ON SOME FURTHER SUPPRESSED PLATES, ETCHINGS, AND WOOD ENGRAVINGS BY
GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
In Chapter III. we have incidentally considered the suppressed
grotesque border to the etching of “The Last Song” by George Cruikshank
in the _Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi_. In this chapter we shall treat of
certain other suppressions to which the “inimitable” George’s work was
subjected.
The first to which I shall direct your attention has a curious and
romantic history attaching to it, instinct with the rough and brutal
methods of our immediate ancestors. It is a highly-coloured etched
broadside published in 1815, the very year of the tragic death of the
gifted and ill-fated Gillray, whose mantle, as political caricaturist,
was now fallen upon his brilliant young contemporary. {60} These
were the days of hard hitting, of reckless charges, of imprisonment
for libel, of dramatic political episodes, and the wonder is that
George Cruikshank escaped the fates of the Burdetts, the Hones, and
the Hobhouses of the period. The fact is that George was a very shrewd
young man and had a very shrewd idea of how far it was safe to go.
Indeed, in this partially suppressed cartoon we find him upon the very
verge of recklessness and only drawing back from danger just in the
nick of time.
I have spoken of the _partial_ suppression of this broadside, and in
this _partial_ cancellation it is differentiated from all others with
which we have hitherto dealt. Brutal enough as is the satire as we see
it, there is a brutality curiously hidden within, which, unsuspected
by the uninitiated, proves to what astounding lengths satire of that
period was sometimes ready to go.
Before dealing in detail with this “Financial Survey of Cumberland or
the Beggar’s Petition” it will be as well to relate the circumstances
which led up to its perpetration.
Ernest Augustus, Duke of Cumberland, born {61} 1771, was perhaps the
best hated of all the royal personages of the period then in England,
and this notwithstanding the fact that he was a man of conspicuous
bravery. He was, for a few years after Queen Victoria’s accession, next
heir to the throne of England. Later he ascended the throne of Hanover
under the regulations of the Salic law, and gained the affection of his
people, proving himself a wise and beneficent ruler. Probably William
IV. put his character into a nutshell when he said: “Ernest is not such
a bad fellow, but if any one has a corn he is sure to tread on it.”
However that may be, there is no doubt that there is hardly a crime in
the whole decalogue which was not at one time or another laid at his
door, and not the least among these was the crime of murder.
To quote the succinct account of this affair given in the _Dictionary
of National Biography_:—“On the night of 31st May 1810 the duke was
found in his apartments in St. James’s Palace with a terrible wound in
his head, which would have been mortal had not the assassin’s weapon
struck against the duke’s sword. Shortly afterwards his {62} valet,
Sellis,[17] was found dead in his bed with his throat cut. On hearing
the evidence of the surgeons and other witnesses, the coroner’s jury
returned a verdict that Sellis had committed suicide after attempting
to assassinate the duke. The absence of any reasonable motive... caused
this event to be greatly discussed, and democratic journalists did not
hesitate to hint that he really murdered Sellis.” One of these, Henry
White, was sentenced in 1815 to fifteen months’ imprisonment and a fine
of £200 for publishing the rumour. The story again cropped up in 1832,
when the duke had made himself particularly obnoxious to the radical
press, and was exploited by a pamphleteer named Phillips. The duke
prosecuted him, and he was promptly found guilty and sentenced to six
months’ imprisonment.
[17] Not Serres, as Reid has it in his descriptive account of
Cruikshank’s works. The keeper of the prints evidently confused the
name of the valet with that of Mrs. Olive Serres, who later on called
herself Princess Olive of Cumberland, and claimed to be the duke’s
legitimate daughter.
Notwithstanding this, there was little abatement in the persecution of
the duke. Even Lord Brougham in the House of Lords sneeringly called
{63} him to his face “the illustrious duke—illustrious only by
courtesy.” I take up a few consecutive numbers of that venomous little
contemporary paper, _Figaro in London_, and find week by week some very
plain speaking. Here are a few examples:—
“That he’s ne’er known to change his mind
Is surely nothing strange;
For no one ever yet could find
He’d any mind to change.”
Again:—
“He boasts about the truth, I’ve heard,
And vows he’d never break it;
Why zounds a man _must_ keep his word
When nobody will take it.”
