Thackeray as an Illustrator -- The 'North British Review' on
Thackeray -- Illustrations to 'Men of Character' -- The
'Whitey-brown Paper Magazine' -- 'Comic Tales,' illustrated by
Thackeray -- Allusions to Caricature Drawing found throughout his
writings -- Skits on Fashion -- Titmarsh on 'Men and Clothes' --
Bohemianism in youth -- Hatred of conventionality -- Sketches of
Contemporary Habits and Manners -- Imaginative Illustrations to
Romances -- Skill in Ludicrous Parody -- Burlesque of the
'Official Handbook of Court and State.'
Although Thackeray must go down to posterity as an author, and, of
necessity, in that character will hold his own as one of the very
greatest of English writers, his earnest ambition sought occupation in
the career of an artist, and, as must be familiar to our readers, the
desire for this distinction retained its hold on his spirit through
life.
[Illustration]
As a humorous designer we must accord him a position of eminence, and
the characteristic originality of his pencil certainly entitles
Thackeray to an honourable place in the front rank of fanciful
draughtsmen.
The illustrations which he supplied in profusion for the embellishment
of his own writings have a certain happy harmony with the thread of
the story, which probably no other hand could have contributed. In the
field of design, especially of the grotesque order, his imagination
was singularly fertile, and the little figures with which he loved to
appositely point the texts of his week-day sermons and moralities
strike forcibly by their ingenuity and by the aptness of their
conception.
[Illustration]
'He draws well,' insists the author of an unusually thoughtful and
sound paper on Thackeray;[31] 'his mouths and noses, his feet, his
children's heads, all his ugly and queer "mugs," are wonderful for
expression and good drawing. With beauty of man or woman he is not so
happy; but his fun is, we think, even more abounding and funnier in
his cuts than in his words. He is, as far as we can recollect, the
only great author who illustrated his own works. This gives a singular
completeness to the result. When his pen has said its say, then comes
his pencil and adds its own felicity.'
The article just referred to, which we cannot recommend too highly, is
written in a spirit of such just excellence as could only have been
arrived at after long personal acquaintance with Thackeray's higher
qualities. The same number contains the facsimile of a remarkably
clever and characteristic pen-and-ink drawing in the humourist's best
style, which was originally sent to a friend in the North in place of
a letter--a practice not unusual with him. One corner of the little
picture contains a 'memorandum of account' to this effect:--
'To a new plum-coloured coat.
'DR. GOLDSMITH (Mitre Court). To J. FILBY, Dr.'
Oliver Goldsmith and Dr. Johnson are both passing the shop-front of
the unfortunate tailor. The actors in this comedietta are so absorbed
in their several occupations--the lexicographer in a book, Goldy in
self-admiration--that they don't notice the tailor, who, too, is
completely paralysed at the double spectacle of his coat and his
debtor; his assistant is grinning with both his sides--the consequence
of the passing of the customer and the discomfiture of his master, who
looks somewhat of a 'grinder;' while a pair of arch-faced, merry
little urchins are copying to the life the shuffle and swagger
respectively of the two Doctors. We will let the paper speak for
itself:--
'This drawing is a good specimen of his work; it tells its own story,
as every drawing should. Here is the great lexicographer, with his
ponderous shuffling tread, his thick lips, his head bent down, his
book close to his purblind eyes, himself _totus in illo_, reading, as
he fed, greedily and fast. Beside him simpers the clumsy and inspired
Oliver, in his new plum-coloured coat; his eyes bent down in an
ecstasy of delight, for is he not far prouder of his visage--and such
a visage!--and of his coat than of his artless genius? We all know
about that coat, and how Mr. Filby never got paid for it. There he is
behind his window, in sartorial posture; his uplifted goose arrested,
his eye following wistfully, and not without a sense of glory and
dread, that coat and man. His journeyman is grinning at him; he is
paid weekly, and has no risk. And then what a genuine bit of
Thackeray, the street-boy and his dear little admiring sister!--there
they are stepping out in mimicry of the great two.'
The article from which this passage is quoted contains a letter, full
of grave feeling and sensibility, which Thackeray wrote, in 1848, in
acknowledging one of those spontaneous expressions of gratitude that
are occasionally found to cheer an author on his way, and to awaken in
his mind the encouraging sense of sympathy from unexpected quarters.
