THE SUPPRESSED PORTRAIT OF DICKENS, “PICKWICK,” “THE BATTLE OF LIFE,”
AND GRIMALDI
Having dealt in the last chapter with the suppression of the well-known
Thackeray wood-cut of the “Marquis of Steyne,” we naturally turn next
in order to the other great Victorian novelist, Charles Dickens. Much,
of course, has been written about the Buss plates in _Pickwick_,
and much about the “Fireside Scene” in _Oliver Twist_. All readers
of Forster’s _Life of Charles Dickens_ know something of the wood
engraving in _The Battle of Life_ which ought to have been, but never
was, cancelled; and some know what to look for in the vignette title
of _Martin Chuzzlewit_. It is, however, time that the scattered
details should be grouped, that reproductions of the plates themselves
should make reference easy to those {27} who would identify their
possessions, and that the additional information which is in some cases
scattered about in various impermanent writings of my own and others
should be focussed for the greater convenience of the collector.
In the first place, I shall present to the reader a suppressed
portrait of the great novelist, which has, I believe, never since been
reproduced. It was published about the year 1837 by Churton, but as to
the name of the artist by whom it was etched there is a mystery which
yet awaits solution. The plate is, as will be noticed, signed with the
familiar pen-name “Phiz,” but was almost immediately repudiated by the
chartered bearer of that title, H. K. Browne. It was promptly withdrawn
from publication, and is now, as a necessary consequence, much sought
after by the collector.[10] Of it the author of _Charles Dickens, the
Story of his Life_, writes:
A very remarkable [portrait] was etched about 1837 with the name
“Phiz” at the foot. It represents Dickens {28} seated on a chair and
holding a portfolio. In the background a Punch-and-Judy performance
is going on. The face has none of that delicacy and softness about
it which are observable in the Maclise portrait. It looks, however,
more like the real young face of the older man, as revealed in the
photograph now publishing [_i.e._ just after Dickens’s death]. This
portrait is very rare, and it is understood that it was withdrawn from
publication soon after it appeared. Mr. Hablot K. Browne, the genuine
“Phiz,” denies all knowledge of it.
[10] Since writing this, I have experienced a piece of scurvy luck.
Entering a shop in the outskirts of Birmingham, I saw an impression of
the etching lying on a table. I inquired its price and was met by the
answer that it had just been sold to a lady for eighteenpence!
The Hotten memoir thus whets the appetites of its readers, but does
not offer to satisfy them by a reproduction. This obvious duty I
therefore here take the opportunity of discharging, and would advise
the book-hunter to make a mental note of the etching in that pix of
the brain where is secreted the reagent which separates the rare gold
of the bookseller’s threepenny box from its too ordinary dross. The
reproduction here given is about the size of the original etching.
So much for the suppressed portrait. Now let us take up our first
edition of _Pickwick_, and say what has to be said about the
much-discussed Buss plates and their substitutes.
[Illustration: The suppressed portrait of Charles Dickens]
_Pickwick_, as we all know, was first published in parts, and only
one number had appeared when {29} Robert Seymour, its illustrator,
died by his own hand. Messrs. Chapman and Hall, the publishers, were
at their wits’ end to get the new number illustrated in time for
publication. Jackson, the well-known wood-engraver, who was at the
time working for them, proposed for the task R. W. Buss, a “gentleman
already well known to the public as a very humorous and talented
artist.” The publishers gladly adopted the suggestion, and the
appointment was made.
All this we find very fully set out in Mr. Percy Fitzgerald’s _History
of Pickwick_, to which I would refer the reader who is anxious to
acquaint himself with details of the transaction. The Buss etchings,
which we here reproduce, had for their subjects “The Cricket Match”
and “Tupman and Rachel,” and are to be found respectively opposite pp.
