1877-1878
THE TRIUMPH OF ‘UNDER THE WINDOW’: ROYAL ACADEMY—MR. AND MRS.
EDMUND EVANS—MR. EVANS’S COLOUR-PRINTING—JOHN RUSKIN ON KATE
GREENAWAY—‘TOPO’—RANDOLPH CALDECOTT, AND MR. WALTER CRANE.
[Illustration]
So far Kate had been going through the usual experiences of the
free-lance who with pen or pencil in hand sets forth to win recognition
from the public. Public taste is the hardest thing in the world to
gauge by those who would be original according to their talents, and
harder still is it to arrest attention, save by gasconades of which she
certainly was wholly incapable. Hitherto she had been the servant eager
to please the whim of her master, but the time was coming when she
would call the tune and the public would delight to dance to it.
Kate Greenaway was now in her thirty-third year, and, though fairly
prosperous, could scarcely consider herself successful. Commissions
were certainly coming in faster and faster, and in 1877, when she took
her studio to College Place, Liverpool Road, Islington, her earnings
had nearly reached £300; but she had not yet made any great individual
mark. She appeared in the Royal Academy Exhibition and sold her picture
‘Musing’ for twenty guineas. She was a recognised contributor to the
Dudley Gallery, and was pretty sure of buyers there. She was getting
more or less regular employment on the _Illustrated London News_. She
had been asked by Mr. W. L. Thomas of the newly established _Graphic_
to provide him with a running pictorial full-page story after the
manner of Caldecott, and had succeeded in satisfying his fastidious
taste, though the first sketch-plan which she sent seemed to him
lacking in humour. ‘They strike me,’ he wrote, ‘as being a little
solemn in tone.’ But this defect was soon rectified, and the result was
so greatly admired that it led to many further commissions from the
artist-editor.
These were gratifying and encouraging results, but in Kate’s opinion
they were but the prizes of the successful artist-hack. Her name had
not yet passed into the mouth of the town. Though she had drawn many
charming pictures, she had not yet drawn the public.
What was true of the public was true of the publishers. Though Messrs.
Marcus Ward of Belfast had seen the possibilities that lay in her
designs for valentines, Christmas cards, and the like, and had achieved
a real success by their publication, Kate was but yet only the power
behind the throne. She was the hidden mainspring of a clock with
the maker’s name upon the dial. Now all this was to be changed by a
business arrangement, almost amounting to a partnership, in which she
was to take her full share of the credit as well as of the spoil.
The story will be best told in the words of the man who so boldly
backed his opinion as to print a first edition of 20,000 copies of
a six-shilling book written and illustrated by a young lady who
could hardly yet be said to have commanded anything like wide public
approval. This was Mr. Edmund Evans.
Mr. Edmund Evans was primarily a colour-printer; his wood-engraving
department was subsidiary. For the purposes of his business he owned
a good many machines; he had three houses full of them in the City,
and he was sometimes puzzled to find work to keep them going, to
do which is at the root of commercial economy and success in his
business. He printed most of the ‘yellow-backs’ of the time, covers for
books as well as for small magazines of a semi-religious character,
working-men’s magazines, and so forth, all with much colour-work in
them. Mr. Evans also executed much high-class work of the kind, such
as Doyle’s _Chronicles of England_, which had done much to make his
reputation. Therefore, to fill up the spare time during which his
machines would otherwise be idle, he began publishing the toy-books
of Mr. Walter Crane, then those of Randolph Caldecott, and finally he
turned his attention to Miss Kate Greenaway.
It should be recorded to the credit of Mr. Evans that he excelled all
others in the skill with which he produced his colour-effects with a
small number of printings. Mr. John Greenaway, himself an expert in the
preparation of blocks for colour-printing, as well as an artist of much
intelligence, used to declare that no other firm in London could come
near the result that Edmund Evans would get with as few, say, as three
colour-blocks, so wonderful was his ingenuity, so great his artistic
taste, and so accurate his eye.
Mr. Evans informs us:
I had known John Greenaway, father of K. G.,[12] since I was fourteen
years of age. He was an assistant engraver to Ebenezer Landells,[13]
to whom I was apprenticed. I knew he was having one of his daughters
educated for the musical profession and another for drawing. I had only
seen engravings made from drawings on wood by ‘K. G.’ for Cassell & Co.,
as well as some Christmas cards by Marcus Ward & Co. from water-colour
drawings of very quaint little figures of children. Very beautiful they
were, for they were beautifully lithographed.