'There happened to be placed in the window of an Edinburgh jeweller a
silver statuette of "Mr. Punch," with his dress _en rigueur_ his
comfortable and tidy paunch, with all its buttons; his hunch; his
knee-breeches, with their ties; his compact little legs, one foot a
little forward; and the intrepid and honest, kindly little fellow
firmly set on his pins, with his customary look of up to and good for
anything. In his hand was his weapon, a pen; his skull was an inkhorn,
and his cap its lid. A passer-by--who had long been grateful to our
author, as to a dear unknown and enriching friend, for his writings in
"Fraser" and in "Punch," and had longed for some way of reaching him
and telling him how his work was relished and valued--bethought
himself of sending this inkstand to Mr. Thackeray. He went in, and
asked its price. "Ten guineas, sir." He said to himself, "There are
many who feel as I do; why shouldn't we send it up to him? I'll get
eighty several half-crowns, and that will do it" (he had ascertained
there would be discount for ready money). With the help of a friend,
the half-crowns were soon forthcoming, and it is pleasant to remember
that in the "octogint" are the names of Lord Jeffrey and Sir William
Hamilton, who gave their half-crowns with the heartiest good-will. A
short note was written, telling the story. The little man in silver
was duly packed and sent, with the following inscription round the
base:--
'GULIELMO MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
ARMA VIRUMQUE
GRATI NECNON GRATÆ EDINENSES
LXXX.
D. D. D.'
How far Thackeray would have succeeded as an illustrator of other
men's thoughts there is but little that has been published to prove.
His separate cuts in 'Punch' are remarkably happy and droll, but they
have none of those graver and more aspiring qualities which authors
perhaps might have looked for in the sketches of a young gentleman who
proposed seriously to draw pictures for their stories. It is conceded
that for the embellishment of his own writings Thackeray's eye, hand,
and pencil possessed every desirable qualification; and it is not
improbable that the same facilities would have enabled him to offer to
others, as his powers became matured, a share of the advantages which
his ready wit brought to his own pictorial embellishments.
The few instances of his productions as an illustrator, pure and
simple, are too early to come under fair criticism. Before he had
acquired practice with his etching-needle, and certainly before he had
found out his own particular style, he tried his hand at a set of
copper plates, with the example of Seymour, it is believed, to guide
his then imperfect knowledge of the art by means of which he desired
to publish his designs.
The admirable series of 'Men of Character,' which Douglas Jerrold
originally contributed as magazine papers, were collected in three
volumes and published by Colburn in 1838. These volumes were
illustrated with several plates, the humour of which is undeniable,
although it may be thought that the subjects have suffered in
execution. The name of the artist does not appear, but there is no
doubt that Thackeray supplied these designs to adorn the book of his
friend and fellow _littérateur_; the incidents selected are all
sufficiently farcical for humorous delineation, and that they have
certainly had at the hands of the draughtsman.
'The Practical Philosophy of Adam Buff' (the Man without a Shirt) is
completely set out in the frontispiece, where, soused with water, the
moral professor is invited by a 'rough' to strip 'to his shirt' and
show his skill with his fists. Buff's coat is buttoned to the chin, to
conceal the absence of his linen, and with his huge shoulder of mutton
hands he is striking the attitude of immovable moral dignity which won
the heart of his patron. A likeness to this identical pugilistic
coal-whipper will be found in one of Thackeray's wood-cuts to the
'Town and Gown Row' in 'Codlingsby' ('Punch's Prize Novelists'). The
'Fall of Pippins' represents that too susceptible youth on his knees
before his lady mistress, whom he has awakened with a kiss. The
indignation of the outraged fair, the abject terror and contrition of
Pippins, the fury of the jealous husband, Sir Scipio Mannikin, who is
breaking in upon the transgressor with uplifted cane, and the startled
faces of the domestic chaplain and his followers, are all successfully
indicated. From bad to worse, we next find 'Job Pippins--Murderer.'
The unfortunate youth, labouring under a very unpleasant suspicion,
has been dragged into still more objectionable company; he is
nervously seated on the edge of a stool, in a hut tenanted by burglars
and cut-purses. A young girl, the mistress of a highwayman, captain of
the gang, has one of those pretty, innocent faces Thackeray always
expressed so successfully.
'Jack Runnymede's Dream' is perhaps the most indicative of the
artist's vein of grotesque humour. This champion of the 'rights of an
Englishman' had a peculiar dream before commencing a suit at law. He
fancied the Father of Evil met him by the wayside, performing like a
shepherd on his pipe, and tendered him a 'little pup.' The Satanic
person is set forth with great imaginative attractiveness, and the
convolutions of his tail are very elaborate.
