Figure 1 – CDV c1865 of Lincoln’s dog “Fido,” in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

We seem to have started down the path of pet photographs; so in honor of last night’s presidential debate I thought I would post Figure1 showing Abraham Lincoln’s dog, Fido. Now recognize that Lincoln was clearly a cat man and had a tendency towards bringing stray cats home, and when your home is the White House…

But Fido has this important official photograph and an intriguing tail [sic] to wag and tell. Fido lived with the Lincoln’s in Springfield, Illinois. He was yellow, mixed-breed dog, who the story goes would accompany Lincoln on his errands in town. Unfortunately, Fido made a crucial error. He was terrified by the booming fireworks during the celebration of Lincoln’s election and Lincoln decided that taking Fido to Washington would be a great mistake, much to young Tad and Willy’s disappointment.

The Lincolns arranged for the Roll family to care for the dog while the Lincolns were in Washington. Like Harris the Turtle, Fido was to have the run of the house, and Lincoln specified that even if his paws were muddy that Fido was to be allowed to come into the house, and he was not to be scolded for it nor was he to be locked out during family meals Indeed, the Lincolns left a favorite horsehair sofa with the Roll family for their pampered-pet.

As a result, Fido was still living with the Rolls family when Lincoln was assassinated.  When the funeral procession stopped in at the Lincoln family home in Springfield, Fido was there to say good-bye. CDVs like that of Figure 1 were sold as Lincoln memorabilia following his assassination.

Unfortunately, Fido himself met a sad and violent end. John Roll recounted the story of Fido’s death: ”One day the dog, in a playful manner, put his dirty paws upon a drunken man sitting on the street curbing [who] in his drunken rage, thrust a knife into the body of poor old Fido. He was buried by loving hands. So Fido, just a poor yellow dog met the fate of his illustrious master- Assassination.”

Figure 1 – Detroit Publishing Company “Tommy Atkins,1905” from the US LOC and in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

You know that if people photographed cats in silly positions that it wouldn’t be long before someone started photographing dogs in silly poses as well. After all, while cats need to be courted and coaxed, a dog will do it for bones or scraps. So it turns out that  a century before Wegman’s famous dog photographs amused us, people were already dressing up and photographing canines.

I’m offering up one of my favorites from 1905 entitled “Tommy Atkins” see Figure 1. Pipe smoking animals were very popular in the Pre-Surgeon General’s Report days. I remember a chimpanzee at the Central Park Zoo, back in the 1960s, who was famous for smoking cigars. And in this case there is more than a casual resemblance of, well let me give you a hint,

“…we shall fight on the beaches,
we shall fight on the landing grounds,
we shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
we shall fight in the hills;
we shall never surrender…”

Now British readers will certainly know who Tommy Atkins is, others maybe not. Tommy Atkins is a term for English soldiers particularly those in World War I. It is like the American term GI Joe. It is one of those curious issues in history. But the earliest use of the term appears to come from 1743 in a letter sent from Jamaica about a mutiny among the troops: “except for those from N. America ye Marines and Tommy Atkins behaved splendidly”.

Despite this the common and romantic belief persists, supported by the Imperial War Museum, that the name was chosen by the Duke of Wellington who was impressed by a soldier’s bravery  at the Battle of Boxtel in 1794 during the Flanders Campaign. After a terrible fight the Duke saw what he considered to be the most exemplary man-at-arms, Private Thomas Atkins, who despite terrible mortal wounds said, “It’s all right, sir. It’s all in a day’s work.”

And hats off to Harry Patch the last British combat veteran of World War I, the “Last Fighting Tommy.” Patch passed away on July 25, 2009 at the age of 111.

Figure 1 – Harry Pointer with his Brighton Cats c. 1870. In the public domain in the United States because of its age.

Are you getting really tired of silly photographs on Facebook of cats in compromising positions? Have you ever wondered just how long this lunacy has been going on? Well, as it turns out the answer is, close to one hundred and fifty years. Yes for 150 years cats have been subject to this kind of humiliation.

