156I estimate the number of his cartoons as nearly as possible as follows:—18423185037185830184311185142185921184442185235186015184543185332186110184635185434186241847351855411863318483818563318644184937185733157Shirley Brooks inIllustrated London Newsof 19th November, 1864.158Charles Mackay’s “Forty Years’ Recollections.”159“Thackeray the Humourist and the Man of Letters,” p. 12.160MS. Diary of the late Shirley Brooks, 1st January, 1864.161Died on the 18th of December, 1864, exactly within a year from the date of her son’s death.162Shirley Brooks inIllustrated London Newsof 19th November, 1864.163“I suggested the cut, Moses being dressed for the Fair, Johnny Russell for the Conference.” MS. Diary of the late Shirley Brooks.164The first time I find mention of his name is on the 22nd of March, 1864, when the late Shirley Brooks met him at a party at Mr. Ernest Hart’s, 69, Wimpole Street. Some years afterwards, he adds in a note, “Met him next at Whitby.” I first meet with his name at aPunchcouncil, 7th November, 1864: “Dumaurier first time.”165Mr. Yates inMorning Star.166MS. Diary of Shirley Brooks: 29th October, 1864.167Illustrated London News, 19th November, 1864.168MS. Diary of Mr. Shirley Brooks.169Ibid.170H. K. Browne (“Phiz”), T. Landseer, George Cruikshank, Marcus Stone, Sir John Gilbert, and Mr. Philips, R.A., were also present.171The Rev. J. Reynolds Hole, author of “A Little Tour in Ireland,” to which his friend, John Leech (who accompanied him), contributed some of the most charming of his illustrations.
156I estimate the number of his cartoons as nearly as possible as follows:—
157Shirley Brooks inIllustrated London Newsof 19th November, 1864.
158Charles Mackay’s “Forty Years’ Recollections.”
159“Thackeray the Humourist and the Man of Letters,” p. 12.
160MS. Diary of the late Shirley Brooks, 1st January, 1864.
161Died on the 18th of December, 1864, exactly within a year from the date of her son’s death.
162Shirley Brooks inIllustrated London Newsof 19th November, 1864.
163“I suggested the cut, Moses being dressed for the Fair, Johnny Russell for the Conference.” MS. Diary of the late Shirley Brooks.
164The first time I find mention of his name is on the 22nd of March, 1864, when the late Shirley Brooks met him at a party at Mr. Ernest Hart’s, 69, Wimpole Street. Some years afterwards, he adds in a note, “Met him next at Whitby.” I first meet with his name at aPunchcouncil, 7th November, 1864: “Dumaurier first time.”
165Mr. Yates inMorning Star.
166MS. Diary of Shirley Brooks: 29th October, 1864.
167Illustrated London News, 19th November, 1864.
168MS. Diary of Mr. Shirley Brooks.
169Ibid.
170H. K. Browne (“Phiz”), T. Landseer, George Cruikshank, Marcus Stone, Sir John Gilbert, and Mr. Philips, R.A., were also present.
171The Rev. J. Reynolds Hole, author of “A Little Tour in Ireland,” to which his friend, John Leech (who accompanied him), contributed some of the most charming of his illustrations.
Ina work dealing with comic artists and caricaturists, one is somewhat puzzled to decide what place to assign to the distinguished draughtsman who died a year and a half ago.Ultimus Romanorum, the last of the great trio of designers, Cruikshank, Leech, and Browne, his career offers to us a singular paradox; for although not born a comic artist (as we shall endeavour presently to show), he executed a vast number of comic illustrations; and while, so far as we know, never guilty of a caricature in his life, the larger portion of his drawings are caricatures pure and simple.
We might cite a hundred examples of this tendency to exaggeration, but one shall suffice. In the etching wherein Miss Nickleby is introduced to her uncle’s objectionable friends, Miss Nickleby as well as the “friends” are remarkable for the largeness of their heads and the flimsiness of their bodies; while the men, if not exactly like those described by Pliny, or quoted from him (without acknowledgment) by our Sir John Mandeville, are at any rate too grotesque for human beings. If humanity offers to our study in daily life a variety in form, face, and feature, comprising eccentricities as well as excellencies, such specimens, nevertheless, as poor Smike or Mr. Mantalini were never designed in itsatelier.
Phiz.[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.The DEPARTURE.[Face p. 336.
Phiz.
[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.
The DEPARTURE.
[Face p. 336.
The artist’s invincible tendency to exaggeration, that iscaricature(in the Johnsonian definition of the word), was observed by his friend and ally, the late Charles James Lever, who remarked with reference to his illustrations of the novel of “Jack Hinton,” “Browne’s sketches are as usualcaricatures; they make my scenes too riotousand disorderly. The character of my books for uproarious people and incident I owe mainly to Master Phiz.”172When Samuel Lover was sent over to Brussels by McGlashan, the publisher, to take a likeness of the novelist, he was accompanied by Browne, the object of whose visit was to confer with the author on the subject of these very illustrations. Lever was so anxious to restrain him from caricaturing his countrymen, that he even begged Browne to accompany him to Dublin for the purpose of seeing thenatives, instead of the wretched specimens of Milesian humanity to be met with in London.