'John Applejohn's Humane Intentions' are displayed just at the very
instant they were most liable to uncharitable misinterpretation, for
he is caught, on his knees, with a bunch of keys, evidently in the act
of lock-picking. 'Maximilian Tape before the Lords,' represents the
little journeyman tailor just as he was captured by those promising
slips of the aristocracy, Lord Slap, Tom Rumpus, young Plucky, and
Rowdow; while one of the party is breaking a plate over his affrighted
head that he may prove his trade by stitching it together again. 'Mr.
Cramlington,' Applejohn's master, in his borrowed locks and whiskers,
the son of Tape's employer, a West End outfitter, who has got
introduced to this fine, improving society, under the assumption of
being a 'man of fashion,' is looking on the scene in ill-concealed
dread of his own recognition and exposure.
In the 'Final Reward of John Applejohn,' that unfortunate but well
meaning, simple youth, just captured from the front of a booth, and
still in the dress of a statue, in which character he narrowly escaped
demolition, is restored to the "girl of his heart."
'Barnaby Palms Feeling his Way' is shown, the epitome of artfulness,
at the breakfast-table of his worthy uncle, where he is taking his
last meal before setting out to seek his fortune in the world. The
wily youth insisted on eating a stale egg, declaring he 'did not care
for his eggs over-fresh,' in order to win the heart of his relative,
before whom is displayed a well-filled money-bag--Barnaby's
anticipated 'start in life.' It may be remembered that the uncle
expressed his earnest conviction that a man 'who did not care for his
eggs over-fresh' was sure to make his way by himself, and so sent
Barnaby forth without the coveted money-bag.
'Cheek's Introduction to a New Subject' represents the prison-yard,
where the dwarf artist and modeller, Mr. Pop, is maliciously enjoying
the spectacle of his employer, Cheek, the waxwork showman, in a state
of horror, with his hand locked in the fist of Kemp, the murderer,
whose head they have come down to 'take off' after execution. 'The
Ghost of Kemp' represents Aaron, the Jew fence, waking from his guilty
slumbers to discover the murderer's head, which Pop has modelled and
placed for security on the window-sill, where it is suddenly disclosed
by the moonlight to the conscience-stricken and horrified 'receiver of
stolen goods,' who had congratulated himself that the hangman's noose
had effectually removed all evidence of his own guilt.
'Matthew Clear, the Man who Saw his Way,' is introduced in the fatal
instance of 'not seeing his way' which proved his ruin; seated on a
sofa with the artful adventuress whose fortune the long-headed Clear
flattered himself he should secure by persuading her into a marriage.
He is planted very comfortably on a little sofa, below the simpering
portrait of his bride. Julia's arms are round the neck of the deluded
Clear; on his knee is perched a great lubberly boy, a pledge of
affection to which it appears the lady stands 'almost in the light of
a mother.' Matthew, evidently lost as to 'his way,' is successfully
cajoled; and Mrs. Clear's parrot, which had been educated on board
ship, is shrieking demoniacally, 'Hooked, by Jingo!'
The last plate illustrates the 'Introduction of Titus Trumps to Miss
Wolfe.' The confiding hero of this story, whose belief in something
'turning up' favourable was ineradicable, is being confronted by the
peppery Baronet, Sir Jeremy Sloth, with his daughter, the mature but
impressionable Emily, when he has actually come to pay a visit to her
maid, whose relatives keep a public-house with the sign of 'General
Wolfe.'
These illustrations would probably have achieved more success had the
artist confined himself to the bold outline manner of etching in which
his better-known plates are executed, and in which he early exhibited
a fair proficiency. His desire to conform to the fashion of the day
(the 'Pickwick Papers' were publishing at the time) led him to attempt
a style in which he had not enjoyed sufficient experience to qualify
him to produce results which would compare favourably with the works
of older hands.
Another _jeu d'esprit_ from his pencil, commenced somewhat later, is
considerably more in the unmistakeable Titmarshian vein; indeed, for
the force and fun of its satire, it perhaps excels all that he ever
did in the indulgence of his amazing talents for ludicrous
personalities. We refer to the series of illustrations, or rather
caricatures, suggested for the 'Whitey-brown Paper Magazine,' which
was never issued. The rarity of these _croquis_, merely a few loose
lithographed leaves, drawn by Thackeray himself, is so excessive that
it is stated that the only original copy which has come under our
notice cost the proprietor no less than forty guineas. The entire
paper, which in its intention does not differ widely from certain of
the 'Yellowplush Papers,' is directed to ridicule the consequence of
Dr. Lardner, editor of the 'Cabinet Cyclopædia,' and his friend Sir
Bulwer Lytton. It may be remembered that the 'Literary Chronicle,'
under the influence of these gentlemen, was a pet aversion to its
rival 'Fraser,' with Dr. Maginn and Titmarsh to the front. The
caricatures commence with a 'Preface, Advertisement, or Introduction,'
to which we must briefly refer in order to bring on the scene the
young gentleman whose history is displayed in the caricatures, and who
it was stated, lest persons should fancy the ridicule directed against
any of the writer's contemporaries, lived many thousands of years ago
in the reign of Chrononhotonthologos, King of Brentford.