Again, referring to a youth dressed _à la Prince de Cumberland_,
who had been brought up at Bow Street charged with being an expert
pickpocket, _Figaro_ says: “A similarity to the Duke of Cumberland is
a very serious matter, and in the opinion of Mr. Halls (the police
magistrate) quite sufficient to entitle any one to a couple of months’
imprisonment, as a common thief or an incorrigible vagabond.”
Again:—{64}
“INQUEST EXTRAORDINARY
Found dead of fright, a child, (how sad a case!)
Verdict—Saw Cumberland’s mustachioed face.”
Again:—“The new piece announced at Drury Lane under the title of _The
Dæmon Duke_ or _The Mystic Branch_ has no reference whatever to his
Royal Highness of Cumberland.”
But these might be multiplied almost to infinity. The examples quoted
make it sufficiently plain why it was that the Whig Cabinet of the day
felt it advisable to hurry on our late Queen’s marriage.
So much for a general review of the duke’s career. We will now return
to the year 1815 and the publication of the broadside with which we are
more particularly concerned.
The duke had just announced his intention of marrying the Princess
of Salm, who had been twice a widow. The Prince Regent had raised
no objection, but the Queen, who had a rooted aversion to second
marriages, made no secret of her disapproval. The country, too, was
indignant, because another royal marriage spelt, in accordance with
what was now the ordinary usage, a further burden upon the exchequer.
[Illustration: “A Financial Survey of Cumberland or the Beggars
Petition.” (_From the only known uncoloured impression of the Plate_)]
[Illustration: “A Financial Survey of Cumberland or the Beggars
Petition.” (_From a coloured impression of the plate, with the figure
of the valet obliterated with lamp-black_)]
{65}
On July 3 the proposal was made in the Commons to increase the duke’s
pension of £18,000 a year, which he held in addition to his salary of
£3000 a year as Colonel of the 1st Hussars, by £6000. The House was
equally divided on the vote, when a dramatic incident occurred. Lord
Cochrane, heir to the Dundonald peerage, and a member of the House of
Commons, had, in the previous year, been wrongfully found guilty of
participation in a Stock Exchange fraud and had been imprisoned. On
this very 3rd day of July he was released from prison, and immediately
repaired to Westminster. The House was at that moment going to a
division. His lordship entered just in time to record his casting
vote against the increase of the duke’s pension, and thus by an
extraordinary coincidence the duke was the poorer and the country the
richer by £6000 a year.
This is the moment seized by Cruikshank in the broadside here
reproduced. Before the half-open door of “St. Stephen’s,” behind
which is seen a crowd of members, Lord Cochrane fires, from a mortar
decorated with a full-bottomed wig, a {66} cannon-ball labelled
“casting vote.” This, striking the duke full in the rear, drives him
towards a bank on which stand three grenadiers, the Princess of Salm
(recognisable by the flag which she carries, labelled “Psalms”) and her
little boy, who sings—
My daddy is a grenadier
And he’s pleas’d my Mammy O,
With his _long swoard_ and _broadswoard_
And his bayonet so handy O.
The duke, from whose hand falls his petition, and whose head is adorned
with a cuckold’s horns, cries aloud, “Pity the sorrow of a poor young
man”; whilst Cochrane thunders out, “No, no, we’ll have no petitions
here. Do you thint (_sic_) we are not up to your hoaxing, cadging
tricks? You vagrant, do you think we’ll believe all you say or swear?
Do you think that your services or your merits will do you any good
here? If you do, I can tell you from experience that you are cursedly
mistaken. So set off and don’t show your ugly face here again. If you
do, shiver my timbers if I don’t send you to Ellenborough Castle: aye,
aye, my boy, I’ll clap you in the _grated chamber_, where there’s
neither door, window, {67} onr (_sic_) fireplace. I’ll put you in the
_Stocks_! I’ll put you in the _Pillory_! I’ll _fine_ you. I’ll, I’ll
play hell with you! D—— me, I think I have just come in time to give
you a shot between wind and water.”
On the ground below the flying duke lie documents recording his
pensions and salaries.
No wonder, you will say, that such a scandalous attack upon a personage
so near the throne should be suppressed with a high hand. The marvel is
that artist and publisher should have escaped the fate of Henry White
and the pamphleteer Phillips. But you will be more surprised than ever
when you learn that not only did artist and publisher go scot-free,
but that the plate, so far from being suppressed, was published and
scattered broadcast amongst the people without protest.
