Chapter I: Part 1

See Transcriber's Notes at end of text.

Special Transcriber's Notes:
Text surrounded by ~ originally printed in a sans serif typeface.

In the Index you will find [J] replaces picture of small anchor.

The Popular Library of Art

Edited by Edward Garnett

The Popular Library of Art

ALBRECHT DUeRER (37 Illustrations).
By Lina Eckenstein

ROSSETTI (53 Illustrations).
By Ford Madox Hueffer.

REMBRANDT (61 Illustrations).
By Auguste Breal.

FRED. WALKER (32 Illustrations and Photogravure). By Clementina Black.

MILLET (32 Illustrations).
By Romain Rolland.

THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS (50 Illustrations). By Camille Mauclair.

LEONARDO DA VINCI (44 Illustrations).
By Dr Georg Gronau.

GAINSBOROUGH (55 Illustrations).
By Arthur B. Chamberlain.

BOTTICELLI (37 Illustrations).
By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady).

RAPHAEL (50 Illustrations).
By Julia Cartwright (Mrs Ady).

VELAZQUEZ (51 Illustrations).
By Auguste Breal.

HOLBEIN (50 Illustrations).
By Ford Madox Hueffer.

ENGLISH WATER COLOUR PAINTERS (42 Illustrations). By A. J. Finberg.

WATTEAU (35 Illustrations).
By Camille Mauclair.

THE PRE-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD (38 Illustrations). By Ford Madox Hueffer.

PERUGINO (50 Illustrations).
By Edward Hutton.

CRUIKSHANK.
By W. H. Chesson.

HOGARTH.
By Edward Garnett.

From "George Cruikshank's Omnibus," 1842.]

GEORGE CRUIKSHANK

BY

W. H. CHESSON

AUTHOR OF "NAME THIS CHILD," ETC.

LONDON: DUCKWORTH & CO. NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.

PRINTED BY

TURNBULL AND SPEARS.

EDINBURGH

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS IN ORDER OF DATE

DATE SUBJECT PAGE

_Circa_}
1800} Almsgiving 13

1815. The Scale of Justice Reversed 5

1818. Title-page of "The Wits' Magazine" 209

1819. Johnny Bull and His Forged Notes 29

1821. Comic Composites for the Scrap Book 141

1821. Tom Getting the Best of a Charley
(from "Life in London ") 49

1821. New Readings (from "The Humorist") 205

1823. Exchange No Robbery (from "Points
of Humour") 167

1823. Peter Schlemihl watching the
Clock (from "Peter Schlemihl") 127

1826. Juvenile Monstrosities 33

1826. The Goose Girl (from "German
Popular Stories") 145

1826. Hope (from "Phrenological Illustrations") 173

1827. Title-page of "Illustrations of
Time" 225

1828. A Braying Ass (from "The Diverting
History of John Gilpin") 213

1828. Fatal Effects of Tight Lacing (from
"Scraps and Sketches") 37

1828. A Gentleman's Rest Broken (from
"Scraps and Sketches") 163

1828. Punch Throwing Away the Body Of
The Servant (from "Punch and
Judy") 131

1830. The Vicar of Wakefield Preaching
to the Prisoners (from "Illustrations
to Popular Works") 193

1831. Crusoe's Farmhouse and Crusoe In
his Island Home (from "The Life
and Surprising Adventures of
Robinson Crusoe") 241

1831. Adams's Visit to Parson Trulliber
(from "Joseph Andrews" [1]) 189

1833. Don Quixote and Sancho Returning
Home (from "The History and
Adventures of the Renowned Don
Quixote") 201

[Footnote 1: Date of vol., 1832.]

1833. Solomon Eagle (from "A Journal of
the Plague Year") 97

1836. September--Michaelmas Day (from
"The Comic Almanack," 1836) 41

1836. X--Xantippe (from "A Comic
Alphabet") 181

1836. "Eh, Sirs!" (from "Landscape-Historical
Illustrations of Scotland
and the Waverley Novels,"
"Waverley") 169

1836. "Pro-di-gi-ous!" (from "Landscape-Historical
Illustrations of Scotland
and the Waverley Novels,"
"Guy Mannering") 197

1836. Turpin's Flight Through Edmonton
(from "Rookwood") 75

1837. The Streets, Morning (from
"Sketches by Boz") 101

1837. The Last Cab-driver (from
"Sketches by Boz") 105

1838. Norna Despatching the Provisions
(from "Landscape-Historical Illustrations
of Scotland and the Waverley Novels,"
"The Pirate") 237

1839. The Turk's only Daughter approaches
Lord Bateman (from "The
Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman") 229