This gentleman's name was Dionysius Diddler, and the historian hastens
to anticipate misconstruction by explaining that he was no relation of
any other Dionysius, nor indeed a native of Brentford (though, it is
confessed, Diddlers certainly abound in that place).
Dionysius, who was sixty years of age and wore a wig and false teeth,
according to his biographer, came over as a young fellow from Patland,
and, finding the people of Brentford more easily humbugged and more
ignorant than any people on earth, settled himself there, in his
trade, which was that of a philosopher; an excellent profession, by
which Dionysius would have made a pretty penny, only he spent his
money in trying to be a man of fashion, in buying clothes, and other
genteel diversions.
In consequence of this extravagance, although his learning had made
his name famous (every one has heard of his 'Essay on the Tea-Kettle,'
his 'Remarks on Pumps,' and his celebrated 'Closet Cyclopædia'), poor
Diddler found himself one day, after forty years of glory, turned out
of his lodging, without a penny, without his wig--which, sad to say,
he had pawned--without even his false teeth, which, seeing he had no
use for them, he had pawned too.
The first sketch pictures Dionysius Diddler, young, innocent, and with
a fine head of hair, on which he wears an old felt hat and band very
much out of shape. He wears a clerical-cut buttoned-up vest; a
bob-tail coat, very short in the waist and sleeves, and long in the
sparrow-tails; his face (an admirable likeness of the Doctor is
preserved throughout) is adorned with 'specs;' his 'brogues' are very
short, and patched; his shoes are decidedly primitive; a 'shellalee'
is playfully twirled in his right hand; under his left arm is his
learned library, for he is a young student of Ballybunion University,
which noble foundation is seen under the hedge shown in the veracious
artist's background, and, we are sorry to think, the famous college
looks very like a bog-hut with a hole in the roof to let the smoke
through. In contrast to this bright image of his gallant youth is the
picture of the Doctor, after forty years of fame, thrown on the world
very lean and miserable; the crown of his famous old felt hat is
flopping down behind, the brim is very limp and ragged; his stock is
buttoned close, as is what remains of his coat, for vest or linen he
has none. Elbows are out, so are arm-pits; tails are mere fringe,
trousers to match, and oh, such dreadful, shapeless, soleless old
bluchers, and, we are afraid, no socks!
Poor old Diddler, with a paper bag on his head in place of his wig,
with his face sunken in for the want of his teeth, with his old
bludgeon in one hand, and the other exposing the ragged remains of a
bottomless pocket, is looking wistfully out of his old barnacles, as
he thinks of dear Ballybunion. 'I'm femous,' he is soliloquising, 'all
the wurrrld over; but what's the use of riputetion? Look at me, with
all me luggage at the end of me stick--all me money in me left-hand
breeches pocket--and it's oh! but I'd give all me celibrity for a bowl
of butthermilk and petaties.'
A happy thought strikes the Doctor in this strait. He goes off to see
what his publisher will do for him; and the next view we have of poor
Dionysius is more cheerful. He is in the shop of Mr. Shortman; 'an'
sure an' ouns!' Diddler's face wears the most gratified smile possible
to be produced without teeth. His roofless hat is on the floor; the
state of the top makes it hold his 'shellalee' all the more
conveniently. On the shelves, sure enough on the book-shelves, is the
'Closet Cyclopædia;' and leaning over the counter, on which he has
just laid down three five-pound notes and three sovereigns for the
delighted Dionysius to sweep up, is the eminent publisher, white
neckcloth and all, in his habit as he lived; a capital caricature
likeness of the head of the firm of Longman and Co.
Diddler rapidly turns his money to account in reinstating himself as
an elegant member of society and art--the man of fashion the rogue
longed to be. The first thing he does is to take his wig out of pawn.