Another fault of this artist, which will be apparent to any oneLack of Vitality.acquainted with his work, is the weakness of his outline, and the singular absence of solidity, stability, and even ofvitalityin his figures. There is no lack of powerful situations in Frank Smedley’s novel of “Lewis Arundel,” but Browne’s illustrations are characterised by an utter absence of vitality, while shadow usurps the place of substantial bone and muscle. There are the usual thread-paper men in tail hats, with trousers so tightly strapped to their feet that they must go through the tedium of existence in intolerable discomfort. In one picture he shows us a fragile, attenuated man holding another fragile, attenuated man over the well of a staircase by the waistband of his trousers, a feat which, difficult of performance to a Hercules, would be absolutely beyond the power of a person so fragile, so absolutely destitute of bone and muscle, as the hero of this particular episode.
The weakness of which we now speak becomes strikingly apparent when he enables us to compare him with either of the distinguished trio to which he himself belonged. Such an opportunity offers itself in Mr. R. W. Surtees’ novel of “Mr. Facey Romford’s Hounds.” Compare John Leech’s illustration,Fresh as a Four-Year Old(the last he executed for the novelist before his firm, free hand was paralysed by death), with Hablot Knight Browne’s first etching in the same book. A better subject, surely, could scarcelyhave been selected: the hounds have just been let out of the kennel, and in actual life would, of course, be scampering over the place in all the exuberant consciousness of canine freedom; the scene, in fact, would be redolent of life and excitement, which is wholly wanting to Browne’s illustration. “Phiz,” from boyhood, had been accustomed to horses, and frequently hunted with the Surrey hounds, and to this circumstance is due the facility with which he usually delineated horses in the hunting field. In the delineation of hunting scenes, however, he falls far behind John Leech, and this inferiority is strikingly manifested in the illustration to which we are now referring. If you compare the fragile men, horses, and hounds, with those in Leech’s last etching, you cannot fail to be struck with the vigour and life-like reality of the latter drawing. Browne’s women as a rule are delicate, fragile, consumptive-looking creatures. The one in the etching referred to is both physically weak and a bad horsewoman to boot—sitting her horse with all the ungracefulness of a sack of flour.
Another weakness of Hablot Knight Browne is a tendency to reproduce. If you look at any of his “interiors,” it will be apparent to you that the men and women—the furniture and fittings—the room itself, you have seen any number of times before. Charles Chesterfield becomes Nicholas Nickleby, and Nicholas Nickleby Harry Lorrequer; and with the slightest possible rearrangement, the scenes in which these gentlemen figure from time to time are so much alike, that we are reminded for all the world of the set scenes and artificial backgrounds of a photographer’s, “studio.” Take “Nicholas Nickleby,” by way of example: the room in which old Ralph Nickleby first finds his poor relations, does duty (with the slightest possible rearrangement) for the Yorkshire schoolmaster’s room at the Saracen’s Head; while a room in Kenwig’s house becomes successively an apartment in Mr. Mantalini’s residence, a green-room, Mr. Ralph Nickleby’s office, Mr. Charles Cheeryble’s room, a hairdresser’s shop, and so on. The illustrations to a novel may not inaptly be compared to the scenery and characters of a drama, and a theatre furnished with such a dearth of scenery and“properties,” would be a poor affair indeed. This tendency to reproduction becomes strikingly apparent wherever a romantic hero puts in an appearance. Thus, Mrs. Trollope’s Charles Chesterfield in a frock coat, becomes in a tailcoat Charles Dickens’s Nicholas Nickleby; in another frock coat, Martin Chuzzlewit; while a military surtout converts him, with equal facility, into Charles Lever’s Jack Hinton or Harry Lorrequer, according to the exigencies of the costume. The strange part of it is that this peculiarity is shown almost exclusively in the delineation of heroes of fiction. The imagination of the artist is evidently impressed by marked and clearly defined characters such as Squeers, Pecksniff, Gamp, Dombey, Macstinger, Quilp, or Carker, and their identity as a rule is admirably preserved. If pressed for an explanation, it is possible that Browne might have pleaded that heroes of romance present for the most part, with a few notable exceptions, a strong family likeness, being little better than dummies, introduced by their authors for the purpose of setting off personages possessed of greater force of character and decision of purpose. Be this as it may, the singular failing we refer to is certainly no mere fancy of our own. Charles Lever himself complained that in the supper scene of his second number, Lorrequer bore so striking a resemblance to his contemporary, Nicholas Nickleby; while his biographer, Mr. Fitzpatrick, observes that the identity of Harry Lorrequer is never maintained throughout the novel, that mercurial hero being alternately represented old, young, good-looking, and ugly. So much indeed was Lever impressed with the fact, that he actually besought the artist to represent O’Malley thesame person throughout the book. A knowledge of Irish physiognomy was essential to any illustrator of Lever’s novels, and Hablot Knight Browne was so innocent of this knowledge that the author begged him to go down to the House of Commons and study the faces of the Irish members there, as the only accessible method of obtaining the necessary insight in England.