1839. Jonathan Wild seizing Jack Sheppard
at his Mother's Grave (from
"Jack Sheppard") 79

1839. Jack Sheppard drinking from St
Giles's Bowl (from "Jack Sheppard") 80

1840. The Death Warrant (from "The
Tower of London") 83

1841. The Veterans (from "Songs, Naval
and National, of Charles Dibden") 245

1842. Frightening Society (from "George
Cruikshank's Omnibus") _Frontispiece_

1842. The Duel in Tothill Fields (from
"Ainsworth's Magazine," "The
Miser's Daughter") 87

1842. Over-head and Under-foot (from
"The Comic Almanack") 53

1842. Legend of St Medard (from "The
Ingoldsby Legends") 117

1843. Herne the Hunter appearing to
Henry VIII. (from "Ainsworth's
Magazine," "Windsor Castle") 137

1844. The Marquis de Guiscard attempting
to assassinate Harley (from
"Ainsworth's Magazine," "Saint James's") 91

1845. _The_ Lion of the Party (from "George
Cruikshank's Table-Book") 185

1845. Details from Heads of the Table
(from "George Cruikshank's
Table-Book") 177

1847. Amaranth carried by the Bee's
Monster Steed (from "The Good
Genius that Turned Everything
into Gold") 149

1847. "The Cat Did It!" (from "The
Greatest Plague in Life") 221

1848. Shoeing the Devil (from "The True
Legend of St Dunstan") 122

1848. The Devil about to Sign (from "The
True Legend of St Dunstan ") 123

1849. Miss Eske carried away during
her Trance (from "Clement
Lorimer") 109

1853. The Glass of Whiskey after the
Goose (from "The Glass and the
New Crystal Palace") 62

1853. The Goose after the Whiskey
(from "The Glass and the New
Crystal Palace") 63

1854. When the Elephant stands upon his
Head (from "George Cruikshank's
Magazine") 217

1854. The Pumpkin, etc., being changed
into a Coach, etc., (from "George
Cruikshank's Fairy Library,"
"Cinderella") 153

1864. The Ogre in the form of a Lion
(from "George Cruikshank's Fairy
Library," "Puss in Boots") 157

1875. Monk Reading (from "Peeps at
Life") 249

N.D. Eliza Cruikshank (from a painting) 113

**** The dates in the footlines and in this list are those of the first appearance of the works to which they refer. In certain cases the reproductions have been made from good impressions which are not the earliest of the plates in question.

I

The life of George Cruikshank extended from September 27, 1792, to February 1, 1878, and the known work of his hand dates from 1799 to 1875. In 1840 Thackeray wrote of him as of a hero of his boyhood, asking jocundly, "Did we not forego tarts in order to buy his _Breaking-up_ or his _Fashionable Monstrosities_ of the year eighteen hundred and something?" In 1863, the year of Thackeray's death, Cruikshank was asked, by the committee who exhibited his _Worship of Bacchus_, to associate with that work some of his early drawings in order to prove that he was not his own grandfather.

For years before he reached the great but unsensational age at which he died, a sort of cult was vested in his longevity. Dated plates--that entitled "The Rose and the Lily" (1875) offers the last example--imply that his art figured to him finally as a kind of athleticism.

It was as if, in using his burin or needles, he was doing a "turn" before sightseers, with a hired Time innocuously scything on the platform beside him to show him off.

Now that his mortality has been proven for a quarter of a century, we can coldly ask: why did he seem so old to himself and the world? Others greater than he--Titian, Watts--have laboured with genius under a heavier crown of snow than he; and the public has applauded their vigour without a doubt of their identity. The reason is that they have not been the journalists of their age. They have not, like Cruikshank, reflected in their works inventions and fashions, wars and scandals, jokes and politics, whence the world has emerged unrecognisably the same.

It is said that when Cruikshank was eighty-three, he executed a sword-dance before an old officer who had mentally buried him. It was an action characteristic of a nature that was scarcely more naive and impulsive at one time than another, but it was the most confusing proof of the fact in debate which he could have offered. It was not of a numeral that the doubter thought when the existence of Cruikshank was presented to his mind's eye. His thought we may elaborate as follows.

The artist who drew Napoleon week by week, with all the vulgar insolence which only a great man's contemporaries can display towards him, was the same who, half a century after the Emperor's death, produced a conception of the "Leader of the Parisian Blood Red Republic of 1870." The artist who, in the last year of the reign of George the Third, depicted Thistlewood's lair in Cato Street, drew also, as though with "a mother's tender care," almost every pane in that glass palace which the trees of Hyde Park inhabited in 1851.

Before the punctuality of his interest in everything new that rose to the surface to obliterate an expiring mode or event, we stand astonished. It is not so much as an artist that we here admire him. It is as an Argus of the street, an Argus not only with many eyes but with feet enough to plant him at once in a hundred corners. From this voluble Argus his mistress Clio recoils but cannot dismiss him. Aghast she observes him presenting the Prince Regent in a hundred burlesquely improper parts; and it is a discreet generation indeed which remembers _Coriolanus addressing the Plebeians_ and forgets _The Fat in the Fire_. Clio withdraws, but does not forbid us to stay. And stay I do, at all events, to examine the packed and ugly caricatures which are the visible laughter of Cruikshank the Argus of journalism. Their violent colours and vigorous lines fail not in invocation. Before the student of them rise the supple, blue-eyed leech called Mrs Clarke and her grossly-doating Commander-in-chief; Lady Jersey, Lady Douglas and the other villains of the drama entitled "Queen Caroline;" the Marchioness of Hertford, the Countess of Yarmouth, or whoever brought down upon _Coriolanus_ the "heigho!" of a ribald Rowly; and, lest one grow lenient to royal self-indulgence, it is accused by the recurring presence of a figure of tormented respectability. It is the Cruikshankian John Bull, as different from Sir F. C. Gould's well-fed monitor of Conservative politicians as is Cruikshank's darkly criminal Punch from Richard Doyle's domesticated patron of humour. This John Bull is hacked to make a Corsican and Yankee holiday, taxed at the bayonet's point, starved on bread at eighteenpence the quartern, and offered up as a sacrifice to a Bourbon "Bumble-head."

No. 464 of Reid's Catalogue, published March 19, 1815.]

But the visions that detain the student of Cruikshank the journalist are not only of personages and events. He saw and recorded the crowd and the clothes of the crowd. His art preserves the ladies of 1816, who resembled the bowls of tobacco pipes; the men of 1822, who wore trousers like pears; and the children of 1826, whom the hatter turned into "Mushroom Monstrosities."

Cruikshank the journalist constitutes a fame in himself whose trumpeters are Fairburn, Fores, Humphrey, Hone ..., publishers who, in an age before photo-engraving, easily sold topical caricatures separately at a shilling or more. Gillray's name, in my estimation, outweighs Cruikshank's at the foot of such publications, while Rowlandson's weighs less. Together these three masters of caricature compose a constellation of third and fourth Georgian humour.

