Extrait
Chapter One: Sentinels and Symbols
How many times has the fate of a man, or even a nation, hung from the collar of a dog? Had it not been for dogs, the last imperial house of China might not have fallen; Columbus's first attempts at colonizing the Americas not have been so successful; some of Wagner's operas might never have been written; the American Revolution might not have been fought; the freeing of the American slaves might have been delayed for decades; the way that we educate deaf children might be different; and great and well-loved books like Ivanhoe might never have been written.
Most people know and accept in a general way the fact that dogs have changed human history by fulfilling needed functions in human activities such as hunting, herding, exploration, or the waging of war. When it comes to political, social, or cultural history, however, few people would expect any evidence of canine influences. Yet there are many instances where the actions of a single dog changed the life of a single human, who in turn went on to shape human history. These seldom-told stories are the most fascinating.
Consider, for example, the case of Alexander Pope, the brilliant satirist who is considered by many to be the greatest English poet of the eighteenth century. One of the most quotable poets of all time, Pope is the source of such familiar epigrams as "A little learning is a dangerous thing," "To err is human, to forgive, divine," and "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." Many of his poems, such as The Rape of the Lock and The Dunciad, as well as his Essay on Man and Essay on Criticism, are still popular classics and required reading for anyone seeking a degree in literature in most universities.
Pope was born in London in 1688. His interest in literature and writing was probably in part the result of his poor physique. While still quite young, Pope developed a form of tuberculosis that affects the spine. This condition stunted his growth; his full-grown height was only four feet six inches. In addition, Pope was condemned to suffer from headaches throughout his life, and he was abnormally sensitive to pain. His spinal condition made bending and physical exertions a source of agony. He often needed assistance to rise from his bed or chair and was obliged to have a servant help him dress and undress.
Nevertheless, Pope could be a charming social companion and host. Despite his lack of height, he had a handsome face and an attractive appearance so that people did not feel uncomfortable in his presence. At his large estate at Twickenham on the Thames (only a short distance from London), Pope entertained many celebrated guests, from poets and philosophers to high government officials, society belles, and even royalty. On any visit to him one might have met the likes of Jonathan Swift, the satirical author of Gulliver's Travels; Henry St. John the Viscount Bolingbroke, a statesman and orator who later became an author; Robert Harley, the first earl of Oxford, who would one day be the Lord Treasurer; and even Frederick, the Prince of Wales. Pope's many visitors would often convene in the great garden that he had carefully designed, and then the whole party would spend hours in sprightly conversation.
When he was not in a social setting, however, Pope's painful physical condition made him touchy and easily angered. Close associates would hear him rage at even the slightest perceived insult. His temper would often flare at a critic, then be redirected to whatever innocent target happened to be near -- frequently a servant. The resulting high level of turnover among his personal staff as employees quit or were fired made maintenance of a household routine difficult.
Pope had other personal quirks as well. Despite his personal wealth and his lavish entertainment of guests, for example, he was quite miserly in some of his personal habits. Thus he often would not buy writing paper, but rather write his poetry on old envelopes from his voluminous correspondence. He distrusted financial institutions, such as banks, and only did a minimal amount of business with them. Instead, he kept much of his wealth in a strongbox built into a wall of the mansion, wearing the key on a chain around his neck at all times.
Although he loved dogs all of his life, Pope's favorite was an unlikely choice, given his size and physical condition. It was a large Great Dane that he named Bounce. When Bounce and Pope stood facing each other, their eyes were nearly at the same level. Bounce, however, proved to be a fine companion. He was quiet and unobtrusive when his master worked, but was always present to greet company and to socialize when anyone showed him any attention. Prince Frederick was so impressed by Bounce's good manners and stately appearance that he expressed a desire to own a dog just like him. Pope was flattered, and some time later the prince returned from a visit to Twickenham carrying one of Bounce's puppies -- a gift from the poet. The puppy was installed at the royal kennel at Kew, which was the summer residence of the royal family. Shortly thereafter, Pope sent another gift, a collar for Frederick's dog with the following couplet engraved on it:
I am his Highness' dog, at Kew.