Hypercriticism, happily, would be out of place in a work dealing with caricaturists and graphic humourists of the nineteenth century. Faults such as those the author has ventured to indicate appear tohim faults indeed of a grave character; but, while conscious of defects which cannot fail to be patent to the most ordinary observer, he is conscious at the same time of the great abilities of the artist, who like those of whom he has already treated, has passed over to the ranks of “the great majority.” If the scenery and properties are sometimes poor,—if there is no genius, and oftentimes a lack of decision and reality, there is on the other hand no lack of talent; and there are many designs of Hablot Knight Browne which place him in the very first rank of English book illustrators. His etching ofThe Goblin and the Sexton(the eccentric yew-tree notwithstanding),Mr. Pickwick in the Pound, and the very admirable little etchings which we find in that rarePaper of Tobaccoby “Joseph Fume,” may be favourably compared with some of the best comic illustrations of George Cruikshank himself.
Phiz.[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.DICK SWIVELLER AND THE LODGER.[Face p. 340.
Phiz.
[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.
DICK SWIVELLER AND THE LODGER.
[Face p. 340.
Can any picture tell its story better than that first illustration to“Nicholas Nickelby.”“Nicholas Nickleby,” where old Ralph pays his “visit to his poor relations”? Mark the supercilious air with which the vulgar moneylender hands his hat to Nicholas, and the unveiled contempt with which he receives the attentions of poor Mrs. Nickleby and her daughter. A no less admirable illustration is the one wherein we see the Yorkshire schoolmaster nibbing his pen, whilst Snawley consigns his wretched step-sons to the tender mercies of the principal of Do-the-boys Hall. Observe the extraordinary anatomical proportions, hat and toggery, of Mr. Newman Noggs, as he stretches up to the top of the coach to hand a letter to Nicholas. Regard the nightcap and head-gear of the detestable Mrs. Squeers, as she administers matutinal brimstone and treacle to the starving pupils of Do-the-boys Hall. Mark the astonishment of Squeers and his victim, as the savage goes down under the thundering blows of Nickleby’s cane. Look at the old imbecile declaring his passion for the foolish Mrs. Nickleby. Behold his knee-breeches and shorts protruding from the chimney, when his benighted intellect prompted him, at the imminent hazard of strangulation, to pay a visit to the object of his affectionsviathat unusually circuitous route. Look at the fatal brawl between Sir Mulberry Hawk and his hopeful pupil; and rejoice at the final retributivejustice which overtakes Mrs. Squeers, when she falls into the hands of her late victims, and is drenched in her turn with the loathsome brew she had so long administered to themselves.
Specially noteworthy is the bright little picture on the title-page,“Martin Chuzzlewit.”where the coach, with its spanking four-in-hand, gallops on its distant journey after depositing Martin Chuzzlewit at his destination. The guard, as he mounts up behind, watches with curious interest Pecksniff’s unctuous reception of the new pupil. Nothing can well be cleverer than his realization of thePleasant Little Family Party at Mr. Pecksniff’s, where that hypocritical personage, surrounded by foes, assumes a look of persecuted benevolence, and gravely requests his daughter, when he takes his chamber candlestick that night, to remind him to be more particular in praying for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit, “who had done him an injustice.”The Warm Reception of Mr. Pecksniff by his Venerable Friendgives us the liveliest satisfaction. If old Chuzzlewit’s face is one of the “caricatures” referred to, it must be remembered that it is distorted with passion, and the fact is forgotten in the satisfaction with which we hail the detection and punishment of the whining rascal, the sting of which is envenomed by the astounding revelation that all the while he has been weaving his web of falsehood around his intended victim, he himself has been the dupe of the man he had schemed so long to hoodwink and deceive.
Regard again Quilp, the dwarf, and his elfin errand boy (in the“The Old Curiosity Shop.”“Old Curiosity Shop”), enjoying the agonies of Sampson Brass as he essays to smoke a long churchwarden. Behold Quilp upon his back taunting the large fierce dog with hideous grimaces, triumphant in the consciousness that the shortness of his chain will not permit him to advance another inch. Look at Mrs. Jarley’s wax-work brigand, “with the blackest possible head and the clearest possible complexion,” going his rounds in the company of little Nell, his eyes fixed on the miniature of his lady-love, and his hand pressed to his stomach instead of his heart. Behold the dwarf once more, as he entertains Sampson and his sister Sally in the ruined outhouse overlooking the river; the rain pours down on the head of the haplessattorney, who, with coat buttoned up to the chin, and evidently suffering from severe influenza, looks the picture of shivering discomfort. Although in no better plight herself, Sally rejoices in the sufferings of her brother, and as she sips her tea, her repulsive features are distorted with a hideous grin of satisfaction. Quilp, seated on his barrel beneath the only remnants of a roof, occupies a comparatively dry corner, and looks the very picture of rollicking fun and enjoyment.