But we have by no means done with Cruikshank when we have admired him there. A greater Cruikshank remains to be admired. Of him there is no assignable master; neither Hogarth nor Gillray. He is the illustrator whose fame makes more than six hundred books and pamphlets desirable; he is truly an artist, a maker of beauty. Stimulated though this greater Cruikshank was in the flatter and more decent epoch which succeeded the age of _Coriolanus_ or _King Teapot_, of _Don Whiskerandos_ or _Sardanapalus_, Regent and King of Britain and mandarin of Brighton, it was in the age of muddle and debauch, not in the age of Victorian propriety and reform, that Cruikshank entered fairyland for the first time and saw the little people face to face. Cobbett has ignored the fact, but there is grace in it even for the "Big Sovereign" whom he pilloried in five hundred and eleven paragraphs.

We shall find, alas! as we proceed, that, as illustrator, Cruikshank often sank below his journalistic level. The journalist may always take refuge in the actual life of the fact before him; his are real landscapes, real faces. But the illustrator has often only lifeless words to instruct him; when short of inspiration he is in the thraldom of his manner. Cruikshank's thraldom to his manner was the more obvious, since the manner was often wooden, often joyously ugly. His fame perpetuates his failures. The insipidity which affronted Boz has no effect in stopping the demand for "the fireside plate." Still, his best as well as his worst is in his illustration of books. It is his best that excuses the criticism of his worst and enrols him among the great artists of the nineteenth century.

I propose in the pages that shall follow to set down the significance both of his best and of his worst, avoiding, as befits the date of my labour, any biographical matter which does not throw light on his art. And first let us follow his path in journalism.

II

The limits of Cruikshank's genius and the spacious area between them are almost implied in the fact that he was a Londoner who seldom or never departed from the "tight little island." Born in Duke Street, St George's, Bloomsbury, if the statement in his epitaph in St Paul's Cathedral is to be accepted, he continued a Londoner to the end: living in Dorset Street, near Fleet Street, in Amwell Street, and Myddelton Terrace, Pentonville, and finally in the house called successively 48 Mornington Place and 263 Hampstead Road. Yet this cockney depicted the Spain of Don Quixote and Gil Bias, the Ireland of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and the America of Uncle Tom. Such courageous versatility was the outcome of a training so practical that I hesitate to call it an artistic education.

His father, Isaac, was a Lowland Scot who lived and, unfortunately, drank by his art, which in 1789, 1790 and 1792 was represented at the Royal Academy. His period was from 1756 or 1757 to 1810 or 1811. Like his friend James Gillray, he caricatured on the side of Pitt. I remember no better caricature of his than _Pastimes of Primrose Hill_ ("Attic Miscellany," 1st Sept. 1791), depicting a perspiring tallow chandler trundling his children up that eminence. He was energetic in the delineation of the insipid jollity considered appropriate to sailors, and he celebrated the O.P. riots at Covent Garden by drawing Angelica Catalani as a cat. Thomas Wright places him only after Gillray and Rowlandson as a caricaturist, but it is probable that the man's best is of an academic sort, such as the pretty drawings which he contributed to a 1794 edition of Thomson's "Seasons." Isaac Cruikshank's workroom was that of a busy hack, and George had not been long in the world before he played ghost there on his father's copperplates. One of his early tasks was the background of _Daniel in the Lions' Den_.

None who looks at the drawing of a supercilious benefactor, which is one of George's earliest efforts, can doubt that in him the caricaturing instinct was basic. The eye is indulgent to several crudities, because the flinging is drawn though the hand of contempt is not, while the gluttonous enthusiasm of the beggar is a triumph of juvenile observation. Here are characters if not figures; here from a little boy is work that deserves a laugh. Hence it is not surprising that George Cruikshank has been erroneously credited with a share in _Facing the Enemy_, a dateless etching, delightfully droll in animal expression, etched by his father, after a sketch by H. Woodward, and published in 1797-8, according to Mr A. M. Broadley, and not in 1803 as formerly conjectured.

1803 is the year of Cruikshank's Opus I., according to G. W. Reid, his most voluminous bibliographer. This work, printed and sold by W. Belch of Newington Butts, consists of four marine pieces on a sheet, most comfortably unprecocious and as wooden as a Dutch doll. A humorist inspecting it might profess to see in a woman, whose nose and forehead produce one and the same straight line, a prophecy of the Cruikshankian nose which is so monotonously recurrent an ornament in the works of "the great George." Cruikshank himself averred that one of the first etchings he was ever employed to do and paid for was a sheet of Lottery Prints (published in 1804) of which he made a copy in his eighty-first year. The etching contains sixteen drawings of shops. The barber's shop door is open to disclose an equestrian galloping past it, although, even as a man, he drew horses which G. A. Sala declared were wrong in all the traditional forty-four points. George Cruikshank himself, whom, as Mr G. S. Layard has shown, he repeatedly drew, appears in a compartment of this etching, in the act of conveying the plate of it to the shop of Belch, a name for which Langham is substituted in a re-issue of this gamblers' temptation, and which dwindles into Langley & Belch in the copy made by Cruikshank in 1873, published by G. Bell, York St., Covent Garden.

1806 is the date of the first book, or rather pamphlet, with which George Cruikshank is connected. It is entitled "The Impostor Unmasked," and pillories Sheridan for a farcical swindler and something worse. There is a folding plate to fortify the charges of Patricius the scandal-monger, and this is ascribed to George by Reid, though Captain Douglas, George's latest bibliographer, only allows that "there seems to be some of George's work in it." Reid's authority, which had in all probability the living George's behind it, excuses a brief description of this plate. Sheridan is depicted in the act of addressing a crowd of Stafford electors, amongst whom are several creditors who pun bitterly on the parliamentary word Bill and damn the respects which he pays them. A house on the right of the hustings might have been sketched on a slate by any child weary of pothooks, but there is a touch of true humour in the quiet joy shown on the face of a supporter of Sheridan in the heckling to which he is subjected. Gillray had already published (March 10, 1805) his _Uncorking Old Sherry_, and so this Cruikshankian caricature may be accepted as George's first step in the Gillrayan path.