About 1877-78 K. G. came to see us at Witley, bringing a collection of
about fifty drawings she had made, with quaint verses written to them. I
was fascinated with the originality of the drawings and the ideas of the
verse, so I at once purchased them and determined to reproduce them in a
little volume. The title _Under the Window_ was selected afterwards from
one of the first lines. At the suggestion of George Routledge & Sons I
took the drawings and verses to Frederick Locker, the author of _London
Lyrics_, to ‘look over’ the verses, not to rewrite them, but only to
correct a few oddities which George Routledge & Sons did not quite like
or understand. Locker was very much taken with the drawings and the
verses, and showed them to Mrs. Locker with quite a gusto; he asked me
many questions about her, and was evidently interested in what I told
him of her. I do not think that he did anything to improve the verses,
nor did K. G. herself.
Locker soon made her acquaintance and introduced her into some very good
society. She often stayed with them at Rowfant, Sussex, and also at
Cromer.
George Eliot was at the time staying at Witley. She called on us one
day and saw the drawings and was much charmed with them. A little time
afterwards I wrote to George Eliot to ask if she would write me a short
story of, or about, children suitable for K. G. to illustrate. Her
reason for refusing was interesting:—
‘THE HEIGHTS, WITLEY,
_October 22, 1879_.
‘Dear Mr. Evans—It is not my way to write anything except from my own
inward prompting. Your proposal does me honour, and I should feel much
trust in the charming pencil of Miss Greenaway, but I could never say
“I will write this or that” until I had myself felt the need to do
it....—Believe me, dear Mr. Evans, yours most sincerely,
M. E. LEWES.’
After I had engraved the blocks and colour-blocks, I printed the first
edition of 20,000 copies, and was ridiculed by the publishers for
risking such a large edition of a six-shilling book; but the edition
sold before I could reprint another edition; in the meantime copies were
sold at a premium. Reprinting kept on till 70,000 was reached.[14]
I volunteered to give K. G. one-third of the profit of this book. It was
published in the autumn of 1879. We decided to publish _The Birthday
Book for Children_ in 1880. Miss Greenaway considered that she should
have half the profits of all books we might do together in future, and
that I should return to her the original drawings after I had paid
her for them and reproduced them. To both these terms I willingly
agreed.[15] ... Then came the _Birthday Book_, _Mother Goose_, and
part of _A Day in a Child’s Life_, in 1881; _Little Ann_, 1883; the
_Language of Flowers_, _Kate Greenaway’s Painting-Book_, and _Mavor’s
Spelling-Book_, 1884-85; _Marigold Garden_ and _A Apple Pie_, 1886;
_The Queen of The Pirate Isle_ and _The Pied Piper of Hamelin_, 1887;
_The Book of Games_, 1888; _King Pepito_, 1889. Besides the above and a
certain number of smaller issues, minor works, and detached designs, the
artist was responsible for an Almanack from 1883 to 1897, with the sole
exception of the year 1896.
The books named above are those which we did together.
There is a little story my daughter Lily tells of her tenderness towards
animals. She was walking one day and came upon a stream with a rat
sitting on a stone. Lily wished to startle it, and was about to throw a
stone in the water, but K. G. exclaimed—‘Oh, don’t, Lily, perhaps it’s
ill!’ We all loved her.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE MODEL.
_From a water-colour drawing in the possession of Mrs. F. St. G.
Whitly._]
This interesting account of what is one of the most important events
in Kate’s life may be supplemented by the following charming sketch
taken from an article written by Mrs. Edmund Evans at the request of
the editor of the _Girl’s Own Paper_, shortly after her death. It was
published on December 26, 1901, together with a photograph of the
artist taken by Miss Lily Evans and four pen-and-ink drawings done by
Kate Greenaway for the Evans children. Miss Lily Evans was Mr. Evans’s
second daughter and a special favourite with Kate Greenaway, who
dedicated _Mother Goose_ to ‘Lily and Eddie’ (Kate Greenaway’s nephew),
‘the two children she loved most in the world.’
Kate Greenaway (wrote Mrs. Evans) had a very interesting personality,
and was extremely fond of the country and of flowers, and could draw
them beautifully, and always liked those best of a more simple form—not
orchids nor begonias; she loved daffodils and roses, and few things gave
her more pleasure than a copse yellow with primroses. Her favourite time
of year was when apple trees were in blossom; she especially liked them
when they were in the garden of a picturesque farm or cottage. One such
cottage at Hambledon, Surrey, she particularly admired, where a green
door had faded to a peacock blue. She liked only blue and white skies;
stormy effects gave her no pleasure.... ‘The sincerest form of flattery’
(imitation) annoyed her, and did her reputation harm, as her many
imitators went beyond, in fact out-Kate-Greenawayed Kate Greenaway in
their caricatures, and many people did not know one from the other. She
herself was waiting in a bookseller’s shop at Hastings, and a lady came
in and asked for Kate Greenaway’s books. The shopman spread a handful
out before her. The lady asked, ‘Are those all by Kate Greenaway?’ The
man assured her they were. Kate Greenaway was near enough to see that
not one was her work.