But incomparably one of the best of Browne’s comic illustrations is the one in “Dombey,” wherein Captain Cuttle encounters Mrs. Macstinger in charge of Bunsby, bent on rivetting matrimonial chains upon that confused and ancient mariner. Bunsby is one of the“Bunsby.”happiest of Dickens’s creations; stupid as an owl, he has nevertheless an oracular mode of delivering himself, and the simple-minded Cuttle places as much reliance upon this wooden-headed sailor as the ancients did on the mysterious utterance of the Delphic Apollo. That the powerful will of Macstinger should hold himself in subjugation so long as he was under the dominion of her eye was a matter of course; but that this man of wisdom should be so easily boarded and captured by the enemy, is so absolutely beyond his simple comprehension that he scratches his head in sheer amazement. As for poor Bunsby, the cup of his humiliation is full. So far as his wooden features are capable of expression, they indicate two distinct trains of thought: a conviction that his own pretensions have been detected and exposed, and a desire to run,—an inclination repressed by the powerful clutch of his strong-minded bride, who retains his wrist in a grasp of iron. Compare the look of bewilderment on Cuttle’s face with the look of mingled contempt and triumph on the features of Macstinger; and then look at poor Bunsby!
“Phiz” began etching when he was seventeen, and was in full work when he was twenty-one. It was his three drawings on the wood for Dickens’s rare tract, “Sunday Under Three Heads,”173which introduced him first to public notice. This was intended as aprotest against the cant and narrow-mindedness of the bigots whose ignorance of the sacred writings is so dense that they confound the Jewish Sabbath (i.e.the Saturday) with the English Sunday; misunderstand (which in their ignorance of Hebrew may be excusable) the directions tohis own peopleof the Jewish law-giver,—and ignore (which is absolutely inexcusable) the dictates of common sense, and the plain directions of our Saviour and of the Gentile Apostle. The strong common sense of Charles Dickens, and of many good Christian men after him, have striven in vain to expose an error due to the narrow-mindedness of our Puritan forefathers, to whom are due also the impurities of Dryden and of the dramatic writers of the Restoration. Cant, however, has prevailed; and the English Sunday—to the delight of these fanatics, and the absolute terror of their children—remains the most unrefreshing and most doleful of the seven days of the week.
Theatrical London in 1840 was visited by an excitement secondThe “Jack Sheppard” Mania.only to the “Tom and Jerry” mania of 1821. The mania of 1840, if occupying a narrower area, was more morbid in its character, and certainly not less mischievous in its results. Harrison Ainsworth had brought out his peculiar romance of “Jack Sheppard,” which, resting on its own merits, might have achieved perhaps a mild popularity and done but little harm. Thanks, however, to the genius and fancy of George Cruikshank, the public became for a time Sheppard mad; the heroes presented to admiring and applauding audiences at the theatres were murderers, housebreakers, highway robbers, thieves, and their female companions. The morbid taste of the populace had in fact been thoroughly roused, a condition of things which was satirized by the artist’s little-known etching ofThe Way to the Gallows made Easy and Pleasant, which appeared in “The New Monthly Magazine” of 1840.174The inventive powers of the artist were almostnil, and the rare and able etching referred to was suggested to him by John Poole, the author of “Paul Pry,” to whom we are indebted for the descriptive letterpress: “At the footof a gently sloping path strewed with flowers, stands a gibbet decorated, not with a halter, but wreaths of roses. Around it are many tombs of elegant construction, supposed to enclose the ashes of the illustrious departed. Upon one is inscribed, ‘Here repose the mortal remains of the ever-famed Jerry Abershaw’; upon another, ’Sacred to the memory of Poor Johnny Greenacre.’ A third is remarkable for its touching simplicity—’Alas! Poor Thurtell!’ Another, somewhat more elaborate, gives us ‘Burke and Hare! As they were loving friends in life, so in death are they undivided! Erected by their affectionate disciples, Bishop and May.’ Besides these there are many others all bearing names of mark and fame. The whole is surrounded by a pretty arabesque composed of crowbars and other implements of burglary, pistols, knives, death’s heads and cross-bones, halters, handcuffs, and fetters, ingeniously disposed and prettily intertwined with wreaths of roses.”