The path of Gillray, in and out of which runs the path of Thomas Rowlandson, is seldom or never dull; sometimes unclean in a manner malodorous as manure, but with risings which offer illuminating views. His humour is tyrannically laughable. The guffaw is, as it were, kicked out of the spectator of _The Apotheosis of Hoche_ (1798) by the descending boots, depicted as reluctantly yielding to the law of gravity, which the triumphant devastator of La Vendee has overcome. Gillray's sense of design was superb, and he would be an enthusiast who should assert that George Cruikshank in political caricature produced works at once so striking and architecturally admirable as _The Giant Factotum_ [Pitt] _Amusing Himself_ (1797). Gillray possessed what Cruikshank lacked altogether, the inclination and power to draw voluptuousness with some justice to its charm. One has only to cite in confirmation of this statement _The Morning after Marriage_ (August 5, 1788), and compare it with any of those caricatures in which Cruikshank exhibits the erotic preferences of George the Third's children. What, however, Cruikshank, in the artistic meaning of vision, saw in Gillray, he adapted with the force of a boisterous participant in the patriotism and demagogy of his day. Gillray had Napoleon for his prey, and no political criticism is pithier than the caricature which represents the Emperor as _Tiddy-Doll, the great French Gingerbread-Baker, drawing out a new Batch of Kings_ (1806). On the other hand, nothing that Swift is believed to have omitted in his description of Brobdingnag could be coarser than _The Corsican Pest_ (1803). It is almost literally humour of the latrine. Unhappily Cruikshank exulted like a young barbarian in the licence conferred by precedent, and it is hard to view with tolerance his pictorial records of "the first swell of the age." One of the wittiest is _Boney Hatching a Bulletin, or Snug Winter Quarters_ (Dec. 1812); the Grand Army is there seen in the form of heads and bayonets protruding from a stratum of Russian snow; the courier who is to convey the bulletin has boards under his boots to prevent his submersion. Elsewhere one's admiration for inventive vigour struggles against disgust at a mode which one only hesitates to call blackguardism because the liveliest contents of the paint-box were lavished upon it. Take, for instance, the caricature which bears the rhymed title, _Boney tir'd of war's alarms, flies for safety to his darling's arms_ (1813). The devil bears Bonaparte on his shoulders to the Empress Marie Louise, after the Russian campaign. "Take him to Bed, my Lady, and Thaw him," says the devil. "I am almost petrified in helping him to escape from his Army. I shall expect him to say his prayers to me every night!" Another Cruikshankian caricature, _The Imperial Family going to the Devil_ (March 1814), represents the rejection of Napoleon by that connoisseur of reprobates, though Rowlandson in the same month and year depicted the fallen emperor as _The Devil's Darling_. Cruikshank's vulgar facetiousness, interesting by sheer vigour and self-enjoyment, pursues Napoleon even to St Helena in the heartless caricature which portrays him as an ennuye reduced for amusement to rat-catching. It was not for nothing that Thomas Moore, alluding to the Prince Regent as Big Ben, made Tom Cribb say:--

"Having conquer'd the prime one, that mill'd us all round,
You kick'd him, old Ben, as he gasp'd on the ground."

Gillray is said to have sometimes disguised his style in order to evade his agreement with Humphrey that he would work for no other publisher; and there is more than one of Cruikshank's Napoleonic caricatures which might be ascribed to Gillray's dram-providing _alter ego_ if their authorship were in question. Of such is _Quadrupeds, or Little Boney's Last Kick_, published in "The Scourge" (1813). Here the Russian bear holds a birch in his right paw, and Napoleon by an ankle with his left; a naked devil points to the crown, tumbling from the head of the capsized emperor; on the ground is an ironical bulletin. _Old Blucher beating the Corsican Big Drum_ (1814) is an even closer match of the baser sort of Gillrayan caricature; while the particular stench of it rises from _Boney's Elb(a)ow Chair_, of the same date. The last caricature from Cruikshank upon Napoleon came feebly in 1842 with the issue of "George Cruikshank's Omnibus," wherein he figures as a skeleton in boots surmounting a pyramid of skulls. The caricaturist's harlequinade had lasted too long; when it ceased, the soul of it utterly perished, and one views impatiently so formal and witless a galvanisation as was suggested by the return of Napoleon, dead, to the reconquest of France.

Of Cruikshank's Napoleonic caricatures as a whole, it may be said that their function was solely to relieve by ridicule the pressure of a grandiose and formidable personality upon the nerves of his countrymen. He did not, like Gillray in _The Handwriting on the Wall_, confess the historic greatness of Napoleon by an allusion so sublime that it afforded Hone a precedent for unpunished impiety. When, for serio-comic verse, he attempted to delineate a monitory apparition, in the shape of Napoleon's "Red Man," the result was absurdity veiled by dulness.

* * * * *

But it is time to turn to the Cruikshankian view of persons and things in Great Britain in the lifetime of "Adonis the Great." It is said that while Gillray was productive, an old General of the German Legion remarked, alluding to caricature, "Ah! I dell you vot--England is altogether von libel." With the spirit of this speech, one can cordially agree. The concupiscence of princes was serialised for the mirth of the crowd.

There were two great types of ascendant degeneracy to divert the eyes of Farmer George's subjects from their shops and Bibles. One was his son George, the other Mary Anne Clarke.