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Although Bounce was generally friendly, he could be quite protective of his master. Since Jonathan Swift was now around sixty and had grown quite deaf, Pope had to raise his voice to communicate with him on his visits. This shouting made Bounce very suspicious of Swift, and so he would protectively lie between his master and the writer. If Swift gestured too broadly as he spoke, Bounce would rise to his feet as if ready to intervene on Pope's behalf and might even give a warning growl.
Although Pope did not need protection from Swift, Bounce's role of guardian would ultimately prove to be a blessing. One day, the temperamental poet had dismissed his latest valet, amid some name-calling and abusive language. When a new manservant was quickly hired from a short list of available applicants, Bounce sniffed at the man, then withdrew beside his master in an untypical show of dislike. Nonetheless, the valet seemed to know his job and appeared to be quite conscientious. As night fell, the valet lifted Pope from his chair and assisted him to the bedroom, where he helped the poet undress for the night and placed him on his bed. After pulling the heavy curtains around the canopied bed to shut out the night drafts, the valet quietly slipped out of the room.
Bounce, who normally stayed downstairs by the fireplace at night to soak up the last heat of the dying embers, abandoned his usual place of rest this evening. As the valet left, the dog slipped into Pope's bedroom and crawled under the bed to sleep. Much later that night, Pope thought that he heard a noise. When he slightly parted the bed curtains to peek out, what he saw paralyzed him with fear. The dark figure of a man stealthily approaching the bed was dimly visible. In his hand, Pope could make out the shape of a large knife, glittering in the moonlight. Because of his physical frailties, the poet was helpless to rise and protect himself. He could only scream for his valet, who slept in the next room, to come and help him.
At the sound of his master's cry, Bounce sprang from under the bed and leaped at the man, who toppled over and lost his grip on the knife. Then Bounce held him there on the floor, alternately growling at the man and barking loudly for help. When the commotion brought other members of the household staff to the rescue, the man with the knife turned out to be the new valet of whom Bounce had been suspicious. Hearing that Pope kept a great deal of money in the house, the man had decided to kill him, steal the strongbox key that he wore, and then flee before anyone else awakened.
Because of Bounce, Pope would live to write more great poetry. In addition, another epigram would be penned by the dog's master, who wrote, "Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends."
The concept of a dog as a protector is found in virtually every culture. For many people, the most important function a dog serves is to warn its family of any danger. An example of this view can be found in a story that was being told by the Mik'Maq Indians of North America long before the Europeans reached the American continent.
The legend begins with Gisoolg, the great spirit god and creator, who created Ootsitgamoo (the earth), then filled it with all sorts of animals. The work was difficult, so he rested and slept awhile. While Gisoolg was sleeping, though, the great snake that he had created became ambitious and greedy. It used magic to add deadly venom to its bite, so that it could kill the largest animals and in this way become the chief among all living things.
When Gisoolg awoke, he decided to make some beings that would rule over the animals. So first he gathered some clay from a sacred hidden place, and then he spent a full day forming the shape of a man from the clay. He gave the man life, but the man was too weak to move yet, so he lay on the ground gathering his strength. Gisoolg then went to sleep again.
The snake did not like the idea that Gisoolg was creating a creature that would be more intelligent and more powerful than any of the animals, so in the dead of the night it crept up and killed the man. When Gisoolg awoke he was distressed at the loss of the man, but spent another long day shaping another and then again went to sleep. Again the man became the victim of the cunning snake. On the third day Gisoolg rose early, and before he began to recreate the man, he first created a guardian in the form of a dog. By the time he had reformed the man, the dog had gathered enough strength to stand watch. So again Gisoolg went to sleep.