We said at the opening of this chapter that “Phiz” was notborna comic artist. He possessed a certain amount of humour, which was evoked in the first instance by the example of Cruikshank, and his abilities and desire to emulate the greater artist have enabled him unquestionably to realize many humorous designs. It is impossible, however, to examine the numerous etchings of this draughtsman, without coming to the conclusion that he is always seen at his best when not called on to exercise his purely comic powers. Take by way of example,The Venice Glass, in Ainsworth’s romance of “Crichton”; you will need no reference to the letterpress to understand it, for the artist tells his story far better than the novelist. Observe Crichton as he raises the goblet, and the poisoned wine bubbles and boils, and finally shivers the chalice into a thousand fragments; regard the agitation of Marguerite de Valois; the keen attention of Henri and his attendants. Where shall we find a finer illustration than the one in this book in which Esclairmonde is presented to Henri? The meeting of Mr. Tigg and Martin Chuzzlewit at the pawnbroker’s shop is full of pathos. Look at the poor, wasted but still handsome mother waiting her turn whilst the gin-drinking laundress pawns her flat-irons to gratify her passion for thedeadly drink; note theinsoucianceof the thoughtless musician as he twangs the guitar which he is about to pledge, though probably dependent on it for bread. Notice the pictures above,—the Bacchante pressing grapes into a wine cup,—the bailiff distraining for rent. Hablot Knight Browne has no powers which would enable us to compare him with Hogarth, and yet the grim reality of this picture Hogarth himself might almost admire.
Regard again that wondrous tailpiece at page 96 of “The Old Curiosity Shop,” where Quilp, the odious dwarf, sits up all night smoking and drinking, his countenance every now and then “expanding with a grin of delight” as his patient, long-suffering wife makes some involuntary movement of restlessness or fatigue. Look at poor, wasted, shoeless Nell, as she reclines on the settee of the public-house, surrounded by sympathisers,—the kind-hearted motherly landlady administering mental and bodily solace to the motherless child,—the poor, foolish, gambling grandfather gazing into her face with wistful anxiety. Lastly, look at the ghastly corpse of old Quilp as he lies dead amid the mud and slime of the river, which, after playing with the ugly, malicious, ill-shapen thing until it was bereft of life, flung it contemptuously high and dry upon the swamps at low tide.
“Dombey and Son” called for comparatively little exercise of“Dombey and Son.”Browne’scomicpower, and consequently we shall find in this book examples of some of his finest book etchings. The pompous London merchant, the frigid influence he exercises on those about him, the distrustful look of the nurse as she brings baby Paul into his presence, the shrinking form of little Florence as the frightened child cowers with folded hands behind her repellent father’s chair, are finely depicted in the etching ofThe Dombey Family. InMrs. Dombey at Home, the proud, haughty beauty chafing under the consciousness that she has been sacrificed to the wealth of the heartless merchant, takes no pains to veil the contempt she feels for the admiring men who surround her. These men (by the way) are scarcely men at all, they are all grossly exaggerated; but “Phiz,” like many artists of greater pretensions, has sacrificed everything to hiscentral figure, and the presence and bearing of the disdainful beauty makes thecoup d’œildelightful.Abstraction and Recognitionis a wonderful etching; both man and horse are admirably drawn, whilst the figures scowling out of the dark entry on the passing and unconscious horseman require no reference to the letterpress. In his etching ofThe Dark Road, Mr. Browne developed a style of etching of which he afterwards frequently availed himself, and by which (as in “Bleak House” and “Roland Cashel”) he sometimes succeeded in producing remarkable effects. It shows us a postilion driving a team of horses over a dark and dreary road bordered on either hand by dismal moorland; the streaks of the approaching dawn illuminate the edges of the landscape; the single occupant of the berlin, unable to control his agitation, stands upright, and gazes anxiously around him. So realistic is the drawing, that as we look at the flying team we may almost hear the jingle of the splinter-bars and harness as the horses rattle along the dismal road. Cruikshank, to save his life, could draw neither a horse, a tree, or a pretty woman; when he did so it was rather by accident than by design. “Phiz” (with all his faults) could draw all three, and impart to them a grace, a beauty, and a poetry peculiar to himself. Look at that etching ofCarker in his Hour of Triumph, where Edith, after using the villain as a tool to revenge herself upon her husband, turns upon her miserable dupe with all the force of her superior intellect, and laughs in the face of the man she has so egregiously befooled. This really is an admirable drawing; the anger and humiliation on the face of the dumbfounded villain, who feels himself absolutely powerless in the hands of the scornful, resolute woman, are powerfully depicted. A more perfect realization of Edith Dombey it seems to us could scarcely be imagined. Leech,perhaps, might have reached the idea. He would certainly have put more breadth and solidity into the figure of Carker; but the woman he could scarcely have improved upon—I doubt if he could have matched her. As for Cruikshank, he would have given her an impossible waist, a puffy face surmounted with bandeaux of raven hair scrupulously plastered to each side of her lofty forehead; whilst Carker would have beenpresented to us in an uncomfortable coat, hair parted and dressed after the Cruikshankian fashion, and a pair of boots at least half a yard in length.
Phiz.[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.THE RIOTERS.[Face p. 346.
Phiz.
[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.
THE RIOTERS.
[Face p. 346.
“Bleak House” (1852-3) has been described as the most successful“Bleak House” and “Roland Cashel.”of “Phiz’s” illustrated work; but although it contains some of the best etchings he ever designed for Charles Dickens, the rest are in truth of unequal merit. Among the best may be mentionedConsecrated Ground;The Old Man of the name of Tulkinghorn;Morning;Tom All Alone’s; and the sunset scene in theLong Drawing-room at Chesney Wold. In the dreary twilight of theGhost’s Walkand of the room in which the murder was consummated we have a pair of drawings unsurpassed by any of the illustrations he executed for Charles Lever’s “Roland Cashel,” which last contains unquestionably the finest of his designs.