The cabinet in which George kept capillary souvenirs of so many women was fastened against contemporary critics of his career. Undivulged, therefore, was the touching sentiment of a philofeminism which, in excluding his legal wife, was construed but as vice. There was no Max Beerbohm in his day to appreciate his polish and talents and to pity his wife for playing her tragedy in tights. There was no one to pronounce him the slave of that most endearing of tyrants, the artistic temperament. The caricaturists saw simply a polygamist eager to convict of adultery the wife whom he disliked and avoided, and a spendthrift whose debt was inflicted upon the nation. So far as man can show up his fellow-men, this man was shown up, and in verse and picture became an instrument of public titillation. So roguish a severity as the caricaturists displayed can seldom be accepted as didactic Gillray, indeed, in _The Morning after Marriage_ followed him into the bridal chamber of Mrs Fitzherbert whom he married in 1785, and this caricature is the best advertisement of his grace and beauty which perhaps exists. When attacked by Cruikshank, he was over forty, for the first caricature of him in which that artist's hand is noticeable was published in 1808. It is entitled _John Bull Advising with His Superiors_: the superiors being George and his brother Frederick, who sit under the portraits of their respective mistresses, "Mrs Fitz" and Mrs Clarke. John Bull is clean-shaven, fat-nosed, hatted, and holds a gnarled stick. "Servant Measters," he begins, "I be come to ax a bit of thy advice"; but he proceeds to freeze them with clumsy innuendo and adds, "I does love good old Georg [_sic_], by Goles! because he is not of that there sort," meaning their own. After this, the Regent was for Cruikshank a stimulant to the drollest audacities. The world was younger then and could laugh uproariously at the bursting of a dandy's stays and the mislaying of a roue's removable whiskers. Mrs Grundy had not persuaded it of the superior comicality of Mrs Newlywed's indestructible pie-crust and Mr Staylate's interview with the parental boot. So George, who, at any rate, was real life, blossomed abundantly to another George's advantage. Thus _The Coronation of the Empress of the Nairs_ (September 1812)--a simile suggested by a contemporary account of a curious Asiatic race--depicts him as crowning the Marchioness of Hertford in her bath; _A Kick from Yarmouth to Wales_ illustrates the assault of the provoked Earl of Yarmouth upon his wife's too fervent admirer; and _Princely Agility_ (January 1812) shows His Royal castigated Highness confined by a convenient sprained ankle to bed, where his whiskers and wig are restored to him. The opening of Henry the Eighth's coffin in St George's Chapel, Windsor, April 1, 1813, suggests to Cruikshank _Meditations Amongst the Tombs_, in which the greatness of the deceased sovereign forcibly strikes the Regent. "Great indeed!" he is made to say, "for he got rid of many wives, whilst I, poor soul, can't get rid of one. Cut off his beard, doctor, 'twill make me a prime pair of royal whiskers." The prince's partiality for the bottle is severely illustrated. In _The Phenix [sic] of Elba Resuscitated by Treason_ (May 1, 1815), he receives the news of Napoleon's outbreak, seated on a cushion with a decanter behind him; and even when he was King, Cruikshank dared to draw him (1822) as drunk and curing an irritated cuticle by leaning his kilted person against one of the posts of Argyleshire.

If, however, Caroline of Brunswick had not, by adopting a Meredithian baby and other eccentricities, condemned herself to "Delicate Investigation" in 1806 and to a trial before the House of Peers in 1820, Cruikshank's delineations of Adonis the Great would have seemed genial compared with Thackeray's contempt. That his sentiment for the lady was less chivalrous than Thackeray esteemed it, may be divined by his caricature of her as an ugly statue of Xantippe put up to auction "without the least reserve" (1821), which is less than two months older than his conception of her as a rushlight which Slander cannot blow out. But he perceived, as did the whole intelligent proletariat, the monstrous irony of George's belated notice of his wife. Hence in his woodcuts to "The Queen's Matrimonial Ladder" and "Non Mi Ricordo!" he is not comic but satirical, and satirical with strokes that turn The Dandy of Sixty who bows with a grace into a figure abjectly defiant, meanly malevolent, devoid of levity. A cut in the former pamphlet shows him standing in a penitential sheet under the seventh, ninth and tenth commandments, meeting the gaze of an astonished urchin; on the outside of the latter pamphlet we see him in the throes of awkward interrogation, uttering the "Non Mi Ricordo" which Caroline's ill-wishers were tired of hearing in the mouth of Bergami.

Mary Anne Clarke, our second type of ascendant degeneracy, was, if Buck's drawing of her is truthful, a woman of seductive prettiness, but she could not teach Cruikshank her charm in atonement for her venality. He drew her petticoat "supported by military boots" and surmounted by a cocked hat and the mitre of the ducal bishop of Osnaburg (February 23, 1809); "under this," it is stated, "may be found a soothing for every pain." When Whigs and the Prince of Wales sent the Duke of York back in 1811 to the high post which he had disgraced, Mrs Clarke dwindled in Cruikshank's caricature to a dog improperly exhibiting its contempt for Colonel Wardle's left eye. It is curious that the Clarke scandal did not apparently inspire any caricature which deserves to live as pictorial criticism. Revealing, as it did, not only rottenness in the State, but in the Church, since Dr O'Meara sought Mrs Clarke's interest for the privilege of preaching "before royalty," one may well be surprised at the failure of caricature to ennoble itself in the cause of honour and religion. Yet Cruikshank produced in 1811 a powerful etching--_Interior View of the House of God_--which shows, apropos a lustful fanatic named Carpenter, his power to have seized the missed opportunity. In this plate is the contemporary portrait of himself which P. D'Aiguille afterwards copied.

If we ask, for our soul's sake, to sicken of the Regent's amours and of the demure "Magdalen" of York, whose scarlet somehow softens to maroon because she is literary and quotes Sallust, it is necessary to leave the caricatures which laugh with her--especially Rowlandson's--and look at Cruikshank's tormented John Bull. The most pathetic is perhaps _John Bull's Three Stages_ (1815). In the last stage (_Peace with all the World_) his child, once pressed to eat after repletion, says, "Give me some more bone." The hand that drew the earlier plates of _The Bottle_ is unmistakable in this etching.

It was seemingly in 1819 that Cruikshank first realised his great powers as a critic in caricature. To that period belongs what a pamphleteer called "Satan's Bank Note":--

"Notes which a 'prentice boy could make
At fifteen for a shilling."