Why, then, it will be asked, does it take its place in a treatise on
suppressed plates? I will tell you.
Do you not notice in the darker impression of the plate here
reproduced—darker because the original has been painted—that such
perspective as the picture has is destroyed by a great black blot {68}
which reaches from the feet of the three soldiers right down to the
path in the right-hand lower corner of the design? Well, that great
black blot covers what would have inevitably landed George Cruikshank
and Mr. W. N. Jones of 5 Newgate Street, publisher, in a larger
building higher up the same street, if it had not been for a happy
afterthought of Mr. W. N. Jones, which took shape in a liberal use of
lamp-black.[18]
On the space so covered the reckless George, unmindful of the fate of
Henry White, had etched the scantily clothed figure of the unhappy
valet Sellis, with bleeding throat, crying aloud, “Is this a razor that
I see before me? Thou canst not say I did it.”
[18] This use of lamp-black has its parallel in the case of one of
the tailpieces to Bewick’s _Birds_, in the first edition of which an
apprentice was employed to veil certain indelicacies with a coat of
ink. Unfortunately, from want of density, the colouring rather serves
to accentuate than hide the offending details. In the next edition a
plug was inserted in the block and two bars of wood engraved in the
interests of decency.
After but one or two proofs had been pulled, George and his publisher
would seem to have become appalled at their temerity, and the plate
was only issued coloured and with the peccant {69} figure blotted out.
For many years I hoped and hoped in vain to come across an uncoloured
proof displaying the hidden figure. But it was not until 1905 that
I was fortunate enough to light upon the probably unique proof here
reproduced, which had passed out of the Bruton collection into that of
the omnivorous collector, the late Edwin Truman.
For the sake of those who have preserved the valuable catalogue of
the sale in 1897 of the Bruton collection of the works of George
Cruikshank, it should be observed that Reid’s misnomer of the valet to
which I have drawn attention above has been there repeated.
So much, then, for the partially suppressed broadside of 1815, which
incidentally may be looked upon as the forerunner of the blottesque
censorship of Russian newspapers. We will now pass on to another
broadside which was not only suppressed in full, but of which the
copies that had already been sold were assiduously bought up.
The circumstances surrounding this plate are by no means so dramatic
as those with which we have last dealt. At the same time, by means of
it we obtain one of those sharp contrasts in political {70} moods and
tenses which pleasurably tickle the imagination. We learn how little is
absolute in life, how much is relative. We realise how the reactionary
of to-day may have been the reformer of yesterday. In a word, we see
in this most conservative member of the Russell administration of
1846–1852 and of the Coalition of 1853, in this complacent recipient of
the peerage of Broughton de Gyfford and the Grand Cross of the Bath,
in this happy husband of a Marquis’s daughter,—we see, I say, in this
Tory nobleman of the ’fifties the irreconcilable John Cam Hobhouse of
the early years of the century, committed to Newgate for breach of
privilege, the author of the subversive _Letters to an Englishman_, and
the representative for Parliament of the Westminster mobocracy.
[Illustration: “_A Trifling Mistake_”——_Corrected_——]
In Cruikshank’s broadside here reproduced the future President of
the Board of Control is represented twirling his thumbs in enforced
retirement and with full leisure to repent of his indiscretions. Above
the mantelpiece representations of St. Stephen’s and Newgate are placed
in sharp contrast. Below the last a former occupant of the {72} cell
has scratched a rude gibbet. The grate is empty. On the table stand an
empty pewter pot and pipe. On the wall is seen a long quotation from
his anonymous pamphlet _A Trifling Mistake_, for which he has been
committed to prison. This, with a barbed addition, gives the title to
the broadside itself. The quotation runs:—
“What prevents ye people from walking down to ye house and pulling
out ye members by ye ears, locking up their doors and flinging ye
key into ye Thames? Is it any majesty which lodges in the members of
that assembly? Do we love them? Not at all: we have an instinctive
horror and disgust at the very abstract idea of ye boroughmonger. Do
we respect them? Not in the least. Do we regard them as endowed with
any superior qualities? On the contrary, there is scarcely a poorer
creature than your mere member of Parliament; though, in his corporate
capacity, ye earth furnishes not so absolute a bully. Their true
practical protectors, then—the real efficient anti-reformers,—are to
be found at ye Horse Guards and ye Knightsbridge Barracks. As long as
the House of Commons majorities are backed by the regimental muster
roll, so long may those who have got the tax power keep it and hang
those who resist”!!! !!! !!!