Of all his illustrators, Hablot Knight Browne was the one who best suited the requirements of Charles Dickens. A man of talent without a single idea of his own, he was found more malleable and manageable than Cruikshank, who, as we have seen, would have had a hand (if he could) not only in the illustrations, but also in the management of the story. The conditions under which “Phiz” illustrated “Pickwick” were wholly different from those which poor Seymour had endeavoured to impose upon his author. “It is due to the gentleman,” says Dickens, in his preface to the “Pickwick Papers,” “It is due to the gentleman whose designs accompany the letterpress, to state that the interval has been so short between the production of each number in manuscript and its appearance in print, that the greater portion of the illustrations have been executed by the artist from the author’sverbal description of what he intended to write.” Cruikshank would certainly not have done this, and we doubt whether John Leech would have consented to work under such conditions. But as regards Browne, the case was entirely different. He had nogeniusor ideas of his own, and could only work from the suggestions of others. The interest and anxiety which Dickens felt in the character of the illustrations to his novels, is shown by reference to the illustrations to “Dombey.” “The pointsfor illustration, and the enormous care required, make me,” he says, “excessively anxious! The man for Dombey, if Browne could see him, the class of man to a T, is Sir A—— E——, of D——s. Great pains will be necessary with Miss Tox. The Toodle family should not be too much caricatured, because of Polly.” As the story unwinds itself, he proceeds, “Browne is certainly interesting himself and taking pains;” and again, in another letter, “Browne seems to be getting on well.” Still “Browne,” with all his pliability, found it a hard matter to please him. He made a particular point of Paul, Mrs. Pipchin, and the cat by the fire; and the result to himself was so eminently unsatisfactory that it produced a characteristic protest. “I am really distressed by the illustration of Mrs. Pipchin and Paul. It is so frightfully and wildly wide of the mark. Good heaven! in the commonest and most literal construction of the text, it is all wrong! She is described as an old lady, and Paul’s ‘miniature arm-chair’ is mentioned more than once. He ought to be sitting in a little arm-chair down in a corner of the fireplace, staring up at her. I can’t say what pain and vexation it is to be so utterly misrepresented. I would cheerfully have given a hundred pounds to have left this illustration out of the book. He never could have got that idea of Mrs. Pipchin if he had attended to the text. Indeed, I think he does better without the text; for then the notion is made easy to him, ashort description, andhe can’t help taking it in.” This last sentence exactly describes the man: a personal description with him did more than any amount of letterpress, however lucid.
One may readily understand this almost nervous anxiety of Charles Dickens with reference to thecharacterof his illustrations. He worked, be it remembered, under conditions entirely different to the novelist of a later date. The etched illustrations of his day formed a most important—in some cases (the works of inferior men, such as Albert Smith, for instance) by far the most important—portion of the work itself. Under the charm of the illustrations and the mode of issue, the tale was protracted to a length which would be impossible in a novel of Charles Reade or Wilkie Collins, which depends for its success upon the skill of the novelist alone. Thenovel issued in monthly numbers depended on two sources of attraction—the skill of the novelist and the skill of his artistic coadjutor. Dickens’ requirements, however, were of so exacting a nature that they proved in the end too exacting even for the patience of the accommodating artist, and the reader will not be surprised to learn that a coolness was ultimately established between artist and author, the outcome of which was the employment of Marcus Stone and Luke Fildes on the later novels of “Our Mutual Friend” and “Edwin Drood.”
Those who would find fault with Charles Dickens for the mode in which he controlled his artists quite fail to understand the man himself. Although he had no knowledge of the pencil, although he himself had no knowledge of drawing, he was nevertheless a thorough artist in heart and mind. There is scarcely a character in his books which does not show the care and thought which he bestoweduponits elaboration. Ralph Nickleby, Squeers, Smike, little Nell, Quilp, Barnaby Rudge, Steerforth, Paul Dombey, Lady Dedlock, Joe, each and all show how carefully they were elaborated; how distinctly they presented themselves to the retina of the mind of their distinguished creator. When this is borne in mind, it will be at once understood why the Mrs. Pipchin of Hablot Browne was nottheMrs. Pipchin with whose outward appearance and mental peculiarities the author himself was so intimately acquainted.