Here the artist has shown him in the Lombardian counting-house; and,
while his 'relative' is examining certain securities (in the way of
personal garments) upon which some of his clients in the private boxes
desire advances, our fashionable Doctor takes the opportunity of
readjusting before a looking-glass his head of hair, which has
suffered somewhat by recent incarceration, his fingers being converted
into curling-tongs to replace in some degree its pristine splendour.
'And now,' says he, 'I'll go, take a sthroll to the Wist Ind, and
call on me frind Sir Hinry Pelham.' It appears that the noble
Baronet's West End residence is situated in a neighbourhood no less
celebrated than 'famed Red Lion's fashionable Square.' We are offered
a jaunty back view of the revived dandy Diddler, as with a swagger of
considerable sprightliness, and a genteel comedy strut, he is
endeavouring to carry off the impression of his ragged wardrobe, and
make the holes in his elbows pass current as a light, airy fashion.
The imposing wig is made the most of; one massive lock, like a whisk
of tow, is elegantly brushed about four inches beyond one ear, while
the famous limp white hat, with its black band, and the top flapping
about like the lid of a milk-pail, is cocked over the other. Carriages
in the distance, with footmen suspended in pairs to the splashboard
behind, attest the highly respectable character of the vicinity.
Sir Hinry Pelham is fortunately at home, reposing in a sumptuous easy
chair, and splendidly apparelled in a long black satin stock, a
flowing dressing-gown with collars and cuffs of some gorgeous
material, and pointed Turkish slippers. The Baronet's fashionable
exterior is very characteristic; his hair is thrown back in a rich
cataract, over the back of his stock, his full curled whiskers
ambrosially droop below his chin, his brow is noble, his eyebrow
arched, his eye is haughty, as is his fine-bridged and well-defined
hook-nose. This tremendous lion is evidently just roused from a state
of well-bred listlessness, and he is propped up on the elbows of his
lounge, while he regards, with sleepy astonishment, a banknote which
his friend is flourishing before him with an air.
Diddler has thrown his hat on the floor, thrust his stick through the
opening in the top, and drawn up a chair upon which he is straddling
his long body and little legs in a consequential and impressive
attitude. 'Pelham, me boy,' says he, 'you have clothes, and I have
cridit; here's a five-pound note, and rig me out in a new shoot.'
In the next plate, Pelham, solacing himself with a cigar, is modestly
concealing his features in a magazine; while Diddler--having discarded
his shocking old clothes, which, with his vagabond hat and stick, lie
scattered about the Baronet's splendid apartments--is ensconsing
himself in one of Pelham's fashionable 'shoots;' a large cheval-glass
discreetly marks the operations of his toilet. 'Fait,' says Diddler,
'the what-d'ye-call-'ems fit me like a glove.' Pelham is still
engaged with his cigar and book in the following plate, but his
aristocratic profile is again displayed. Diddler is standing in front
of the cheval-glass contemplating with increased satisfaction his
improved and respectable appearance; in fact, he is dressed in one of
the Baronet's suits, the very height of the _mode_. His wig is now in
curl, a few handsome locks are brushed over his forehead, a curl or
two over his ears, and a row of curls over his stock behind. His
spectacles, which he never abandons, beam with satisfaction, and his
teeth are evidently replaced. He has a black satin stock very high in
the neck, and falling into a creasy, shiny avalanche below; his coat
has a broad collar, sleeves cut quite tight from the elbow, and snowy
wristbands. With one hand he is affectedly adjusting his shirt-collar,
while he admires the reflected effect of the other, displayed in an
attitude with his thumb in the pocket of his spotless white vest;
light trousers, literally fitting like a glove, as was then the
fashion, setting tightly over a pair of narrow boots with
extravagantly lengthened toes and high heels, which complete the
costume of this elegant old dandy.
'And upon me honour and conshience,' says he, 'now I'm dthressed, but
I look intirely ginteel.'
In the last cut which has reached us we see the exterior of Sir
Hinry's noble mansion, in Red Lion Square. The dandy Doctor, dressed
in Pelham's coat, hat, boots, and pantaloons, stock, and spurs, is
mistaken for the Baronet himself by Hodge, his groom, who leads round
Pelham's horse, and, holding the stirrup, respectfully invites
Dionysius to mount; and Diddler is shown in the picture generously
dropping a coin into the cap of the groom, who with his disengaged
hand is scratching his shock-head with astonishment. His face is a
study of comical surprise, his knees are shaking with fright; and as
the Doctor rides away, like the dashing blade he evidently considers
himself, fear seizes upon the soul of Hodge. Says he, 'That gemman
cannot be my master, for, as he rode away, he gave me sixpence, and my
dear master never gives me nothen.'