Vide _Trifling Mistake_.
Below this hangs a bill headed “Little Hob in the Well.” {73}
The reproduction of the etching here given is from a very interesting
touched proof in the British Museum. Upon it the artist’s work in
pencil can be plainly traced. To the right of the picture of Newgate
another roughly drawn gibbet can be distinguished. On the bill
the words have been added, “A New Song in Defence of the People,
corrected,” etc. The profile of the prisoner has been carefully
reduced, and a punning sub-title to the whole added, “How Cam you to be
in that Hobble?”
The date on the margin is January 1, 1819 (obviously a mistake for
1820), and its publication, no doubt, went some way towards Hobhouse’s
election as member for Westminster, which took place immediately after
his release on the 20th day of the month in the year 1820.
After his elevation to the peerage Hobhouse took no active part in
public affairs. He died as lately as 1869, leaving no issue. Probably
the plate was suppressed on the ground that it contained the long
quotation given above from the lawless pamphlet for which he was
imprisoned.
As I have said in an earlier chapter, it is not my {74} intention
to make this treatise in any way a devil’s directory for those in
search of salacious curiosities. I shall therefore not dwell upon the
suppressed woodcut, which is rather coarse than loose, of “The Dead
Rider” in the _Italian Tales_ of 1823. I merely mention it for the
sake of those who may be collating the book, and would find themselves
misled by Reid’s note on the subject. He speaks of the “Elopement”
woodcut being “wanting in two or three copies consulted of the first
edition,” as though this were a matter for surprise. He fails to draw
the very obvious conclusion that “The Elopement” was substituted for
“The Dead Rider,” so that the number of illustrations might continue to
tally with the announcement on the title-page, “Sixteen illustrative
drawings by George Cruikshank.” He has apparently been confused by the
fact, which I notice confuses a good many secondhand booksellers, that
every copy has _a_ woodcut entitled “The Dead Rider,” but that it is
only the first issue that has _two_ woodcuts with the same title.
And, whilst touching on the subject of Cruikshank’s early
indiscretions, it will, I think, be only {75} fair to repeat a story
of pretty and spontaneous atonement which I have told elsewhere, and
which deals with another suppressed broadside.
No. 887 in Reid’s catalogue is “Accidents in High Life, or Royal Hobbys
broke down, Dedicated to the Society for the Suppression of Vice.” Its
companion picture is “Royal Hobbys of the Hertfordshire Cock Horse,”
which was suppressed as being too suggestive even for so latitudinarian
an age as that of the Regency. In the former the artist portrays the
discomfiture of the Prince and the Marchioness of Hertford through the
pole of the hobby-horse, upon which they have been riding, breaking
and throwing both of them to the ground. The lady is cursing her
folly in trusting herself to “such an old stick,” while her admirer
is exclaiming that he shall try the Richmond Road in the future, the
Hertford one being so unsatisfactory. The Duke of York is suffering
from a similar disaster, and congratulating himself upon the softness
of the cushion by which his fall has been broken, in allusion to his
income of £10,000 for having charge of his father.
Now Mr. Bruton, who, like the late Mr. Truman, {76} had the advantage
of George Cruikshank’s friendship in later years, was able to obtain
authentication or repudiation of doubtful unsigned work from the
artist himself, and, amongst others, this plate was submitted to him
for judgment. The man’s honesty forced him to acknowledge himself to
be the author of this piece of full-blooded vulgarity, but his regret
has altered the usual laconic record of “Not by me, G. Ck.,” or “By my
brother, I. R. C.,” pencilled on the plate, to “Sorry to say this is by
me, G. C.” The old man was, when he came to look back upon a long life
of good and evil mixed, somewhat more human than that terribly pious
hero of Pope’s—
Who calmly looked on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to bear;
From nature’s temp’rate feast rose satisfy’d,
Thank’d heav’n that he had liv’d, and that he dy’d.