The Old Lady of Threadneedle Street earned thereby the sobriquet of Hangland's Bank, and her victims included two women on a day when Cruikshank looked at the gibbet of the Old Bailey. They were hanged for passing forged one pound notes. Cruikshank thereupon drew his famous _Bank Restriction Note_, signed by Jack Ketch, and with a vignette of Britannia devouring her children above an $L$ of rope. Hone issued this note (of which there are three varieties) from his shop on Ludgate Hill, a stone's throw from the gibbet; the public flocked to see and buy it, and the moral was not lost upon the Bank of England, who thereafter sent forth no more one pound notes. The pathos as distinct from the tragedy of the condition thus relieved is well recalled by the caricature invented by Yedis and drawn by Cruikshank entitled _Johnny Bull and his Forged Notes_ (January 7, 1819).

RAGS & RUIN in the Paper Currency!!!

No. 865 in Reid's Catalogue, published Jan. 1819.]

We now turn to the lighter side of his topical journalism. One of his subjects was gas-lighting. _The Good Effects of Carbonic Gas_ (1807) depicts one cat swooning and another cut off from the list of living prime donne by the maleficence of Winzer's illuminant. In 1833 Cruikshank reported a ghost as saying to a fellow-shade, "Ah! brother, we never has no fun now; this 'March of Intellect' and the Gaslights have done us up."

Jenner had him for both partisan (1808) and opponent (1812). In the former role he makes a Jennerite say, "Surely the disorder of the Cow is preferable to that of the Ass," and the realism is nauseous that accompanies the remark. As opponent he wittily follows Gillray, who in 1802 imagined an inoculated man as calving from his arms. Prominent in Cruikshank's caricature (a bitter one) is a sarcophagus upon which lies a cow whom Time is decapitating. "To the Memory of Vaccina who died April the First," is the touching inscription.

I have already mentioned Cruikshank as a chronicler of fashion. Gillray was his master in this form of art, though the statement does not rest on the two examples here given. The thoughtful reader will not fail to admire the incongruity between the children in the drawing of 1826 and the great verities of Nature--cliff and sea--between which they strut. The latter drawing is as grotesquely logical as a syllogism by Lewis Carroll. Comparable with it in persuasiveness is Cruikshank's short-skirted lady (December 1833) who is alarmed at her own shadow, which naturally exaggerates the distance between her ankles and her skirt. Thence one turns for contrast to the caricature of crinolines in "The Comic Almanack" for 1850. It is called _A Splendid Spread_, and represents gentlemen handing refreshments to ladies across wildernesses of "dress-extenders" by means of long baker's peels. Such drawing educates; it has the value of criticism.

This praise is tributary to Cruikshank's second journalistic period. By journalistic I mean topical, attendant on the passing hour. His first journalistic period begins formally with his first properly signed caricature, an etching praised by Mr F. G. Stephens, entitled _Cobbett at Court, or St James's in a bustle_, and published by W. Deans, October 16, 1807. This period includes Cruikshank's contributions to "The Satirist," "The Scourge," "Town Talk" and "The Meteor." It merges into the second period in 1819, the year that saw the first three volumes of "The Humourist." The principal journalistic works of this second journalistic period are _Coriolanus addressing the Plebeians_ (1820), "Scraps and Sketches" (1828-1832), "The Comic Almanack" (1835-1853), "George Cruikshank's Omnibus" (1842), and "George Cruikshank's Table Book" (1845).

_Coriolanus_ is less a caricature than a _tableau vivant_. It was invented by J. S., whom Mr Layard says was Cruikshank's gifted servant Joseph Sleap. The "Plebeians" are Thistlewood the conspirator, Cobbett armed with Tom Paine's thigh bones, Wooler as a black dwarf, Hone, George Cruikshank, etc. George IV., in his Shakespearean role abuses them soundly. As regards the monarch, the work is un-Cruikshankian; its laborious and minute technique is a foreshadowing of a happier carefulness.

The journalism of "Scraps and Sketches" is immortal in _The Age of Intellect_ (1828), which even Mrs Meynell, writing as Alice Thompson, found "most laughable." Here a babe whose toy-basket is filled with the works of Milton, Bentley, Gibbon, etc., learnedly explains the process of sucking eggs to a gaping grandmother, who suspends her perusal of "Who Killed Cock Robin?" while she declares that "they are making improvements in everything!" To my mind the best topical plate in "Scraps and Sketches" is _London going out of Town, or the March of Bricks and Mortar_ (1829). No one who has seen a suburb grow inexorably in field and orchard, obliterating gracious forms and sealing up the live earth, can miss the pathos of this masterpiece. Yet it is not a thing for tears, but that half smile which Andersen continually elicits by his evocation of humanity from tree and bird and toy. For Cruikshank gives lamenting and terrified humanity to hayricks pursued by filthy smoke. He gives devilish energy to a figure, artfully composed of builder's implements, which saws away at a dying branch; and he imparts an abominable insolence to a similarly composed figure which holds up the notice board of Mr Goth.

From "Scraps and Sketches," Part I., May 20, 1828.]

Nearer perhaps to Cruikshank's heart than this triumph of fancy was _The Fiend's Frying Pan_ (1832), published in the last number of "Scraps and Sketches," which represents the devil, immensely exultant, holding over a fire a frying-pan which contains the whole noisy lascivious crowd and spectacle of Bartholomew Fair. The fair was proclaimed for the last time in 1855, and Cruikshank was pleased to figure himself as an inspirer of the force that struck at its corrupt charm after the fair of 1839 and condemned it to a lingering death. _The Fiend's Frying Pan_ is now chiefly remarkable as an early example of Cruikshank's love of crowding a great deal of real life into a vehicle that belittles it. This frying-pan sends the thought forward to the etching entitled _Passing Events, or the Tail of the Comet of 1853_, where Albert Smith's lecture on Mont Blanc, a prize cattle show, emigration to Australia, and "Uncle Tom's Cabin," are all jumbled together in the hair of a comet which possesses a chubby and beaming face.