Another capital plate introducing Bulwer and Lardner appeared in the
collection of 'Comic Tales,' already mentioned in this volume, and
published by Cunningham (1841), for which the author draws a fresh
series of illustrations.
The caricature in question accompanies Mr. Yellowplush's 'Ajew,' the
opening of which is extremely droll and clever. The two 'eminent
gents' have just got out of their fly and are making their entrance at
the house of Sir John, who, as a Whig Baronet, receives 'littery
pipple;' poor Yellowplush is holding the door for these 'fust of
English writers,' and very much amazed he looks. Although the etching
is small, the likenesses are carefully worked out; the figure of
Bulwer in the 'Whitey-brown Papers' has all the characteristics,
slightly heightened, already given, except that he wears a suit of
evening dress--'a gilt velvet waistcoat,' with his wristbands turned
over the cuffs of his coat, and very tight gloves. The little Doctor
has thrust his arm under the wing of his friend, who struts very
affectedly in his close-fitting clothes, to exhibit to advantage his
small waist and falling shoulders. Lardner's wig is perhaps richer in
curls, his spectacles more beaming, his simper more satisfied; he is
adjusting the collar of his older-fashioned square-tailed coat over a
striped silk vest, which wrinkles over his rounded paunch; his
queer-shaped little legs are displayed in somewhat ill-fitting tights,
strapped over silk stockings and pumps tied with ribands.
It may be remembered that the announcement of the arrival of these
'genlmn' created some confusion. The Doctor was indignant that any one
should fail to recognise so famous a celebrity, when Mr. Yellowplush
mildly asked for his name.
'Name!--a! now you thief o' the wurrrld,' says he, 'do you pretind not
to know _me_? Say it's the Cabinet Cyclop----; no, I mane the
Litherary Chran----; psha!--bluthanouns! say it's Docthor Dioclesian
Larner----I think he'll know me now--ay, Nid?' But Nid had slipped out
of the way, being a little nervous about the good-breeding of his
friend, it is presumed.
The second footman passed up the name as 'Doctor Athansius Larnder!
and by the time he got to the groom of the chambers, who made some
pretensions to scholarship, the little man was announced as '=Doctor
Ignatius Loyola=!'
The other gentleman, when requested to give his name (it was at the
time people were talking about the eminent novelist's chances of being
made a baronet), said in 'a thick, gobbling kind of voice':
'Sawedwadgeorgeearllittnbulwig;'
which rather dumfoundered Mr. Yellowplush. That accomplished writer
evidently watched the two 'littery genlmn' with interest, as he
records the gratifying fact that 'they behaved very well, and seemed
to have good appytights.'
The little Irishman especially distinguished himself, eating,
drinking, and talking enough for six; and, after the wine, described
how he had lately been presented at court by his friend Mr. Bulwig,
and how her gracious Majesty had desired him to tell her the _bonâ
fide_ sale of the 'Cabinet Cyclopædia,' and how he had assured her, on
his honour, that it was under ten thousand.
The entire illustrations of these 'Comic Tales and Sketches' are
engraved with great neatness and spirit; and, in spite of their small
size, they are superior, in carefulness of execution and attention to
detail, to most of Thackeray's etchings.
The figure of a jester forms the frontispiece. A placard, which nearly
conceals his person, exhibits the portraits of the three celebrities
who are concerned in the work. The genteel Mr. Fitzroy Yellowplush, in
his footman's livery, with a gold-headed cane in his right hand, has
hold of one arm of the more homely Michael Angelo Titmarsh, who is in
his turn looking up to the ferocious and colossal Major Gahagan, with
whose stride he is absurdly endeavouring to keep pace. The Major's is
a truly terrific figure. The enormous plumes of his high Polish shako,
with the skull and cross-bones in front, are waving in the breeze, as
is his long hair, his pointed moustache, and his spreading beard. His
manly chest is displayed in a tight-fitting cavalry jacket, his
shapely limbs are encased in embroidered tights and heavily tasseled
Hessians, a sabre as tall as Titmarsh reposes on his stalwart arm, and
altogether he appears some nine feet high.
The trio, thus marching hand in hand together, are supposed to be on
the very verge of immortality, which, in the sketch, uncommonly
resembles a precipice.
The other illustrations of the two small volumes, all of which are
printed in a warm sepia tint, consist of 'Mrs. Shum's Ejectment;' Mr.
