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Corinthian Tom is at once commonplace and out-of-date.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.
[Illustration: _Tom, Getting the best of a Charley._