She had a very affectionate nature, very tender-hearted—seeing even
an insect in pain wounded her. She could not tolerate flies caught
in traps, or see a beetle or a spider killed. Seeing a mouse in a
trap tempted her to set it free; in fact, the ‘cruelty of nature’ in
the animal world quite troubled her. (She could not understand it or
reconcile it with the goodness of God.[16]) Dogs and cats recognised
this quality by showing their devotion and imposing on her good-nature.
She would never even scold them. This was simply kindness—not
indicating a weak nature. She was a decidedly strong-minded woman.
Of Kate Greenaway’s letters Mrs. Evans writes:—
I am sorry now I did not keep her letters. They were often very
interesting and unlike ordinary people’s, but when I had a great many it
did not seem worth while, and I never do keep letters. As you know, she
was so unassuming and homely, and liked our unostentatious way of living
so much, it was difficult to realise she was a celebrated person.
Here, however, is one which has escaped destruction:—
KATE GREENAWAY TO MRS. EVANS
[Undated.]
Dear Mrs. Evans—The flowers came quite safely. I am always so pleased
when the postman brings the little box. How strange and beautiful the
daffodil is—I never saw one like it before. Also thank W. for the
snowdrops.
The party was not very lively, only a few children. The songs sounded so
well. The 12 Miss Pelicoes very funny, and the procession song pretty.
Also there was an æsthetic artist there—real genuine sort—who drank in
the Elgin marbles for recreation. No wonder du Maurier hates them.
The other day I heard I was sixty!—to-day I hear I am making £2000 a
year!
I don’t think you’d find it worth while to come up for the Dudley. I
like to meet the people, of course; they are very funny. I saw Mrs.——
the other day at the Old Masters’ in a crimson velvet pelisse; everybody
stared and smiled. She is very pretty, but so much commoner than
Mrs.——.—— With love,
K. GREENAWAY.
Of _Under the Window_, which was published at the end of 1878, it
is no exaggeration to say that it was epoch-making; its popularity
was such that Kate tasted the bitter-sweet experience—shared in
our own time by Frederick Sandys in respect of his great skit on
Millais’s ‘Sir Isumbras at the Ford,’ and by Mr. Brandon Thomas in
respect of _Charley’s Aunt_—of finding her work coolly appropriated
by others. One—a lady of Twickenham—calmly gave herself out as the
artist-author, explaining that she had preferred to issue her work
under an assumed name. To enter into an elaborate description of the
book would be superfluous, for it still holds its place in every
properly constituted children’s library, and should be constantly
taken out for renewed inspection. So, too, would it be superfluous
to make extensive quotations from the eulogiums of the reviewers. We
may content ourselves with the following prophecy from the _Saturday
Review_, which seems now to be within measure of its fulfilment.
‘In time,’ the writer says, ‘the hands of children will wear away,
and their pencils and paint-brushes deface Miss Kate Greenaway’s
beautiful, fantastic, and dainty work _Under the Window_. Probably some
wise collector will lay up a little stock for future use while the
impressions are in their first freshness. His treasure will come to be
as valuable as that parcel of unbound and uncut Elzevirs which Mottley
found in Hungary, and which, after filling the hearts of bibliophiles
with joy for years, was burned by the Commune.’
There are, however, one or two facts connected with the book which
demand attention. In the first place, it must be borne in mind that
from this moment Kate Greenaway’s name became a household word, not
only in Great Britain, but in a vast number of homes on the continents
of Europe and America. In the second place, that now for the first time
she was not hampered in her published work by adapting her fancy to the
literary ideas of other people, but was inspired by subjects which came
red-hot from the furnace of her own imagination.
This is a matter of no little importance. It is clear that the ideal
illustrator of a literary idea, if only the technical skill is not
wanting, is the person to whose mind that idea first presents itself.