Deuceace paying for his Papa's Cigars;' 'Mr. Deuceace's disinterested
Declaration;' 'Mr. Yellowplush displaying his Credentials' (his plush
garments to wit); 'Major Gahagan, from the great portrait by Titmarsh,
in the gallery of H.H. the Nawaub of Budge Budge;' 'The Major
discovering the Infidelity of Mrs. Chowder Loll' (where his
tremendous figure is striding across the 'tattees,' through a window,
into the very midst of the disconcerted family); 'The Major's
Interview with a Celebrated Character' (no less a personage than the
Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, who is on tip-toe, dressed in the
historical little cocked-hat and grey coat, trying to put his small
figure more on a level with the overwhelming Gahagan: in the
background an English general of the period, dressed in a
crescent-shaped cocked-hat and plume, a tight long coat, with
swallow-tails reaching to his heels, and white ducks split over the
boots, with a telescope under his arm, is in conversation with one of
the fierce-looking French Marshals); 'The Major in the Tent of Puttee
Rouge' (a terrifying figure, disguised in black paint, affectionately
hugging a whisky-jar of considerable dimensions).
The episode of the 'Professor' affords the artist a favourable
subject, which he treats with full comic force--' Mr. Dando declares
his Name and Quality.' It may be remembered that the oyster-eater has
taken advantage of the absence of the proprietor to obtain an
unlimited supply of his favourite bivalves at an oyster-room, where
the mistress did not recognise her unprincipled customer, but was even
so confiding as to send out for brandy-and-water in liberal proportion
to the oysters consumed by this scourge of supper-rooms. The
unfortunate proprietor has just returned in time to learn a
description of the business which has been done in his absence; in
some fear he is bringing in his bill, the while he is tying on his
professional apron. Mr. Dando is seated majestically on the table,
according to Thackeray's picture of the scene; swinging his legs about
in a semi-intoxicated state, and picking his teeth, in an unconcerned
and self-possessed manner, with an oyster-knife; a pile of shells,
sufficient for many grottoes, are at his feet, while the
horror-stricken servants are gathering other shells scattered around.
The professor is supposed to have just met the reasonable demand for
payment made by the deluded master of the establishment with a yell of
tipsy laughter, and the announcement that his name is _Dando_, and
that he never pays! Above his head may be read the comforting
intelligence that a great reduction is made on taking a quantity, to
which advantage Dando is very obviously entitled.
The last plate ('Bedford Row Conspiracy'), 'Mr. Perkins discovered in
the Zoological Gardens,' depicts Mr. John Perkins standing, with the
fair Lucy Gorgon, on the parapet which surrounds the bearpit at the
Zoological Gardens. The lady's hands are placed on the gentleman's
shoulder, his arm is round her waist, she being somewhat timid, and he
is encouraging her to jump down--into his fond arms. She obeys him,
and jumps plump into the awful presence of her aunt and guardian, Lady
Gorgon, who is at the head of a neat little train, consisting of three
Miss Gorgons, Master Gorgon, a French governess, and a footman
carrying a poodle, all of whom had listened for some minutes to the
billings and cooings of this imprudent young pair.
[Illustration: Prepared!]
[Illustration: Original Studies of Halberdiers of the Georgian Era]
The last story reprinted in this series is 'The Fatal Boots,' which
appears without any pictures, the artist and author modestly declaring
that, as this edifying narrative originally appeared with George
Cruikshank's illustrations (in the 'Comic Almanack' for 1839), he is
not inclined to provoke comparisons between the works of that eminent
designer and his own.
* * * * *
Allusions to caricature-drawing are frequent throughout Thackeray's
works, and he delighted to bring the young art-amateur on his scenes.
[Illustration]
With pencil as with pen, he had the power of carrying the mind back to
the days of the early essayists, and his reconstructive skill is
remarkable when he draws the picture of the times in which his rich
fancy and his taste for antiquarian completeness found the most
delightful materials.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
We follow the artist's quaint vein of humour and realism from the
little sketches of chivalry--the heroes of knight-errantry,
Crusaders, Saracens, and the more romantic personages--which amused
him in his boyhood, to his spirited studies illustrative of the days
when Dick Steele's 'Tatler' was beginning to be talked about as a
paper which contained a very unusual amount of entertainment, from its
whimsical combination of sterling wit and truth to nature. Thackeray
was peculiarly at home in the times of Queen Anne. We find his pencil
busy reproducing the figures of personages who moved in the world
under the early Georges; and the reign of the third George was as
intimately familiar to him, in all details of value, as if he had
lived through the triumphs, struggles, and disasters in which his
own writings revive a stronger interest. We enjoy his researches
through the great eras of England's history, when Washington led the
revolted colonies to independence, when Pitt and Toryism waged war in
the Senate with Fox and the friends of liberty, when the fever of
Revolution arose in France, and threatened to infect our own land, and
when the 'Corsican' was driven down to the death.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Waterloo had a strong claim on Thackeray's interest; he is partial to
alluding to the critical point of our history, as all the reading
world well knows.