Notwithstanding the exhibition, after his death, of water-colours“Auriol.”and other works, which took the public by surprise, Hablot Knight Browne will continue to be known to most of us as an illustrator of books, and nothing more. “Oh! I’m aweary, I’m aweary,” he said himself in a letter to one of his sons, “of this illustration business.” Some of these illustrations, however, are wonderfully graceful, and one in particular seems to call for special notice. It will be found in the “New Monthly Magazine” for 1845, and is undoubtedly one of the best examples of the artist’s work which may be found anywhere. It represents a prisoner in a dungeon lying at the foot of a pillar, which, except in a ghastly carved work running round it of skulls and cross bones, reminds us somewhat of Bonneval’s pillar atChillon. The lights and shadows are wonderfully rendered, and the work is characterized by a softness, a beauty, and a finish only to be observed in work which took the artist’s fancy. This etching is entitled,Rougemont’s Device to Perplex Auriol; and Ainsworth’s story which it illustrates—a peculiarly unsatisfactory one—commenced, I think, in “Ainsworth’s Magazine,” passed into the “New Monthly,” when its author purchased that periodical in 1845, and (whether the novelist got himself into an intellectual fix or otherwise I know not) finished, I believe, eventually nowhere.
Browne indeed finds a place here more by virtue of his book illustrations than by reason of any just pretensions to be considered a graphic humourist. His comic powers appear to us more the result of education and emulation than natural gifts, and the consequence is, that in attempting to be funny, his work too often degenerates into absolute exaggeration. His excellencies must be sought for in his serious illustrations, which fall more within the province of the art critic than the scope and purpose of a work which treats of graphic satirists and comic artists of the nineteenth century. Some of his finest illustrations of a serious character will be found in the pages of the “Illuminated Magazine”; in Charles Lever’s admirable story of “St. Patrick’s Eve”; in the “Fortunes of Colonel Forlogh O’Brien”; in Augustus Mayhew’s “Paved with Gold”; in Ainsworth’s “Mervyn Clithero”; and “Revelations of London”; and above all, in Charles Lever’s novel of “Roland Cashel.”
Hablot Knight Browne lived to see the decline and fall of that peculiar and powerful art of book illustration which was introduced by Cruikshank; was fostered and encouraged by Charles Dickens, Charles James Lever, their imitators and contemporaries; and died, so to speak, with these distinguished men. His work in later years, as might naturally have been expected, shows a woeful decline of power; and when the suggestors from whom he derived inspiration were no longer at his back, the poverty of invention which characterized the man when left to his own devices becomes painfully apparent.
“Phiz” drew in later years forJudyand other comic papers, and it is simple justice to say that his designs are characterized by an utter absence of comic power. The true comic inspiration possessed in so wonderful a degree by Cruikshank, by John Leech, and even by Robert Seymour, he never indeed possessed. Some fifteen years before his death he suffered from incipient paralysis, and furthermore injured his thumb, which obliged him to hold his pencil between his middle and fore-fingers. Gradually this great and graceful artist dropped so far behind in the race of life that he yielded latterly to proposals to illustrate boys’ literature of a very inferior class.
In addition to an absence of comic inspiration, thecreativefaculty of Cruikshank and Leech was wanting to Hablot Knight Browne. In order to carry out an idea, it was necessary that it should be put into his head; for leave him to himself, and he could do absolutely nothing.175George Cruikshank and John Leech after receiving instructions would proceed to realize them in their own way and after their own fashion; but this was not the case with Hablot Knight Browne. While he could realize the idea of another with peculiar success when the subject took his fancy, he could neither enlarge nor improve upon it, and in this lies the difference betweengeniusand mere ability. Lacking an inherent sense of humour, he copied Cruikshank, and hence his exaggerations and failures as acomicdesigner; but he wasultimus Romanorum,—the last representative of the famous men whose art was fostered and encouraged by Charles Dickens, by Charles Lever, by Harrison Ainsworth, and by Richard Bentley. The services which these eminent men rendered to the novelists who like them are dead and gone can scarcely be appreciated; for we presume few will deny that their labours lent a charm, a beauty, and an interest to their works, which largely tended to promote their sale. The fortunes of “Jack Sheppard,” of “The Miser’s Daughter,” of “The Tower of London,”—the successobtained by nearly all the stories of Ainsworth which obtained any success at all, was mainly due to the pencil of Cruikshank. The reputation of “Oliver Twist”—a morbid novel—was made in a great measure byhim; but for John Leech, neither “Mr. Ledbury,” “The Scattergood Family,” “The Marchioness of Brinvilliers,” or “Richard Savage,” would have survived to our day. To him the novels of Mr. R. W. Surtees owe their entire popularity; while his genius has conferred vitality on the rubbish of À Beckett. It is curious, however, how little these facts were recognised at the time, and what little credit was given in contemporary reviews and by contemporary critics to the artists who rendered to successful novelists the priceless aid and assistance of their pencils.
How far the needle of “Phiz” contributed to the ultimate success of the greatraconteur, Charles James Lever, we are in no position to state; that it proved a very large factor in that result there can be no manner of doubt. That success was not achieved immediately. Lever commenced life as a struggling country doctor, and “Harry Lorrequer,” first brought out in the “Dublin University Magazine,” before it appeared in illustrated shilling numbers, was almost wholly ignored by the London press, the criticisms and favourable remarks coming almost wholly from provincial journals. There was one exception by the way, a military paper, the critic of which went into such ecstacies over this sparkling military medley, that he asserted he would rather be author of “Lorrequer” than of all the “Pickwicks” or “Nicklebys” in the world. This notice (unknown to Lever) was published with the advertisements of the book, and (strange to say) gave so much annoyance to Dickens that he sent an angry reply to a civil letter which came to him shortly afterwards from the Irish novelist, and their friendly intercourse was for some years suspended in consequence.