He looked back with genuine remorse upon youthful extravagances, and,
though doubtless inclined by nature to be something of a _poseur_,
and though he attitudinised somewhat too much over his virtuous
fads at last, was not going to bolster up his reputation by an easy
forgetfulness of early indiscretions. {77}
[Illustration: Philoprogenitiveness]
Only a few words need be said of the other Cruikshank suppressions here
reproduced. The first is the well-known plate “Philoprogenitiveness,”
which was published in the earliest separate edition of that noble
_Essay on the Genius of George Cruikshank_, written by Thackeray
for, and reprinted {78} from, _The Westminster Review_ in 1840. And
surely it was a prurient and unnatural squeamishness which condemned
this illustration to exclusion in the subsequent editions. It is from
the _Phrenological Illustrations_, published in 1826, one of the
most famous of Cruikshank’s publications. I shall follow Thackeray’s
excellent example of refraining from any description, and just leave
the design to speak for itself, for it is a ridiculous task “to
translate his designs into words, and go to the printer’s box for a
description of all that fun and humour which the artist can produce by
a few skilful turns of his needle.”
The second is the cancelled wood engraving entitled “Drop it,” which
appears on page 18 of the first edition of _Talpa; or the Chronicle of
a Clay Farm, an Agricultural Fragment_, by C. M. H(oskyns), published
in 1853. For some unknown reason it disappears from subsequent
editions, and is only of importance to those who pride themselves on
being the possessors of Cruikshank _editiones principes_.
[Illustration: “Drop it!”]
There is another Cruikshank suppression which might, were we hard
up for material, be dragged {79} into a treatise on suppressed
illustrations. I refer to a wood engraving of the redoubtable George
himself taking his publisher, Brooks, by the nose with a pair of tongs,
which resulted in the suppression of the pamphlet entitled _A Pop-gun
fired off by George Cruikshank, etc._, in which it appeared. But if
we were to open these pages to the consideration of suppressed books
and pamphlets, I should soon find my publishers remonstrating, and
the volume too big to handle. Further, it affords me the gratifying
opportunity of referring the reader to a small book of mine, published
in 1897, by Mr. W. P. Spencer, of 27 New Oxford Street, and entitled
_George_ {80} _Cruikshank’s Portraits of Himself_ which I, as
the author, of course consider has not attained the circulation
it deserves. There will be found a full account of the suppressed
pamphlet, together with a reproduction of the offending design.
Let me close this chapter with “A Cruikshank Outrage,” which I
originally contributed to _The Gentleman’s Magazine_. It is, I
think, sufficiently apropos, and will, I hope, appeal to all good
Cruikshankians.
This is the bookcase, this the key;
None may open this lock but me;
And only those of the cult may come
Into my _sanctum sanc-to-rum_.
Swear “by George” on his “Omnibus”
You are assuredly one of us.
Swear “by George” on his “Almanack”
You will return each volume back.
Swear by “Grimm” _in the earliest state_
Theft and pillage you reprobate.
Yes, that’s bound by Rivière, but
Here’s _the original cloth, uncut_.
The “Bee and the Wasp” _on India, tilt_,
Zaehnsdorf binder, _morocco, gilt_.
But all my “Scourges” plain bound shall bide—
Plenty of “guilt” may be found inside. {81}
Here’s my “Omnibus,” worth a fief
Because I’ve the unpaged preface-leaf.
“London Characters,” set complete,
_Sm. 8vo, in hlf. clf. neat_.
Here a set of gigantic frauds
_In the original_ LABELLED _boards_.
“Oliver Twist,” as you will have guessed,
The “Rose and Oliver” plate suppressed:
Not with the stippling over-writ—
Only Bruton[19] can show you IT.
And here “The Bottle” COLOURED, date
Eighteen-hundred-and-forty-eight.
Yes, no doubt, ’twas among the first
Thrusts that the Master launched at Thirst.
! George, you say, was at best, you think,
As a Temperance man denouncing drink !
!! You dare tell me you interlope
In quest of books for your “Band of Hope” !!
!!! You swore “by George” on his “Omnibus”
You were assuredly one of us !!!
!!!! Avaunt, I prithee, aroynt, vacate
This orthodox shrine to George the Great !!!!
For only those of the cult may come
Into my _sanctum sanc-to-rum_.
[19] Since the Bruton sale in 1897 this, alas, is no longer true.
{82}