As it turns out during the 1870s, Brighton photographer Harry Pointer (1822-1889) became well known for a series of carte-de-visite photographs which featured his pet cats. Pointer began with conventional images of cats in baskets etc. But he soon realized the commercial value of cats in silly outfits and silly poses. These were collectively know as  “The Brighton Cats” series, which had as many as two hundred cat photographs.

Figure 1 is a portrait in the series of Pointer with his kitties. In case you are wondering who was taking the photograph this is explain in Figure2.

Figure 2 – Cat Photographer from Harry Pointer’s Brighton Cats c. 1870. In the public domain in the United States because of its age.

Figure 1 – Ambrose Bierce at the  Bohemian Club grove by Arnold Genthe, 1896-1914. From the US LOC and in the public domain because of its age.

Many of the “snapshots” of Jack London and his circle, including those of Carrie and George Sterling were, in fact, taken by Arnold Genthe (1869-1942). Genthe’s portraits, including those of Anna Pavlova show a wonderful sensitivity and depth. These are the artists who ultimately made the Belle Époque a lasting and beautiful memory for us all.

So, I started searching for more formal images by Genthe of London’s fellow bohemians and I found the powerful photograph of Figure 1 taken of Ambrose Bierce (1842-1914) in the garden of the Bohemian Club in San Francisco. My apologies but I could only find a small format example of this picture. It is an intriguing photograph for many reasons. First, there is the impeccably dressed subject. His oh so contemporary hat lies neatly on his lap. He is centered in the image and as a result his legs are cutoff as if the photograph were a candid. And while it is a 3/4 face, you get the sense that he is straining his neck as if to see who you or the photographer is. Finally, the light seems weak, grey and overcast – perhaps befitting the writer’s general mood and philosophy. It was Bierce who said that “a photograph is a picture painted by the sun without instruction in art.”

I have already described the story of Bierce’s death. That is itself a mystery of the Belle Époque. Bierce was an American can editorialist, journalist, short story writer, fabulist, and satirist. He is famous for his satirical lexicon, The Devil’s Dictionary. And it was his vehemence as a critic, combined with his motto “Nothing matters“, and his grim view of human nature that earned him the nickname “Bitter Bierce.” Certainly, shades of Mark Twain.

Bierce served during the American Civil War, having enlisted in the Union Army’s 9th Indiana Infantry. He participated in the Operations in Western Virginia campaign (1861), was present at the “first battle” at Philippi, and at the  Battle of Rich Mountain, where he performed a daring rescue, under fire, of a gravely wounded comrade. Bierce fought at the Battle of Shiloh (April 1862). In June 1864, he sustained a serious head wound at the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain.

Many of us today think of Bierce as a writer of the Cthulhu mythos. Indeed, in his essay “Supernatural Horror in Literature“, H. P. Lovecraft characterized Bierce’s fictional work as “grim and savage.” Lovecraft describes him as a writer of the horror genre, who created shining examples of weird fiction.

Readers may remember one of his greatest tales “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” that was adapted for television’s “The Twilight Zone.” The basic plot bears repeating as an example of Bierce’s work. Peyton Farquhar, a plantation owner in his mid-thirties, is about to be executed by hanging from an Alabama railroad bridge by Union soldiers.  Farquhar’s mind drifts, and he  thinks of his wife and children. He is distracted by a terrifying loud noise which turn out to be the telltale ticking of his watch. Farquhar has a flashback. He is with his wife when a Confederate soldier rides up and tells him that Union forces have captured Owl Creek Bridge. Perhaps Farquhar can destroy it. But the rider is a Union scout in disguise there to trick Farquhar.

The story flashes forward to the present, and when Farquhar falls from the bridge the rope breaks and he manages to swim to safety. Walking endlessly he makes it back to home and wife. But suddenly he feels a powerful blow on the back of his neck. Everything goes black. It was all a dream between the instant that he falls from the bridge and the time that the noose breaks his neck.

I leave you in The Twilight Zone to ponder the story and the questions: was Bierce crazy, are we all crazy? In his words:

“All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusions is called a philosopher.”