In the mind of any other the conception is but a second-hand affair,
and but the reflection, more or less accurate, of the original,
conveyed on to the mental retina of the artist through the somewhat
opaque medium of language. The writer alone knows exactly what he
means and what he wants. His pencil may be unskilled, but it is nerved
by the original thought. ‘I wish to goodness I could put it upon
paper myself,’ said Barham to Bentley, writing about an illustration
for the _Mousquetaire_, even while Cruikshank and Leech were at his
service. It is because Thackeray had the double gift that his drawings,
although so weak in execution, yet so evidently imbued with the living
literary inspiration, so greatly commend themselves to those who
look for genuine sincerity of inspiration, and not only for beauty
of composition and execution. That is why the world revelled in du
Maurier’s _Peter Ibbetson_ and _Trilby_, and why Blake’s _Songs of
Innocence and Experience_ is one of the completest and most harmonious
books in existence.
What Blake did, Kate Greenaway was now enabled to do, in her own
fashion, in _Under the Window_. She was expressing her own literary
thoughts and at the same time treating them pictorially.
One word about her verses, of which more will be said later on. Alone
they would probably not have attracted much serious attention, and
doubtless would have met with criticism. For there are in them faults
of scansion, rhythm, and rhyme which it is easy enough to reprobate.
But their sincerity, gaiety, and feeling appealed to such unimpeachable
judges as Frederick Locker and Mr. Austin Dobson, the latter of whom
declares, ‘She was very deficient in technique, but she had the root of
the matter in her.’ During the last months of her life she found much
pleasure in composing many more of those charming little verses, of
which examples will be found in a later portion of this book.
Here is an amusing sample from _Under the Window_, written for children:
Five little sisters walking in a row;
Now, isn’t that the best way for little girls to go?
Each had a round hat, each had a muff,
And each had a new pelisse of soft green stuff.
Five little marigolds standing in a row;
Now, isn’t that the best way for marigolds to grow?
Each with a green stalk, and all the five had got
A bright yellow flower, and a new red pot.
It must not be supposed that Kate had any illusions about her literary
gifts, or that she placed her own productions on a par with those of
others whose work she illustrated. But she preferred her liberty and
found her pencil better inspired by her own pen than by the pens of
others with whom she was called upon to collaborate. Other verses were
obviously cleverer and daintier than hers, but her own simple thoughts
were more in harmony with her delightful little pictures.
[Illustration: ‘MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB.’
_From a water-colour drawing in the possession of Mrs. Arthur Severn._]
It was not only the critics but the public who acclaimed her, for she
had got at the secret of the beauty and charm of childhood, and the
appeal was universal. As Mr. Lionel Robinson wrote:—
[Illustration: On a Letter to Miss Violet Dickinson.]
The moment selected for striking this note was well chosen. Abroad and
at home the claims of children were asserting themselves more loudly
than ever. German and French artists had alike proved unequal to the
task, notwithstanding the temporary popularity of L. Fröhlich, of
Ludwig Richter, and, in a high degree, of Edouard Frère and others.
Clever as many of these showed themselves, they failed to render the
more transient graces of little children, whilst they were, with the
exception of Frère, apparently indifferent to the bright surroundings
and beauties of nature with which Miss Greenaway heightened the charm
of her work. It is this absolute harmony between the figures and the
landscape which makes her work so complete. Mr. Ruskin devoted one of
his lectures at Oxford to the place occupied by Miss Greenaway in modern
art, and bestowed upon her praise without stint. ‘Observe,’ said he,
‘that what this impressionable person _does_ draw she draws as like as
she can. It is true that the combination or composition of things is
not what you see every day. You can’t every day, for instance, see a
baby thrown into a basket of roses; but when she has once pleasantly
invented that arrangement for you, baby is as like baby and rose as like
rose as she can possibly draw them. And the beauty of them is in being
like, they are blissful just in the degree that they are natural; the
fairyland that she creates for you is not beyond the sky nor beneath the
sea, but near you, even at your doors. She does but show you how to see
it, and how to cherish.’
When the original drawings for _Under the Window_ were exhibited at the
Fine Art Society two years later, the critics vied with one another in
their applause. Ruskin in particular exhausted the splendour of his
vocabulary in his praise of their unaffected beauty, their sweetness
and naïveté, their delicacy of sentiment, subtlety of humour, and the
exquisiteness of technique, and what he added to the artist privately
has already been quoted here. Furthermore Mr. Austin Dobson wrote that
‘since Stothard, no one has given us such a clear-eyed, soft-faced,
happy-hearted childhood; or so poetically “apprehended” the coy
reticences, the simplicities, and the small solemnities of little
people. Added to this, the old-world costume in which she usually
elects to clothe her characters lends an arch piquancy of contrast to
their innocent rites and ceremonies. Her taste in tinting, too, is very
sweet and spring-like; and there is a fresh, pure fragrance about all
her pictures as of new-gathered nosegays.’