Now the snake again approached through the long grass, with murder in its heart and venom dripping from its fangs. But this time it was confronted by the dog, ...
How many times has the fate of a man, or even a nation, hung from the collar of a dog? Had it not been for dogs, the last imperial house of China might not have fallen; Columbus's first attempts at colonizing the Americas not have been so successful; some of Wagner's operas might never have been written; the American Revolution might not have been fought; the freeing of the American slaves might have been delayed for decades; the way that we educate deaf children might be different; and great and well-loved books like Ivanhoe might never have been written.
Most people know and accept in a general way the fact that dogs have changed human history by fulfilling needed functions in human activities such as hunting, herding, exploration, or the waging of war. When it comes to political, social, or cultural history, however, few people would expect any evidence of canine influences. Yet there are many instances where the actions of a single dog changed the life of a single human, who in turn went on to shape human history. These seldom-told stories are the most fascinating.
Consider, for example, the case of Alexander Pope, the brilliant satirist who is considered by many to be the greatest English poet of the eighteenth century. One of the most quotable poets of all time, Pope is the source of such familiar epigrams as "A little learning is a dangerous thing," "To err is human, to forgive, divine," and "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." Many of his poems, such as The Rape of the Lock and The Dunciad, as well as his Essay on Man and Essay on Criticism, are still popular classics and required reading for anyone seeking a degree in literature in most universities.
Pope was born in London in 1688. His interest in literature and writing was probably in part the result of his poor physique. While still quite young, Pope developed a form of tuberculosis that affects the spine. This condition stunted his growth; his full-grown height was only four feet six inches. In addition, Pope was condemned to suffer from headaches throughout his life, and he was abnormally sensitive to pain. His spinal condition made bending and physical exertions a source of agony. He often needed assistance to rise from his bed or chair and was obliged to have a servant help him dress and undress.
Nevertheless, Pope could be a charming social companion and host. Despite his lack of height, he had a handsome face and an attractive appearance so that people did not feel uncomfortable in his presence. At his large estate at Twickenham on the Thames (only a short distance from London), Pope entertained many celebrated guests, from poets and philosophers to high government officials, society belles, and even royalty. On any visit to him one might have met the likes of Jonathan Swift, the satirical author of Gulliver's Travels; Henry St. John the Viscount Bolingbroke, a statesman and orator who later became an author; Robert Harley, the first earl of Oxford, who would one day be the Lord Treasurer; and even Frederick, the Prince of Wales. Pope's many visitors would often convene in the great garden that he had carefully designed, and then the whole party would spend hours in sprightly conversation.
When he was not in a social setting, however, Pope's painful physical condition made him touchy and easily angered. Close associates would hear him rage at even the slightest perceived insult. His temper would often flare at a critic, then be redirected to whatever innocent target happened to be near -- frequently a servant. The resulting high level of turnover among his personal staff as employees quit or were fired made maintenance of a household routine difficult.
Pope had other personal quirks as well. Despite his personal wealth and his lavish entertainment of guests, for example, he was quite miserly in some of his personal habits. Thus he often would not buy writing paper, but rather write his poetry on old envelopes from his voluminous correspondence. He distrusted financial institutions, such as banks, and only did a minimal amount of business with them. Instead, he kept much of his wealth in a strongbox built into a wall of the mansion, wearing the key on a chain around his neck at all times.
Although he loved dogs all of his life, Pope's favorite was an unlikely choice, given his size and physical condition. It was a large Great Dane that he named Bounce. When Bounce and Pope stood facing each other, their eyes were nearly at the same level. Bounce, however, proved to be a fine companion. He was quiet and unobtrusive when his master worked, but was always present to greet company and to socialize when anyone showed him any attention. Prince Frederick was so impressed by Bounce's good manners and stately appearance that he expressed a desire to own a dog just like him. Pope was flattered, and some time later the prince returned from a visit to Twickenham carrying one of Bounce's puppies -- a gift from the poet. The puppy was installed at the royal kennel at Kew, which was the summer residence of the royal family. Shortly thereafter, Pope sent another gift, a collar for Frederick's dog with the following couplet engraved on it:
I am his Highness' dog, at Kew.