The pictorial journalism of the "Comic Almanacks" is often delicious; no ephemerides, in my knowledge, equal them in sustained humorous effect. _Guys in Council_ (1848) haunts one with its grave idiocy. Even His Holiness Pius X. could scarce refrain from smiling at the blank stare of the rigid papal guy in the chair, at the low guy who, ere leaving the conclave, challenges him with a glance of malignant cunning. On the other hand, it would be hypercritical to seek a prettier rendering of an almost too pretty custom than _Old May Day_ (1836), with its dancers ringing the Maypole by the village church. Cruikshank's extraordinary power of conveying dense crowds into the space of a few square inches--say six by three--is shown in _Lord Mayor's Day_ (1836) and _The Queen's Own_ (1838), illustrating Victoria's Proclamation Day. In the 1844 Almanack he humorously foreshadows flying machines in the form of mansions; but the 1851 Almanack shows his liberality scarcely abreast of his imagination, as _Modern Ballooning_ is represented by an ass on horseback ascending as balloonist above a crowd of the long-eared tribe.

One cannot, however, glance through Cruikshank's Victorian caricatures without perceiving that the passing of the Regent slackened his Gillrayan fire. True, in the "Table Book" we have a John Bull whose agony reminds us of the suffering figure in _Preparing John Bull for General Congress_ (1813): the midgets of infelicitous railway speculation who strip this bewildered squire of hat and rings, of boots and pocket-book, while a demented bell fortifies their din, are of an energy supremely Cruikshankian: no other hand drew them than the hand which enriched the immortality of the elves in Grimm. Nor will one easily tire of a vote-soliciting crocodile in the "Omnibus"; and yet the fact remains that the great motives of Cruikshank's political caricature pulsated no more. He was ludicrously incompetent for the task of satirising the forward movement of women: the Almanacks show that, if their evidence be required. The subjects of Queen Victoria found in Keene and Du Maurier pictorial critics who, by the implication of their veracity, their success, demonstrate his imperfect understanding of a generation to whom George the Fourth was history and legend. To the ironists of that generation there was something in the Albert Memorial more provocative than the

"--huge teapots all drill'd round with holes,
Relieved by extinguishers, sticking on poles"

which distinguished the Folly at Brighton. It is too much to say that the art of the Victorian epoch establishes this fact; yet of what caricaturist can it be said as of Cruikshank that his naif enthusiasm for all that an Age rather than a Queen signified by the Albert Memorial forced him into the role of its patron rather than its satirist? In _A Pop Gun_ (1860) there is a pathetically feeble engraving, after a drawing by Cruikshank of Prince Albert and the late Queen, which almost brings tears to the eyes, its insipidity is so loyally unconscious. And what does all his marvellous needlework in the Great Exhibition novel entitled "1851: or The Adventures of Mr and Mrs Cursty Sandboys," accomplish for satire in comparison with what it accomplishes as a puff and a fanfare? Here, as in the _Comet_ of his ill-fated Magazine (1854), is a skill beside which his Georgian caricatures are but a brat's defacement of his Board School wall. And yet what is the answer to our question? Nothing. It is an answer that rings down the curtain on the diorama called "Cruikshank the journalist."

III

Cruikshank's didactic work was the offspring of his journalism. No man can journalise with spirit and remain uncritical. Criticism is, in truth, the soul of caricature, which by stressing the emphasis of Nature on face and expression makes even simpletons judges of grandees. Photography itself is on the side of illusion; but caricature has X-rays for the deformed fact. That a habit of criticism should evolve a passion for preaching is only natural, though it is the modern critic with his hedonistic bias who has armed the word didactic with a sting. Even such a critic must admit that Cruikshank's preaching was from living texts and that the preacher seemed well versed in "St Giles's Greek." But before speaking specifically of his didactic drawing we will consider what led up to it. A balladier of _circa_ 1811 threatens mankind as follows:--

"Since I have had some comic scenes,
Egad! I'll sing them all, sir,
With my bow, wow, what a row!
fal lal de riddy, riddy, sparkey, larkey,
funny, dunny, quizzy, dizzy, O."

This animal outburst breathes the spirit of all the "bang up" books of the last Georgian period, and might almost have served as a motto for Pierce Egan's "Life in London" (1821), and David Carey's "Life in Paris" (1822). Blanchard Jerrold's bibliography of Cruikshank begins with "A Dictionary of the Slang and Cant Languages" (1809), to which the artist contributes _The Beggars' Carnival_--a folding frontispiece. In assisting his brother Robert--who styled himself "original suggester and artist of the 2 vols." containing "Life in London" and its sequel--to illustrate the rambles and sprees of "Jerry Hawthorn, Esq., and his elegant friend Corinthian Tom," George seems to have seen carnival on a more liberal scale. "Life in London" ranges from the Westminster [Dog] Pit to Rotten Row, and from the [Cyprian] Saloon of Covent Garden to the Press Yard of Newgate. One of the spirited plates (_Tom and Jerry taking Blue Ruin_) powerfully presents some pitiable pothouse types, and is a text, though it is not a sermon. Another illustration, reproduced here, compares equally with _Dick and His Companions Smashing the Glim_ in Carey's work. While illustrating "Life in Paris," George, working alone, pursued the example set by Robert when they collaborated. Carey credits him with "accuracy of local delineation"--praise which he has often and variously deserved--yet it must be confessed that Dick Wildfire like Corinthian Tom is at once commonplace and out-of-date. In face he is like George in early manhood as Corinthian Tom was like Robert; that is his chief recommendation. The book may be silently offered to any one who asserts that George's taste in literature was too nice for Pierce Egan. One of his plates turns a catacomb into a scene of vulgar mirth.

These novels of excess were stepping-stones to a sounder realism which we find in "Mornings at Bow Street" (1824) and "More Mornings at Bow Street" (1827). Here the illustrator's task was to illustrate selected police cases, and through the medium of wood engraving a most delectable entertainment was the result. A choleric gentleman's row with a waiter presents itself as a fractured plate in the rim of which two tiny figures display respectively the extremes of napkined deprecation and of kicking impudence. Tom Crib[b]'s pursuit of a coppersmith suggests a wild elephant storming after a frenzy of flying limbs. The genius that was to realise Falstaff is disclosed in the drawing of a drummer boy discovered in a clothes basket. Did he come to Bow Street? we ask, and did those Cupids fighting in the circuit of a wedding-ring come too? The answer is Yes, but because of one who probably was not there, whose name we know.