Wherefore it is evident that the success was as deserved as it was
instantaneous. Nor was it due only to the fortunate moment chosen
for launching the book. There was at least one other felicitous
circumstance: Miss Greenaway was exceptionally fortunate in her
interpreter, who had brought colour-printing by means of wood blocks to
a pitch of excellence never before attempted. A description, therefore,
of the process is of exceptional interest. The following account of the
method is taken from notes supplied by Mr. Edmund Evans himself.
In the first place, a photograph is taken and printed on the whitened
surface of the wood from the original drawing in line. This is engraved
as faithfully as possible, no notice being taken at this stage of
colour. From the engraving thus made ‘transfers,’ ‘sets off,’ or
‘proofs’ are pulled in dark brown or black ink. These, laid face
downwards on the blocks prepared for the colour printing, which equal
in number the colours to be used, are passed through the press. By
this means the wet ink is transferred and set-off on to the blocks,
and a number of facsimiles of the original drawing are ready for the
engraver, who prepares for his work by painting-in, on each, that part
of the tinting which is to be printed from that particular block. On
one he paints in all the red that is to be used and engraves so much on
that block, on the next all the blue that is to be used and engraves so
much on that block, and so on until all the colours are represented,
some of them overlapping or superimposed where they have to cross and
modify other colours. Then the engraver sets to work with his engraving
until he has prepared a separate block for each colour. In theory of
course a proof printed from each block should exactly reproduce the
blue, red, and other colours used in the original picture, but, ‘alas,’
as Mr. Evans says, ‘the eye, brain, and hand of the engraver are not up
to the eye, brain, and hand of the painter,’ so that the print suffers
by comparison. No doubt the coloured inks can be ground and mixed as
surely as by the painter on his palette, but the mechanical print must
ever come short of the nerve-driven original. When all the proofs
taken from the several blocks are pronounced satisfactory, a print is
taken from the key block. Upon that is superimposed a print from the
other blocks charged each with its properly coloured ink, the greatest
care being taken to get the ‘register’ correct—that is to say, that
each block is printed accurately in its place upon the paper with
relation to those which have gone before. From this it will be seen
how important it is that the colours used should be as few as possible
so as to keep within bounds the cost of engraving and to simplify the
difficulties of printing. Of course, had Kate Greenaway worked in the
twentieth century, the conditions would have been altogether different.
Now coloured wood-engravings have been almost wholly superseded by the
‘Three-Colour Process,’ which owes its rise to the possibilities which
have been found to lie in the use of filtering screens, bichromate of
potash, and metal plates—possibilities of which full advantage has
been taken in this volume.
[Illustration: BUBBLES
‘See the pretty planet!
Floating sphere!
Faintest breeze will fan it
Far or near.’
From a pen and water-colour drawing by Kate Greenaway in the
possession of the Hon. Gerald Ponsonby, being an illustration for
_Rhymes for the Young Folk_, by William Allingham (Cassell & Co.),
here reproduced in two methods (by permission of Messrs. Frederick
Warne & Co.) for the sake of comparison.
1 (on left).—Engraved on 8 wood-blocks and printed by Mr. Edmund Evans.
The brighter, yellower tone is adopted probably by subsequent direction
of the artist.
2 (on right).—A true facsimile of the drawing, executed by the
‘three-colour process.’
_N.B._—A single large bubble was afterwards substituted by way of
correction before publication, the poem which the drawing was to
illustrate being entitled ‘The Bubble.’]
Even with these advantages, we cannot entirely reproduce the daintiness
and incisiveness of her drawing, the transparency and brilliancy of
her colouring, the microscopic touch of the stipple, the delicacy of
the greys, and the inexpressible charm of the whole. The three-colour
process at its best is, after all, mechanical, and just falls short
of giving ‘the spider’s touch, so delicately fine,’ which ‘feels at
each thread and lives along the line.’ Near to perfection it has got,
especially when dealing with full-coloured drawings, but it cannot be
said that any one who has not seen the originals can estimate to the
full the charm and daintiness of these pictures, which seem to have
been blown rather than painted on to the paper. Bartolozzi with his
clever graver doubtless improved the work of those for whom he acted as
middleman, but it would have taken a greater than Bartolozzi to have
bettered (except in the academic quality of the drawing) the work of
Kate Greenaway. In his ‘Lecture on Mrs. Allingham and Kate Greenaway’
in _The Art of England_ (published by Mr. George Allen) Ruskin said:
I may best indicate to you the grasp which the genius of Miss Kate
Greenaway has taken upon the spirits of foreign lands, no less than
her own, by translating the last paragraph of the entirely candid, and
intimately observant, review of modern English art given by Monsieur
Ernest Chesneau, in his small volume, _La Peinture Anglaise_....