69 and 74 of the earliest issues of the first edition of the immortal
romance. They were, in the words of the artist himself, “abominably
bad,” and he was immediately superseded as illustrator by H. K. Browne,
who was destined to be inseparably connected with the novelist’s work
for so long a period. {30}
This episode has been so often dwelt upon, and so exhaustively dealt
with, that I shall not do much more than point out how those who have
written on the subject have altogether missed what is perhaps the most
important link in the whole chain of circumstances. So put to it, as I
have said, were the publishers to get the new number out in time lest
an expectant public should be disappointed, that they were forced to
fix upon Seymour’s substitute _without consulting Dickens_. This was
really the whole _crux_ of the situation. The author only recognised
the failure of the plates. He knew nothing of the difficulties under
which Buss had laboured, and so naturally made no allowances, and
knew of no reason why subsequent ones should be better. The plates
unquestionably were poor, but we find from Mr. Buss’s own private MS.,
to which, by his son’s kindness, I have had access, that this was not
by any means mainly the fault of the artist. He had previously had no
experience in etching, and only undertook the work after much pressure,
to accommodate the publishers. To quote from his own account: {31}
[Illustration: The “Pickwick” suppressed plate: “The Cricket Match.”
(_By R. W. Buss_)]
At Seymour’s death, Hall engaged me to illustrate Charles Dickens’s
_Pickwick_. I commenced practice, and worked hard, I may say day
and night, for at least a month on etching, and I furnished the
illustrations for _Pickwick_. Without any reason assigned, Hall broke
his engagement with me, in a manner at once unjust and unhandsome.
As a matter of fact, the plates, as they appeared, were not etched by
Buss at all, but by a professional etcher after his designs. And it is
curious to note that each of the plates is, notwithstanding, inscribed,
“Drawn & Etch’d by R. W. Buss.”
The artist’s bitterness against his employers was not unnatural. At the
same time, we must remember that the fact that they had on the spur
of the moment to decide upon an artist, without consulting Dickens,
puts the matter in a very different light. The fortunes of the venture
were at stake. The author, at all hazards, must be humoured. His will
was paramount, and when he insisted upon Buss’s supersession by H. K.
Browne, there was practically an end of the matter. Happily Buss’s
labour was not all lost, and it was with much pleasure that I seized
the opportunity offered me by the editor of the {32} _Magazine of
Art_ in June 1902, to point out in that publication how perverse has
been the fate which has made the name of an artist of no mean order
more familiar by his few failures than by his many successes. It is
not generally known that there are in existence two etched plates by
Buss showing that he contemplated a series of extra illustrations to
_Pickwick_. The one is a title-page with Mr. Pickwick being crowned;
the other is rather a poor rendering of “The Break-down.”
But to return to the plates themselves: only about seven hundred copies
were published when plates by Browne were substituted for them. “The
Cricket Match” was wholly suppressed, and the subject of “Tupman and
Rachel” was etched over again, considerably altered, but evidently
founded upon the Buss plate. The latter is here reproduced for the
purpose of comparison.
[Illustration: The “Pickwick” suppressed plate “Tupman and Rachel.”
(_By R. W. Buss_)]
[Illustration: “Tupman and Rachel.” (_By H. K. Browne_)]
That every Dickens collector desires to possess one of the seven
hundred copies of the first issue of the first edition which contain
the Buss plates, is a matter of course, and enough has been said to
make clear the reason of such desire. Should any of my readers fail to
sympathise, he must take {33} it as an incontrovertible sign that
he is immune from that most delightful of all diseases, bibliomania.
It need only be added that, in the beautiful “Victorian Edition” of the
novel, published in two volumes by Messrs. Chapman and Hall in 1887,
facsimiles may be seen of the original drawings made for the suppressed
plates, as well as two unpublished drawings prepared by Mr. Buss, but
not used. The subjects of these are “Mr. Pickwick at the Review,”
and “Mr. Wardle and his Friends under the Influence of the Salmon.”
The first is an excellent drawing, and goes far to prove that, had
Buss been given time, he would have no more failed as illustrator of
_Pickwick_ than he did as illustrator of various other most successful
publications. The same edition also contains facsimiles of an unused
drawing by “Phiz,” “Mr. Winkle’s First Shot,” and of a water-colour
drawing of “Tom Smart and the Chair,” sent in to the publishers by John
Leech as a specimen of his work. From which it will be seen that the
“Victorian Edition,” limited to two thousand copies, is also one which
every Dickens lover ought, if possible, to possess. {34}
The originals of the Buss drawings were in the possession of the
artist’s daughter, Miss Frances Mary Buss, the well-known founder of
the North London Collegiate and Camden Schools, until her death a few
years ago. They were then sold, and I have been unable to discover into
whose hands they have passed.