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Although Bounce was generally friendly, he could be quite protective of his master. Since Jonathan Swift was now around sixty and had grown quite deaf, Pope had to raise his voice to communicate with him on his visits. This shouting made Bounce very suspicious of Swift, and so he would protectively lie between his master and the writer. If Swift gestured too broadly as he spoke, Bounce would rise to his feet as if ready to intervene on Pope's behalf and might even give a warning growl.
Although Pope did not need protection from Swift, Bounce's role of guardian would ultimately prove to be a blessing. One day, the temperamental poet had dismissed his latest valet, amid some name-calling and abusive language. When a new manservant was quickly hired from a short list of available applicants, Bounce sniffed at the man, then withdrew beside his master in an untypical show of dislike. Nonetheless, the valet seemed to know his job and appeared to be quite conscientious. As night fell, the valet lifted Pope from his chair and assisted him to the bedroom, where he helped the poet undress for the night and placed him on his bed. After pulling the heavy curtains around the canopied bed to shut out the night drafts, the valet quietly slipped out of the room.
Bounce, who normally stayed downstairs by the fireplace at night to soak up the last heat of the dying embers, abandoned his usual place of rest this evening. As the valet left, the dog slipped into Pope's bedroom and crawled under the bed to sleep. Much later that night, Pope thought that he heard a noise. When he slightly parted the bed curtains to peek out, what he saw paralyzed him with fear. The dark figure of a man stealthily approaching the bed was dimly visible. In his hand, Pope could make out the shape of a large knife, glittering in the moonlight. Because of his physical frailties, the poet was helpless to rise and protect himself. He could only scream for his valet, who slept in the next room, to come and help him.
At the sound of his master's cry, Bounce sprang from under the bed and leaped at the man, who toppled over and lost his grip on the knife. Then Bounce held him there on the floor, alternately growling at the man and barking loudly for help. When the commotion brought other members of the household staff to the rescue, the man with the knife turned out to be the new valet of whom Bounce had been suspicious. Hearing that Pope kept a great deal of money in the house, the man had decided to kill him, steal the strongbox key that he wore, and then flee before anyone else awakened.
Because of Bounce, Pope would live to write more great poetry. In addition, another epigram would be penned by the dog's master, who wrote, "Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends."
The concept of a dog as a protector is found in virtually every culture. For many people, the most important function a dog serves is to warn its family of any danger. An example of this view can be found in a story that was being told by the Mik'Maq Indians of North America long before the Europeans reached the American continent.
The legend begins with Gisoolg, the great spirit god and creator, who created Ootsitgamoo (the earth), then filled it with all sorts of animals. The work was difficult, so he rested and slept awhile. While Gisoolg was sleeping, though, the great snake that he had created became ambitious and greedy. It used magic to add deadly venom to its bite, so that it could kill the largest animals and in this way become the chief among all living things.
When Gisoolg awoke, he decided to make some beings that would rule over the animals. So first he gathered some clay from a sacred hidden place, and then he spent a full day forming the shape of a man from the clay. He gave the man life, but the man was too weak to move yet, so he lay on the ground gathering his strength. Gisoolg then went to sleep again.
The snake did not like the idea that Gisoolg was creating a creature that would be more intelligent and more powerful than any of the animals, so in the dead of the night it crept up and killed the man. When Gisoolg awoke he was distressed at the loss of the man, but spent another long day shaping another and then again went to sleep. Again the man became the victim of the cunning snake. On the third day Gisoolg rose early, and before he began to recreate the man, he first created a guardian in the form of a dog. By the time he had reformed the man, the dog had gathered enough strength to stand watch. So again Gisoolg went to sleep.