He gives first a lovely passage (too long to introduce now) upon the
gentleness of the satire of John Leech, as opposed to the bitter
malignity of former caricature. Then he goes on: ‘The great softening
of the English mind, so manifest already in John Leech, shows itself in
a decisive manner by the enthusiasm with which the public have lately
received the designs of Mr. Walter Crane, Mr. Caldecott, and Miss Kate
Greenaway. The two first-named artists began by addressing to children
the stories of Perrault and of the _Arabian Nights_, translated and
adorned for them in a dazzling manner; and, in the works of all these
three artists, landscape plays an important part;—familiar landscape,
very English, interpreted with a “bonhomie savante”’ (no translating
that), ‘spiritual, decorative in the rarest sense—strange and precious
adaptation of Etruscan art, Flemish and Japanese, reaching, together
with the perfect interpretation of nature, to incomparable chords of
colour harmony. These powers are found in the work of the three, but
Miss Greenaway, with a profound sentiment of love for children, puts the
child alone on the scene, companions him in all his solitudes, and shows
the infantine nature in all its naïveté, its gaucherie, its touching
grace, its shy alarm, its discoveries, ravishments, embarrassments, and
victories; the stumblings of it in wintry ways, the enchanted smiles of
its spring-time, and all the history of its fond heart and guileless
egoism.
‘From the honest but fierce laugh of the coarse Saxon, William Hogarth,
to the delicious smile of Kate Greenaway, there has past a century and
a half. Is it the same people which applauds to-day the sweet genius
and tender malices of the one, and which applauded the bitter genius
and slaughterous satire of the other? After all, that is possible—the
hatred of vice is only another manifestation of the love of innocence.’
...
I have brought with me to-day in the first place some examples of her
pencil sketches in primary design.... You have here for consummate
example, a dance of fairies under a mushroom, which she did under
challenge to show me what fairies were like. ‘They’ll be very like
children,’ she said. I answered that I didn’t mind, and should like to
see them all the same;—so here they are, with a dance, also, of two
girlies, outside of a mushroom; and I don’t know whether the elfins or
girls are the fairyfootedest: and one or two more subjects, which you
may find out;—but in all you will see that the line is ineffably tender
and delicate, and can’t in the least be represented by the lines of a
woodcut.[17] ...
So far of pure outline. Next, for the enrichment of it by colour.
Monsieur Chesneau doubts if the charm of Miss Greenaway’s work can be
carried farther. I answer, with security,—yes, very much farther,
and that in two directions: first, in her own method of design; and
secondly, the manner of its representation in printing.
[Illustration: PENCIL SKETCHES.
_In the possession of Rev. W. J. Loftie, F.S.A._]
First, her own design has been greatly restricted by being too
ornamental, or, in our modern phrase, decorative;—contracted into
any corner of a Christmas card, or stretched like an elastic band
round the edges of an almanac. Now her art is much too good to be
used merely for illumination; it is essentially and perfectly that of
true colour-picture, and that the most naïve and delightful manner of
picture, because, on the simplest terms, it comes nearest reality. No
end of mischief has been done to modern art by the habit of running
semi-pictorial illustration round the margins of ornamental volumes,
and Miss Greenaway has been wasting her strength too sorrowfully in
making the edges of her little birthday-books, and the like, glitter
with unregarded gold, whereas her power should be concentrated in the
direct illustration of connected story, and her pictures should be made
complete on the page, and far more realistic than decorative. There is
no charm so enduring as that of the real representation of any given
scene; her present designs are like living flowers flattened to go into
an herbarium, and sometimes too pretty to be believed. We must ask
her for more descriptive reality, for more convincing simplicity, and
we must get her to organise a school of colourists by hand, who can
absolutely facsimile her own first drawing.
This is the second matter on which I have to insist. I bring with me
to-day twelve of her original drawings, and have mounted beside them,
good impressions of the published prints.
I may heartily congratulate both the publishers and possessors of the
book on the excellence of these; yet if you examine them closely, you
will find that the colour blocks of the print sometimes slip a little
aside, so as to lose the precision of the drawing in important places;
and in many other respects better can be done, in at least a certain
number of chosen copies. I must not, however, detain you to-day by
entering into particulars in this matter. I am content to ask your
sympathy in the endeavour, if I can prevail on the artist to undertake
it.