It must be conceded that the chief incident of 'Vanity Fair' leads up
to the great battle. References to the famous field occur in many
portions of his gossip or travels, while figures are borrowed from
this event to carry out the arguments of his novels and lesser essays
under all sorts of circumstances.
[Illustration]
Even in 'Philip,' which deals with a later period, we are carried back
to that stirring epoch. For instance, there is that disreputable old
Gann, the tipsy father of Mrs. Brandon, whose acquaintance we made
originally in the 'Shabby Genteel Story.' It was always a matter of
doubt how this worthy came by his rank of Captain, which was supposed
to have had its rise somehow in connection with the Spanish Legion;
but, at all events, he had borne the distinction so long, that none of
his friends dreamt of investigating the title.
[Illustration]
The costume affected by 'bucks,' when Thackeray was a young man of
fashion, comes down to us as preserved in his sketches as something
very modish and singular, in which the taste and style seem nearly as
quaint and distant as the knee breeches and square skirts of the last
century.
'Titmarsh,' who had the courage to dedicate the 'Paris Sketch-Book' to
a generous French tailor, was himself an authority on dress; and,
although above all pretensions to 'faddery and foppery,' was
accustomed to scrutinise closely not only men, but the habits they
wore.
The reader may confirm what we have just said, if he will turn to the
vigorous and whimsical articles on 'Men and Coats,' which Thackeray
penned in his younger days.
There is a fine specimen of freedom and independence of convention in
many of Thackeray's early writings, especially in those slashing,
downright papers which Titmarsh contributed to the magazines, chiefly
from the French capital, about the 'Paris Sketch-Book' period.
[Illustration: A Buck of the Old School]
[Illustration: Heads of the People]
In those days of Bohemian license there was a fine sterling ring about
Thackeray's outspoken sentiments. In his manly freedom he cared little
whether the slashing sentences gave offence or not.
[Illustration: Danger!]
Criticising the paintings in the Louvre in a paper on 'Men and
Pictures,' we find the young art-student riding an audacious
tournament against conventionalisms. He takes very candid exception to
the practice of surrounding the heads of translated beings, and
particularly angels, with an invariable halo of gold leaf. He happens
to remember that stage tradition was always wont to dress the
gravedigger in 'Hamlet' in fifteen or sixteen waistcoats, all of which
are consecutively removed; and he presumes this ancient usage is
founded on some very early custom, real or supposititious, to depart
from which would savour of profane innovation.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Princess and the Frog]
Another favourite bent of Thackeray's humour was the illustration of
books of fiction. He confessed he longed to write a story-book in
which generations upon generations of schoolboys should revel with
delight, and which should be filled with the most wonderful and
mirthful pictures. The illustrations on this and the preceding page
may serve to show what he might have done had he not more especially
devoted himself to literary work.
[Illustration: Heads of the People]
[Illustration: Frontispiece to Murray's 'Official Handbook of Church
and State']
[Illustration: The Legislature and Officers of the Houses of
Parliament]
The facile character of Thackeray's pencil was remarkable; the
numerous sketches he left, and which in all probability, from the
circumstances of their ownership, will never in our day gratify a
public who would appreciate their publication, attest his versatile
industry. No subject came amiss to his hand; the most unsuggestive
works were to him rich in opportunities for whimsical parody.
[Illustration: The House of Commons]
[Illustration: Reduction of the National Debt.--Office, Old Jewry
The Commissioners were originally appointed under the Statute of 26
Geo. III. c. i. In that year a more active scheme was proposed for the
diminution of the National Debt, by the appropriation of one million
per annum to the Sinking Fund, and the moneys devoted to this end were
vested in the Commissioners, and placed under their management.]
[Illustration: General Board of Health, Parliament Street]
[Illustration: Clerk of the Petty Bag. Petty Bag Office, Rolls Yard]
[Illustration: Groom in Waiting.
The Lord Chamberlain's Department, Office, Stable Yard, St. James's
Palace]
No one can say the number of books, papers, scraps, &c., to which an
intrinsic value has been contributed by the great humourist's
_penchant_ for exercising his graphic fancy.
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTE:
[31] _North British Review_, vol. xl., Feb. 1864.