So much for the _Pickwick_ suppressed plates, which, if strict
chronology were to be observed, should naturally be followed by an
account of the “Rose Maylie and Oliver” plates in _Oliver Twist_.
These, however, we shall hold over for another chapter, as they will
have to be considered at some length. Meanwhile, we will deal shortly
with the curious wood engraving in _The Battle of Life_, and with
the etching of “The Last Song” in _The Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi_.
The former is so far germane to our subject that it should have been
suppressed, but, out of consideration for the artist, was not.
[Illustration: The Battle of Life. “Leech’s grave mistake”]
Every Dickens collector desires to possess the complete set of the
“Christmas Books” in their dainty red cloth bindings, dated from
1843 to 1848. A really desirable set includes, of course, {36} the
_Christmas Carol_,[11] with coloured plates by Leech, with the
_green end-papers_ and “stave 1”; _The Chimes_, with the publishers’
names _within_ the engraved part of the title-page; and _The Battle
of Life_, with the publishers’ names on _both_ titles. But it is
only the last of these that is entitled to mention in a treatise on
cancelled illustrations, and that, as I have said, not because it _was_
suppressed, but because it should have been.
[11] It may be mentioned that there are two or three copies of the
_Christmas Carol_ known with the title-page and half-title printed in
green and red, instead of in red and blue. Much store is laid by this
variation amongst really moonstruck collectors.
By those who are familiar with the story it will be remembered that
an early part of the plot leads one to suppose that Marion Jeddler
had eloped with Michael Warden, when, as a matter of fact, she had
merely escaped to her aunt. Leech, who was engaged as illustrator,
was immensely busy, and only read so much of the story as seemed
necessary for his purpose. As a result he was deceived, as Dickens
intended his readers should be, and designed the double illustration
here reproduced, in which the festivities to welcome the bridegroom
at the top of the page {37} contrast with the flight of the bride
in company with Michael Warden represented below. Thus was Dickens
curiously “hoist with his own petard.” And the curious thing is that,
notwithstanding the publicity given to the mistake in Forster’s _Life
of Dickens_, this tragic woodcut, which wrongs poor Marion’s innocence
and makes a hash of the whole story, is reproduced in the reprints up
to this very day. The poor girl’s tragic figure remains, and seems
likely to continue to do so, a victim to the stereotype.
This episode is generally referred to as “Leech’s grave mistake,” and
grave undoubtedly it was; but the matter has its bright side, which
redounds to the credit of the great novelist. I take the liberty of
quoting from what has always seemed to me a very noble letter when we
remember that Dickens was of all men most sensitive to any shortcomings
in the work of his collaborators. He writes to Forster:
When I first saw it it was with a horror and agony not to be
expressed. Of course I need not tell _you_, my dear fellow, Warden
has no business in the elopement scene. _He_ was never there. In the
first hot sweat of this surprise and novelty I was going to implore
the printing of that sheet to {38} be stopped, and the figure taken
out of the block. But when I thought of the pain that this might give
to our kind-hearted Leech, and that what is such a monstrous enormity
to me, as never having entered my brain, may not so present itself to
others, I became more composed, though the fact is wonderful to me.
Of course, had it been in these days of hurried publication, Dickens
would hardly have given the matter a second thought. The average
illustrator of to-day is curiously superior to the requirements of his
author. He either does not read the episodes that he is called upon
to illustrate, or, if he reads them, he does not grasp their meaning,
or, if he grasps their meaning, the meaning does not meet with his
approval. At any rate, he constantly makes a hash of the whole thing.
Take for example _Penelope’s English Experiences_, by Miss Kate Wiggin,
now lying before me. Look at the illustration, opposite p. 58, of Lady
de Wolfe’s butler, who struck terror into Penelope’s soul because _he
did not wear a livery_, and try, if you can, to recognise him in the
shoulder-knotted, stripe-waistcoated, plush-breeched, silk-stockinged
menial with an “unapproachable haughtiness of demeanour,” which the
illustrator has portrayed. {39} Nor is this one of a few exceptional
cases: their number might be multiplied _ad infinitum_.