Only in respect to this and every other question of method in engraving,
observe further that _all_ the drawings I bring you to-day agree in one
thing,—minuteness and delicacy of touch carried to its utmost limit,
visible in its perfectness to the eyes of youth, but neither executed
with a magnifying glass nor, except to aged eyes, needing one. Even
I, at sixty-four, can see the essential qualities of the work without
spectacles; though only the youngest of my friends here can see, for
example, Kate’s fairy dance, perfectly, but _they_ can with their own
bright eyes.
The year 1878, which gave _Under the Window_ to the world, also
produced _Topo: A Tale about English Children in Italy_, written by
Miss Gertrude Blood, afterwards Lady Colin Campbell, who adopted for
the occasion the pen-name of ‘G. E. Brunefille,’ ‘with 44 pen-and-ink
Illustrations by Kate Greenaway.’ It was published by Messrs. Marcus
Ward & Co. For the sake of the collector, it may be said that the
first issue was printed on thick and a subsequent issue on thin paper.
The design in black and gold on the green cloth cover was also from
a drawing by Kate Greenaway. The full-page frontispiece is printed
in green and gold; the rest of the illustrations are wood-engravings
incorporated in the text. Of these the little girl on p. 17, the
singing boy and smallest singing girl on p. 24, the little boy in
his night-shirt on p. 31, and the choir boys on p. 45 are admirable,
notwithstanding the poor printing. Apart from these, the illustrations
are of no great account. Indeed, some of the figures are very
indifferent, more particularly the middle of the three children on
p. 52, which not only is very poor in the legs and feet (a constant
difficulty with Kate through life), but is curiously faulty in its
relation to the leading figure.
Concerning the book Lady Colin Campbell has supplied the following
information:—
The child’s book, _Topo: or Summer Life in Italy_, which she
illustrated, I wrote when I was only fifteen, so of course there was no
need for her to write to a child-author. The chief point of interest is
not only the beauty of the drawings, but also that it was the first book
she had ever illustrated.[18]—before that she had only done calendars
and Christmas cards, etc., for Marcus Ward & Co. Marcus Ward & Co.
agreed to pay me £5, for the book, and they were so pleased with it that
they sent me £10, which I should think was the only case on record of a
publisher doubling the price in an author’s favour without being asked.
For the illustrations, Mr. William Marcus Ward tells us, Kate Greenaway
made innumerable sketches—was indeed tireless in her determination
to do the best for her text. These preliminary designs were thrown
off with amazing rapidity, ‘almost as quickly as they could be talked
about.’ Those rejected she would ruthlessly tear up or beg him to do
so. For the donkey she made at least a dozen drawings, but with no
success, and finally had to submit to the mortification of the animal
being drawn by some one else.
This year Kate was represented at the Academy by her ‘Little Girl with
Doll,’ while two of her pictures at the Dudley Gallery sold for fifteen
guineas and fifteen pounds respectively, her gross takings from this
source being nearly fifty pounds. Now, too, began her connection with
the Scribners, for whom she worked for several years. From this time
forward her accounts, to those who enjoy figures, make very cheerful
reading. In 1878 she earned nearly £550, in 1879 over £800, in 1880
rather more, and in 1881 over £1500, the enormous rise being due to the
accumulating royalties on the books engraved and printed by Mr. Evans
and published by George Routledge & Sons.
[Illustration: SKIT IN THE KATE GREENAWAY MANNER BY RANDOLPH CALDECOTT.]
At this time Randolph Caldecott, born in the same year as Kate
Greenaway, was at once her rival in the affections of the young people
of the ‘seventies and ‘eighties, her competitor on the publishers’
prospectuses, and her admiring friend and helpful comrade. A story
is told of him that one morning, staying with her in the same
country-house (probably that of Mr. and Mrs. Locker-Lampson), he came
down declaring that he had lost all power of working in his own style
and everything came out Kate Greenaways. He then produced a telling
little skit on her manner which so delighted Kate Greenaway that she
preserved it till her dying day.
RANDOLPH CALDECOTT TO KATE GREENAWAY
46, GREAT RUSSELL STREET, BLOOMSBURY,
_September 30, 1878_.
Dear Miss Greenaway—The two children of whom I spoke were recommended
to me by a Mr. Robertson of 6, Britten Street, Chelsea, himself a model.