From "Life in London," by Pierce Egan, 1821.]

At one illustration let us cry halt. It represents a foaming pot of beer assaulting a woman who said to the magistrate, "Your honour, it was the beer." In itself it is a masterpiece of delicate literalism. That power of enlivening the inanimate, which humanises the pump, representing Father Mathew at a small party in "The Comic Almanack" of 1844, exasperates this pot and bids it strike home. But what we are to observe particularly is this early presentation to Cruikshank's mind of alcohol as a personality at war with human beings. As far back as 1811, in _The Dinner of the Four-in-Hand Club at Salthill_, an uproarious piece in the style of Rowlandson's _The Brilliants_ (1801), he put the genius of the bottle into form and anecdote, but here we have the serious aspect of drink obvious even in humour. Beer is striking a woman. In 1832 he produced in _The Ale House and the Home_ a contrast so stated in the title that we need say no more than that the gloomy wife and her baby, sitting by candlelight in the bare room where the man's supper lies to reproach his drink-spoiled appetite, are a sadder sight than the frying-pan of St Bartholomew's Fair in the number of "Scraps and Sketches" where they appear.

To "Sunday in London" (1833)--a capital social satire--Cruikshank contributed fourteen cuts, one of which, _The Pay-Table_, preserves the memory of those mischievous contracts between publican and foreman, whereby the latter received a percentage of the spendings of his men on drink and the men were provided with drink on the credit of the foreman. It is an admirable study in fuddled perplexity confronted with Bung in a business instead of a Bacchic mood, abetted by a shark of the victim's calling. Two other cuts--mere rabblement and eyesore--leave on the mind a feeling of disgust almost without interest and without shame. The spectator has no sense that these people turned out at church time, raging, leering, tottering, have deteriorated from any average or standard of human seemliness. If it were not for a dog gazing in amazement at one prone drunkard, if it were not for the dog and his question, one would ask, _Cui bono_?

This is not missionary work--Cruikshank was only "flirting with temperance" as late as 1846--and we need have no compunction in seeking relief from such ugliness in the exquisite burlesque of pathos contained in _Over-head and Under-foot_ (1842). Forget who can the agonised impatience bolted and Chubb-locked in the breast of that lonely bachelor, but expressed in his folded arms and upturned face.

1842, which saw that, also saw John O'Neill's poem "The Drunkard," and especially _The Raving Maniac and the Driv'ling Fool_, one of four etchings by Cruikshank which illustrate it. An anonymous writer, in an article for an 1876 reprint of the etchings, says that these two figures "are the most forcible ever drawn by the artist's pencil." This opinion is unjust to the force of Cruikshank's comic figures, and to that terrible pair, Fagin in the condemned cell and Underhill bawling at the stake, but the force of the etching thus praised is extraordinary. With parted blubber lips and knees relaxed, his nerveless left hand dangling at the wrist like a dead white leaf, his right hand grasping the gin-glass, the fool, unconscious of tragedy, faces the maniac who streams upon the air sleeves that much exceed the length of his homicidal arms. By reason of the delicacy of the etching which conveys these haunting figures, they excite pleasure before horror, and always in horror a little pleasure too.

We now come to the famous series entitled _The Bottle_ (1847) and its sequel _The Drunkard's Children_ (1848). Both these works were printed from glyphographic blocks and have as little charm as a stentorian oration in a small chapel. The story they tell, told also in verse by Dr Charles Mackay, is the ruin of a working man and his family through drink. The appeal of _The Bottle_ is simple enough to appal the aborigines of Africa, to say nothing of the East End: the bottle is a "Ju-ju," an evil fetish; the impulse of the beholder is to smash the bottle rather than to spill and waste its contents. Yet when the eye succeeds in detaching itself from this pompously evident bottle, it perceives that the artist has cared also for details less immediate, but of a finer eloquence. The liberally filled mantelshelf of plate 1 is at least not a mere labour of memory, though no one exceeds George Cruikshank in the pictorial multiplication of domestic details. This mantelshelf is a symbol; symbols, too, are the open cupboard, so well furnished that a less industrious artist would have shut it, and the ill-drawn but well-nourished felinity by the fire. In plate 2 the cupboard holds naught but two jugs; the lean cat prowls over the bare table; an ornament on the mantelshelf lies on its side. Had an artist and not a missionary composed plate 3, we might have been spared the indecency of a bottle in Lucy's lap when the furniture is distrained to pay the bottle's debt. Yet with what horrid strength does the maniac in plate 7 clutch the mantelpiece, whose bare ledge is lit by a dip stuck in a bottle, while all the neighbours stare at something whose face we cannot see! The artist has shouted till he was hoarse, but his story is in our marrows.

_The Drunkard's Children_ contains one masterpiece: plate 7, the boy's death on the convict-ship. The convict who closes his eyes has the sagacity of a sentient corpse; the shadow he casts on the screen which two convicts draw around the bed is, in effect, a creature to startle us, and the visible half of the chaplain's top-hat lying on a bench in a corner of the drawing is an irony which seems to belong to a later age than Cruikshank's.

_The Bottle_, employed as an argument by Mr William Cash, converted Cruikshank to teetotalism. The result has been to present the artist to modern hedonists in the light of a ludicrous bore. Certain it is that in his version of _Cinderella_ (1854) he causes the dwarf to inform the King that "the history of the use of strong drinks is marked on every page by _excess which follows, as a matter of course, from the very nature of their composition_," the italics being Cruikshank's, though they might well be mine. Teetotalism needs talking and writing, and Cruikshank was happy to oblige. He possessed a fluent pen, and delivered lay sermons with enthusiasm and originality.