Now the snake again approached through the long grass, with murder in its heart and venom dripping from its fangs. But this time it was confronted by the dog, ...
From Publishers Weekly
Spiced with wit and mellowed with charm, Coren's anecdote-laden survey of canine-human interspecies history is a solid read. From stories about the diminutive 18th-century intellectual poet Alexander Pope and his protective Great Dane, Bounce, to Teddy Roosevelt's mixed breed, horseback-riding companion, Skip, Coren (How to Speak Dog) deftly draws the reader into both literary salons and political realms alike. The book ranges from ancient Egypt and medieval Japan to 19th-century Vienna and 21st-century Washington, D.C. Here are dogs of every breed as well as their owners, who include emperors, scoundrels, saints and artists: a Newfoundland named Robber offered Richard Wagner company while he was in Paris completing Rienzi and The Flying Dutchman. Coren recounts stirring sagas of dog heroism in everyday life as well as in wartime, from antiquity to the modern era (the Spanish conquistadors fortified their military with dogs, and "the cruellest of the Spanish leaders would use the dogs as a means of public execution. This was known as `dogging' "). The tales are well told and thoughtfully constructed, nicely balanced with solid historical research. Each chapter works nicely as a self-contained essay, and these vignettes build to tell an informative and entertaining story of canine camaraderie. Illus. not seen by PW.
Booklist
Humans and canines have been living together for about 14,000 years. That's amazing enough, but Coren and Bartlett take it one step further, showing that the world we live in today might have been a very different place if it hadn't been for a few dogs in the right place at the right time. Take Napoleon, for instance. He hated dogs, but one day in 1815, as he was sailing away from the island of Elba, he fell into the icy water and probably would have drowned except for a plucky Newfoundland dog that plunged into the water and rescued him. Napoleon, of course, went on to reclaim his throne and wage bloody war against the British at Waterloo. This delightful chronicle offers a rich and surprising cavalcade of canines who touched the lives of such famous people as Richard Wagner, Alexander Pope, Alexander Graham Bell, Frederick the Great, and Sigmund Freud. These engaging, even touching stories will be a real treat for dog lovers, history buffs, and trivia addicts. David Pitt
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Revue de presse
Seattle Post-Intelligencer A true-tales look at the fascinating role of dogs in history.
Présentation de l'éditeur
The Pawprints of History shines a new light on a favorite subject -- the relationship between humans and their four-legged best friends. Stanley Coren, a renowned expert on dog-human interactions, has combed the annals of history and found captivating stories of how dogs have lent a helping paw and influenced the actions, decisions, and fates of well-known figures from every era and throughout the world.
As history's great figures strut across the stage, Coren guides us from the wings, adoringly picking out the canine cameos and giving every dog of distinction its day. In this unparalleled chronicle, we see how Florence Nightingale's chance encounter with a wounded dog changed her life by leading her to the vocation of nursing. We learn why Dr. Freud's Chow Chow attended all of his therapy sessions and how the life of the Fifth Dalai Lama was saved by a dog who shared his bed. Dogs have even found their way to the battlefield -- great military leaders such as Robert the Bruce and Omar Bradley have shared their lives, exploits, and gunfire with dogs. From Wagner, who admitted that one of the arias in the opera Siegfried was "written" by one of his dogs, to the dogs that inspired and lived with Presidents Lincoln, Roosevelt, Johnson, and Clinton, these loving canines do double duty as loyal pets and creative muses.
From war to art, across the spectrum of human endeavor and achievement, there often stands, not only at his side but leading the way, man's beloved "best friend." For those who believe that behind every great person is a good dog, the uplifting stories in The Pawprints of History will be a lasting delight.
