John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]. Frith William Powell

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СКАЧАТЬ sex will agree with me when I say that there are few more uncomfortable, not to say alarming, moments than those spent in the awful interview with the parents of his beloved, during which he has to prove beyond all doubt that he is in every respect an individual to whom the happiness of a “dear child” can be safely entrusted. What a bad quarter of an hour that is before the meeting, when he has grave doubts as to the sufficiency of his income! Will it, with other future possibilities, be considered sufficient to assure to “my daughter, sir, the comforts to which she has been accustomed”? This he will have to answer satisfactorily, together with a few score more questions more or less agonizing. Leech drew a scene of common application when he produced the picture that follows, which he calls “Rather Alarming” – “On Horror’s Head, Horrors accumulate.” Look at that terrible female and prospective mother-in-law! – think of satisfying such a woman that you are worthy of admission into her family! How sincerely one pities that poor little Corydon, and how heartily one wishes him success!

“Rather Alarming.”

      Lady: “You wished, sir, I believe, to see me respecting the state of my daughter’s affections with a view to a matrimonial alliance with that young lady. If you will walk into the library, my husband and I will discuss the matter with you.”

      Young Corydon: “Oh, gracious!”

      Leech treats – how admirably! – another greedy boy, or, rather, two greedy boys.

      Jacky: “Hallo, Tommy! what ’ave you got there?”

      Tommy: “Hoyster!”

      Jacky: “Oh, give us a bit!”

      A Calais oyster, no doubt – large enough for both; but Tommy will not share his happiness. Intensity of expression pervades him from his open mouth to his fingers’ ends. Jacky’s face and figure are no less expressive of eagerness to join in the banquet.

      If ever man suffered from embarras de richesse, I am that individual in making a selection from the early drawings of Leech; where all, or nearly all, are so perfect, choice becomes difficult indeed. I cannot resist, however, the one that follows this remark. For perfection of character and richness of humour, it seems to me unsurpassable. The doctor’s attitude as he contemplates his victim – who seems to have brought with her the huge empty physic-bottles to prove that she has taken all her “stuff” – to say nothing of his startling individuality, is Nature itself; and that immortal pupil with the big knife, smiling in anticipation of the operation “to-morrow about eleven”! One can read on the face of the patient a dull realization of the doctor’s announcement that only a seton in the back of her neck – whatever that may mean to her – will be of any service now; and to render the operation successful, she must have her head shaved.

      The statue of the Duke of Wellington, which so long disgraced Hyde Park Corner, has disappeared, to the satisfaction of the world in general, though there were, I believe, a few dissentients who saw, or said they saw, beauty in one of the most hideous objects ever perpetrated by the hand of man; yet the “ayes had it,” and the monster has departed.

      The effigy was manufactured in a studio near Paddington Green, and it was on its journey through the Edgware Road to the arch now on Constitution Hill that the gentleman in Leech’s cartoon was startled by a very remarkable object, to say the least of it.

      Speaking from my own experience, I have always found a difficulty in giving the effect of wind in a picture; the action of it on drapery, trees, skies, etc., is – from the almost momentary nature of the gusts – far from an easy task. No one who ever handled a brush or a pencil has been so successful as Leech in conveying the action of wind on every object, and never did he succeed more completely than in an “Awful Scene on the Chain Pier at Brighton,” which is, no doubt, somewhat farcical; but how intensely funny! Master Charley has gone, and his ma’s parasol has accompanied him. The horror-struck nursemaid is almost blown off her feet; and Charley’s brother, also terror-stricken, will be down on his back in a moment; whilst his little sister maintains her equilibrium with great difficulty. The flying hat, and the couple staggering against the blast in the distance, all help to realize for us the exact effect of a wind-storm.

      Nursemaid: “Lawk! there goes Charley, and he’s took his ma’s parasol! What will missus say?”

      Waiter: “Gent in No. 4 likes a holder and a thinner wine, does he? I wonder how he’ll like this bin!”

      As there is no condition in life that has not proved food for Leech’s pencil, that of the waiter was fruitful in many never-to-be-forgotten scenes. I introduce one which is very humorous, and scarcely an exaggeration. It is called “How to Suit the Taste.” A guest seems to have found his port too new and strong.

      One of the peculiarities of Leech’s art is that “time cannot wither it, nor custom stale its infinite variety.” I defy the most serious Scotchman to look at the sketch below without laughing at it. As the gentleman who is on the highroad to being parboiled is in one of the sketches of 1846, many of my readers may see him for the first time. I envy that man; but though I am very familiar with the wonderful little drawing, a renewed acquaintance is always a delight to me. We know the bather can jump out of the scalding water when he likes, but there he is, with clouds of steam rising about him, screaming in deadly terror for “somebody” to come to his rescue.

      Better-Half (loq.): “Is this what you call sitting up with a sick friend, Mr. Wilkins?”

      Here follows a drawing of a different character, opening up very appreciable possibilities, and not very pleasant consequences for the hero of the piece. Mr. Wilkins left the domestic hearth to sit up with a sick friend. “Yes, my dear,” I can hear him say to his spouse, “I may be late; for if I find I can comfort the poor fellow by my conversation, I cannot find it in my heart to hurry away from him.” Wicked Mr. Wilkins! What was there wrong in going to a masquerade? and if it was criminal to do so, why leave the evidence of your guilt where Mrs. W. could find it? Was that a lady’s mask? In the eyes of the outraged wife I dare say it was, though it may only have been used to cover the homely features of the deceiver, whose pale face and empty soda-water bottle plainly prove that the evening’s entertainment will not bear the morning’s reflections.

      Juvenile: “I say, Charley, that’s a jeuced fine gurl talking to young Fipps! I should like to catch her under the mistletoe.”

      The first drawings of “The Rising Generation,” in which are portrayed the premature affections and the amusing affectations of the manners and sayings of their elders that, according to Leech, distinguished the jeunesse doré of England, appeared in 1846, and have been so admirably described by Dickens elsewhere as to leave me only the task of placing some of the drawings before the reader, carefully avoiding those the great writer has noticed so felicitously. The young gentleman in the drawing introduced here would like to catch the pretty creature talking to the fascinating young man under the mistletoe, no doubt! We know his wicked intentions; but how would he carry them out? He is not tall enough to reach the lady’s elbow; but love in such passionate natures laughs at difficulties, and he will find a way; and he calls a man old enough to be his father young Fipps! Delightful little dog! and no less delightful is his friend Charley, who smiles encouragement, and would do likewise. These works of Leech possess what it is not too much to call an historical interest, as they chronicle truly the dresses of the time. In the object of our young friend’s admiration, I fancy I see the approach of crinoline, while her ringlets afford a striking contrast to the fringes of the present day. An old lady would now create a sensation indeed if she appeared in a turban like that which bedecks the sitting figure.

      Juvenile: “Uncle!”

      Uncle: “Now, then, what is it? This is the fourth time you’ve woke me up, sir.”

      Juvenile: СКАЧАТЬ