He seemed to say that he had the power of causing the children to sit.
One is a ‘Saxon boy’ of six years old—called A. Frost; the other is a
‘vivacious girl of an auburn colour’ entitled Minnie Frost.
I do not know anything of Mr. Robertson either as a professional model
or as a private gentleman. He has called on me twice for a few minutes
at each time.
The brown ink of which I discoursed will not, when thickly used with a
pen, keep itself entirely together under the overwhelming influence of
a brush with water-colour. I have found this out to-day. But the liquid
Indian ink used for lines will stand any number of damp assaults. This I
know from much experience.—Believe me, yours very truly,
R. CALDECOTT.
_P.S._—I hope the above information may be of use to you.—R. C.
On the death of Caldecott, Miss Greenaway wrote as follows to Mrs.
Severn:—
50, FROGNAL, HAMPSTEAD, N.W.,
_17th Feb. 1886_.
Dearest Joanie— ... Isn’t it sad about Mr. Caldecott? The last I
heard he was so much better—and now—dead. It looks quite horrid to
see the black-bordered card with his books in the shop windows—it
feels horrid to want to sell his books somehow, just yet. I’m very
sorry....—Good-bye, with dearest love,
KATIE.
The good understanding between the two artists was probably known
outside their own circle, and strange deductions were occasionally
drawn. One day a gentleman said mysteriously to Mr. Rider, the head of
the firm who built Miss Greenaway’s house at Frognal:
‘You know, I suppose, who Kate Greenaway really is?’
‘Perfectly,’ said Mr. Rider.
‘She’s not Kate Greenaway at all,’ said his informant, confidentially,
‘_she’s Mrs. Randolph Caldecott_. I chance to know that she married
Randolph Caldecott’; and Mr. Rider utterly failed to establish the
truth in the mind of his visitor, for it was a belief held by not a few.
On the other hand, with Mr. Walter Crane—with whose name her own
was so often linked in the public mind, as well as in publishers’
announcements—Kate Greenaway had but the slightest acquaintance,
though for his work she entertained unbounded admiration. Mr. Crane
informs us:
I only met her on one occasion, and that was at a play given in Argyll
Street, wherein Tennyson’s second son, Lionel Tennyson, appeared, and in
which the Lockers were interested.
My impressions of Kate Greenaway were of a very quiet and unobtrusive
personality, probably quietly observant, self-contained, reserved, with
a certain shrewdness. She was small and plainly dressed.
In those days it was usual to bracket Kate Greenaway, Randolph
Caldecott, and myself together as special children’s-book providers,
ignoring very great differences of style and aims (ignoring, too, the
fact that I began my series of picture-books more than ten years before
either Caldecott or Miss Greenaway were known to the public). Both those
artists, however, were, I fancy, much more commercially successful than
I was, as, when I began, children’s-book designs were very poorly paid.
I was glad to be of some service to Caldecott when he started his series
through Messrs. Routledge in 1878. My _Baby’s Opera_ was published in
1877 by the same house, and proved so successful that the publishers
wanted me to follow it up immediately with another. Being engaged in
other work, I did not see my way to this; but the publishers were equal
to the emergency, for I was rather startled about Christmas to see
Kate Greenaway’s first book, _Under the Window_, announced by them as
‘companion volume’ to _The Baby’s Opera_. To this I naturally objected
as misleading, and the advertisement was withdrawn.
The grace and charm of her children and young girls were quickly
recognised, and her treatment of quaint early nineteenth-century
costume, prim gardens, and the child-like spirit of her designs
in an old-world atmosphere, though touched with conscious modern
‘æstheticism,’ captivated the public in a remarkable way.
May I confess that (for me at least) I think she overdid the big bonnet
rather, and at one time her little people were almost lost in their
clothes? However, one saw this in the actual life of the day.
I remember Miss Greenaway used to exhibit drawings at the old Dudley
Gallery general exhibition, but her larger, more elaborated studies were
not so happy as her book designs in simple outline tastefully tinted.
Mr. Walter Crane speaks here of their difference of aims. Those who
recall the public discussion between Mr. Crane and Professor Ruskin
on the subject of children’s books will remember that what the former
had greatly in mind was a special appeal to the eyes and artistic
taste of the little ones: his purpose was in a measure educative. Kate
Greenaway, on the other hand, sought for nothing but their unthinking
delight; and whether her aim was higher or lower than that of her
fellow-artist, there was no doubt of the esteem and affection in which
she was now held by all little people as well as by their elders.
[Illustration: Book-plate designed for Godfrey Locker-Lampson.]