As history's great figures strut across the stage, Coren guides us from the wings, adoringly picking out the canine cameos and giving every dog of distinction its day. In this unparalleled chronicle, we see how Florence Nightingale's chance encounter with a wounded dog changed her life by leading her to the vocation of nursing. We learn why Dr. Freud's Chow Chow attended all of his therapy sessions and how the life of the Fifth Dalai Lama was saved by a dog who shared his bed. Dogs have even found their way to the battlefield -- great military leaders such as Robert the Bruce and Omar Bradley have shared their lives, exploits, and gunfire with dogs. From Wagner, who admitted that one of the arias in the opera Siegfried was "written" by one of his dogs, to the dogs that inspired and lived with Presidents Lincoln, Roosevelt, Johnson, and Clinton, these loving canines do double duty as loyal pets and creative muses.
From war to art, across the spectrum of human endeavor and achievement, there often stands, not only at his side but leading the way, man's beloved "best friend." For those who believe that behind every great person is a good dog, the uplifting stories in The Pawprints of History will be a lasting delight.
Book Description
Over the course of three decades, noted psychologist and renowned dog expert Stanley Coren has amassed a truly remarkable collection of stories, some of which he has shared with characteristic charm in his celebrated previous books. Now, in The Pawprints of History, the stories themselves are the focus and readers have the undiluted pleasure of sharing in Coren's unique trove. A lighthearted romp through the ages with a special eye out for man's best friend, Coren's vignettes of dogs in the great dramas of human history are a delight.
As history's great figures strut across the stage, Coren guides us from the wings, lovingly picking out the canine cameos and giving every dog of distinction its day. He vividly depicts the dogs who have played a significant role in the lives of many historical figures, and shows how their relationships with their people have directly influenced the course of world events. In this unparalleled chronicle, we see how Florence Nightingale's chance encounter with a wounded dog changed her life by leading her to the vocation of nursing. We learn why Dr. Freud's Chow Chow attended all of his therapy sessions and how the life of the Fifth Dalai Lama was saved by a dog who shared his bed. We see the obsessive love of King Charles II, who gave his spaniels hereditary titles of nobility so that they might go with him into the House of Lords. From canines who accompanied the rulers of ancient Egypt to those belonging to the presidents of the United States, dogs have been companions as well as political symbols and instruments of public relations -- including Calvin Coolidge's collie Prudence Prim, who had a cheerful collection of fancy hats, and Bill Clinton's chocolate Lab, Buddy, who made timely appearances to help his master through photo ops.
Even when the four-footed witnesses are not the decisive characters, it is gratifying to know that, for instance, in the thick of the Battle of Germantown, George Washington called a cease-fire solely to return General Howe's beloved fox terrier, who had wandered out of Howe's tent and across enemy lines. When the Earl of Wilshire's springer spaniel nipped the Pope's toe, he may not have precipitated the English Reformation, but he certainly didn't help matters.
From war to art, across the spectrum of human endeavor and achievement, there often stands, not only at his side but leading the way, man's beloved "best friend."
In this definitive collection of canine greatness, bursting with tales of famous figures and their four-legged catalysts of every breed and possible disposition, from lapdogs to four-legged warriors, from sleuthing hounds to sedentary pugs, Coren convincingly documents that wherever are found the footprints of history, there too one will find the pawprints.
Biographie de l'auteur
Stanley Coren is a professor of psychology at the University of British Columbia in Canada. His bestselling dog books include HOW DOGS THINK (1416502254) and HOW TO SPEAK DOG (1416502262) both currently available in Pocket paperback editions, as well as the perennial classic THE INTELLIGENCE OF DOGS recently reissued in a fully revised and updated edition (1416502874).
About the author
Stanley Coren is a professor of psychology at the University of British Columbia and author of The Left-Hander Syndrome, The Intelligence of Dogs, Sleep Thieves, What Do Dogs Know?, Why We Love the Dogs We Do, and How to Speak Dog. He lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
The book has been illustrated with lighthearted drawings by the highly talented artist, animator, and animation director Andy Bartlett, who also lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.