Phiz.[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.SAM WELLER AND HIS FATHER.[Face p. 352.
Phiz.
[“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” 1840-1.
SAM WELLER AND HIS FATHER.
[Face p. 352.
The decline of Hablot Browne’s popularity was painfully apparent to himself. Although our chapter was written long before the appearance of Mr. Kitton’s pamphlet, we may be permitted to re-open it to extract from the latter the following melancholy observations which we find in a letter to his son, Dr. Browne: “I am at present on asporting paper, supported by some high and mighty nobs; but I fear,like everything I have to do with, now a-days, it will collapse, for some of the proprietors of the paper are also shareholders, etc., etc., in the Graphotype Company, so they want to work the two together. I hate the process; it takes quite four times as long as wood, and I cannot draw and express myself with a nasty, finicking brush, and the result when printed seems to alternate between something all as black as my hat, or as hazy and faint as a worn-out plate. If on wood, I should like it well enough; as it is it spoils four days a week, leaving little time for anything else. Oh! I’m aweary, I’m aweary! of this illustration business.”176This seems to us inexpressibly sad. We hear nothing of it in earlier days, when he was drawing the excellent designs for “Roland Cashel,” for “Dombey,” or for “Bleak House.”
Of the works and sketches in water colour and oils exhibited in Liverpool after the artist’s death, personally we have seen nothing. They took the public by surprise, for few at least of the outer world suspected that this shy, retiring illustrator of books was a persevering and accomplished water-colour artist. We ourselves were aware of the fact, and had seen some thirty original and highly characteristic sketches, some of them studies of characters in novels of Charles Dickens and Lever; all executed prior to 1846, some in Indian ink, some in crayon, a few in pencil. Among them was a small but highly finished water-colour drawing, representing a group of seven knights in full martial panoply, and a striking effect is produced by the glint of the sun on the burnished armour of the central figure. The author of a recent sketch would cite these water colours as a complete answer to those who like ourselves maintain, in no mere spirit of detraction, that the artist possessed not one particle ofgenius. Surely he cannot be in earnest. If so, we have only to say, that if painting subjects in oils or water colour from the thousand and one hints to be gathered from history, fiction, or every-day life, be a test ofgenius, the walls of every summer and winter exhibition—to saynothing of the Royal Academy—would be furnished annually with examples from end to end.
Leech died in the meridian of his fame at the early age of forty-six. Hablot Browne when he died had not only survived his talents, but his peculiarly shy and retiring nature had caused him at the age of sixty-seven to be absolutely forgotten. The famous men of letters whose works he had illustrated were dead and gone; the world of literature and of art took such small note of him that his funeral was the funeral of a private individual, and not of one who, if he did not partake in, had contributed in no considerable degree to the success of Charles Dickens and of Charles James Lever. When his passing-bell rang out upon the summer air, journalists remembered that a great artist was gone to his rest, andPunchinserted in his number of the 22nd of July, 1882, to the memory of the last of the book etchers of the nineteenth century the following graceful tribute:—
“The lamp is out that lighted up the textOf Dickens, Lever—heroes of the pen.PickwickandLorrequerwe love, but nextWe place the man who made us see such men.What should we know ofMartin Chuzzlewit,SternMr. Dombey, orUriah Heap?Tom Burke of Ours?—Around our hearts they sit,Outliving their creators—all asleep.No sweeter gift ere fell to man than hisWho gave us troops of friends—delightful Phiz.“He is not dead! There, in the picture-book,He lives with men and women that he drew;We take him with us to the cozy nook,Where old companions we can love anew.Dear boyhood’s friend! We rode with him to hounds;Lived with dearPeggottyin after years;Missed in old Ireland, where fun knew no bounds.AtDora’sdeath we felt poor David’s tears.There is no death for such a man,—he isThe spirit of an unclosed book! immortal Phiz!”
“The lamp is out that lighted up the text
Of Dickens, Lever—heroes of the pen.
PickwickandLorrequerwe love, but next
We place the man who made us see such men.
What should we know ofMartin Chuzzlewit,
SternMr. Dombey, orUriah Heap?
Tom Burke of Ours?—Around our hearts they sit,
Outliving their creators—all asleep.
No sweeter gift ere fell to man than his
Who gave us troops of friends—delightful Phiz.
“He is not dead! There, in the picture-book,
He lives with men and women that he drew;
We take him with us to the cozy nook,
Where old companions we can love anew.
Dear boyhood’s friend! We rode with him to hounds;
Lived with dearPeggottyin after years;
Missed in old Ireland, where fun knew no bounds.
AtDora’sdeath we felt poor David’s tears.
There is no death for such a man,—he is
The spirit of an unclosed book! immortal Phiz!”