productions, and the recommendation they silently give him. I am well convinced that any one who takes the trouble to read this book will welcome the following principles that apply very generally in mounting the higher vertebrates, and are, at all events, intended to increase the average of general excellence and permanency in mounted specimens.
A place in the front rank of taxidermists is not to be easily won. It can only be accomplished by the studious methods of the sculptor, the experience and observation of the field naturalist, and a combination of these with technical and mechanical skill in the laboratory. The painter paints but one side of his animal, and he is not hampered by bulk or measurements. The sculptor blithely builds up his clay model, with neither skin, bones, nor hair to vex his soul. The taxidermist must not only equal the form of the sculptor's clay model, but he must also make it to fit a certain skin with exactitude.
The ideal taxidermist must be a combination of modeller and anatomist, naturalist, carpenter, blacksmith, and painter. He must have the eye of an artist, the back of a hod-carrier, the touch of a wood-chopper one day, and of an engraver the next.
With increased skill on the part of the workers has come increased appreciation on the part of museum officials, and higher salaries. Let me say to aspiring beginners, there is plenty of room at the top, and money and glory to spare for those who get there. But there is no royal road to fortune in this business. Success means years of earnest work and study.
With the understanding, therefore, that we are aiming at perfection, and that "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing," we will endeavor to call attention to a few principles which underlie all good work in taxidermy. At the same time I will try to point out a few of the most common faults generally observable in mounted specimens.
Permanency.—This is the foundation on which every specimen must be built in order to be first class. A preserved and mounted animal that has not enough solidity and stability to stand the test of time is unworthy of a place in any museum or private residence, for its existence is sure to terminate speedily in disappointment, disgust, and loss. During the last eight years the National Museum and American Museum of Natural History have thrown away and otherwise gotten rid of enough stuffed specimens to stock a small museum, and all because of poor and unstable taxidermic work only twenty years ago.
A taxidermist who knows his business can mount a specimen to last ten years or ten hundred, just as he chooses. If you, like a certain taxidermist I once knew, believe in "quantity not quality," then you, like him, can use small and weak supporting irons ("they work so much easier than heavy ones!"), half clean your skins and skulls, ram a skin full of excelsior, straw, paper, and rubbish from your dirt-box, sew it up with long stitches and cheap twine, cram its eyes and nostrils with nasty putty, and insert the cheapest eyes obtainable. Then, while the specimen may look passably well during its first six months, by the end of two years its sides will be a succession of hills and hollows, its seams will be ripped and gaping wide open, its nose will be shrivelled up and shapeless, its ears will look like dry autumn leaves; it will lean over helplessly to one side, and will also have settled down upon its feet until they are shapeless deformities.