But to return to _The Battle of Life_. Curiously enough, there is
another little episode connected with this book, never, I believe,
noticed before, which accentuates our impression of the generosity of
Dickens’s character.
Three years after its publication a somewhat scurrilous little volume
(now excessively rare), bearing the allusive title _The Battle of
London Life; or Boz and his Secretary_, issued from the press. It was
illustrated by six lithographs signed with the name of George Augustus
Sala. It was a poor enough performance, but attracted attention by its
_ad captandum_ title, and the portrait of “Boz in his Study.” It is an
imaginary and far from complimentary account of Dickens’s employment
of a secretary, whose occupation it is to show him round the haunts
of vice in London, by way of providing “local colour” for the novels.
Eventually the secretary turns out to be a detective, who has been told
off by the Government to discover the nature of the novelist’s intimacy
with the revolutionist, Mazzini. It is a vulgar little {40} brochure,
and, for all its futility, must have been very distasteful to the idol
of the day. It was therefore the more magnanimous of Dickens to ignore
the part which Sala had in it, and to speak so generously of him as we
find him doing in the _Life_, besides employing him and pushing him, as
he did largely later on, in his periodicals. A smaller man would not
have allowed himself to forget such youthful indiscretions, for “memory
always obeys the commands of the heart.”
Judged as a work of art, _The Battle of Life_ is perhaps the least
successful of Dickens’s “Christmas Books.” Edward FitzGerald’s opinion
of it was shown in an autograph letter which came into the market only
the other day. “What a wretched affair is _The Battle of Life_!” he
writes; “it scarce even has the few good touches that generally redeem
Dickens.”
[Illustration: “The Last Song” with the suppressed border. (_By George
Cruikshank_)]
Whilst we are on the subject of an illustration which should have been
suppressed but was not, it should be pointed out that this was not the
only occasion upon which Leech misunderstood Dickens’s purport. This
we learn from Mr. F. G. Kitton’s monumental work, _Dickens and {41}
his Illustrators_. Here he tells us that in another Christmas book,
_The Chimes_, Leech delineated, in place of Richard as described in
the text, an extremely ragged and dissipated-looking character, with a
battered hat upon his head. When the novelist saw it the drawing had
already been engraved, but the woodcut was promptly suppressed; there
still exists, however, an impression of the cancelled engraving, which
is bound up with what is evidently a unique copy of _The Chimes_ (now
the property of Mr. J. P. Dexter), where blank spaces are left for
some of the woodcuts. This particular copy is probably the publishers’
“make-up,” which had accidentally left their hands.
Let us now consider for a moment a very remarkable etching which was,
so far only as regards an important portion of it, cancelled in all
but the very first issue of _The Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi_. These
were published in two volumes in 1838. Besides writing the preface,
Dickens was only responsible for the editing of Mr. Egerton Wilks’s
manuscript, which had been prepared from autobiographical notes. A good
deal of fault was found with the work, particularly {42} on the ground
that Dickens himself could never have seen Grimaldi. To this he very
pertinently replied, “I don’t believe that Lord Braybrooke had more
than the very slightest acquaintance with Mr. Pepys, whose memoirs he
edited two centuries after he died!”[12]
The volumes are now most valued for the twelve etchings by George
Cruikshank; but the important thing from the bibliolater’s point of
view is to possess the earliest issue with “The Last Song” _surrounded
by a grotesque border_. This border, which is here produced, was
removed from the plate after the first issue of the first edition. I
have just had offered to me a copy of this edition containing “The Last
Song” _in the two states_, _i.e._ with and without the border, for the
modest sum of eight guineas!
[12] My attention was lately called to a copy of the memoirs in
which the former owner had pasted the following amusingly irrelevant
note:—“At the Beckford sale a copy of the famous Grimm—the Grimm with
the illustrations printed in bronze-coloured ink—fetched £64.” I have
a very shrewd suspicion that the annotator had an unmethodical brain,
and believed Grimm to be short for Grimaldi! _Requiescat in pace._
{43}