Here is, no doubt, the reason why a man, after the period of his boyhood, or first youth, makes so few friends. Want and ambition (new acquaintances which are introduced to him along with his beard) thrust away all other society from him. Some old friends remain, it is true, but these are become as a habit—a part of your selfishness; and, for new ones, they are selfish as you are. Neither member of the new partnership15 has the capital of affection and kindly16 feeling, or can even afford the time that is requisite17 for the establishment of the new firm. Damp and chill the shades of the prison-house begin to close round us, and that "vision splendid" which has accompanied our steps in our journey daily farther from the east, fades away and dies into the light of common day.
And what a common day! what a foggy, dull, shivering apology for light is this kind of muddy twilight18 through which we are about to tramp and flounder for the rest of our existence, wandering farther and farther from the beauty and freshness and from the kindly gushing19 springs of clear gladness that made all around us green in our youth! One wanders and gropes in a slough20 of stock-jobbing, one sinks or rises in a storm of politics, and in either case it is as good to fall as to rise—to mount a bubble on the crest21 of the wave, as to sink a stone to the bottom.
The reader who has seen the name affixed22 to the head of this article scarcely expected to be entertained with a declamation23 upon ingratitude, youth, and the vanity of human pursuits, which may seem at first sight to have little to do with the subject in hand. But (although we reserve the privilege of discoursing24 upon whatever subject shall suit us, and by no means admit the public has any right to ask in our sentences for any meaning, or any connection whatever) it happens that, in this particular instance, there is an undoubted connection. In Susan's case, as recorded by Wordsworth, what connection had the corner of Wood Street with a mountain ascending25, a vision of trees, and a nest by the Dove? Why should the song of a thrush cause bright volumes of vapor26 to glide27 through Lothbury, and a river to flow on through the vale of Cheapside? As she stood at that corner of Wood Street, a mop and a pail in her hand most likely, she heard the bird singing, and straight-way began pining and yearning28 for the days of her youth, forgetting the proper business of the pail and mop. Even so we are moved by the sight of some of Mr. Cruikshank's works—the "Busen fuhlt sich jugendlich erschuttert," the "schwankende Gestalten" of youth flit before one again,—Cruikshank's thrush begins to pipe and carol, as in the days of boyhood; hence misty29 moralities, reflections, and sad and pleasant remembrances arise. He is the friend of the young especially. Have we not read, all the story-books that his wonderful pencil has illustrated30? Did we not forego tarts32, in order to buy his "Breaking-up," or his "Fashionable Monstrosities" of the year eighteen hundred and something? Have we not before us, at this very moment, a print,—one of the admirable "Illustrations of Phrenology"—which entire work was purchased by a joint-stock company of boys, each drawing lots afterwards for the separate prints, and taking his choice in rotation33? The writer of this, too, had the honor of drawing the first lot, and seized immediately upon "Philoprogenitiveness"—a marvellous print (our copy is not at all improved by being colored, which operation we performed on it ourselves)—a marvellous print, indeed,—full of ingenuity34 and fine jovial35 humor. A father, possessor of an enormous nose and family, is surrounded by the latter, who are, some of them, embracing the former. The composition writhes36 and twists about like the Kermes of Rubens. No less than seven little men and women in nightcaps, in frocks, in bibs, in breeches, are clambering about the head, knees, and arms of the man with the nose; their noses, too, are preternaturally developed—the twins in the cradle have noses of the most considerable kind. The second daughter, who is watching them; the youngest but two, who sits squalling in a certain wicker chair; the eldest37 son, who is yawning; the eldest daughter, who is preparing with the gravy38 of two mutton-chops a savory39 dish of Yorkshire pudding for eighteen persons; the youths who are examining her operations (one a literary gentleman, in a remarkably40 neat nightcap and pinafore, who has just had his finger in the pudding); the genius who is at work on the slate41, and the two honest lads who are hugging the good-humored washerwoman, their mother,—all, all, save, this worthy42 woman, have noses of the largest size. Not handsome certainly are they, and yet everybody must be charmed with the picture. It is full of grotesque43 beauty. The artist has at the back of his own skull44, we are certain, a huge bump of philoprogenitiveness. He loves children in his heart; every one of those he has drawn45 is perfectly46 happy, and jovial, and affectionate, and innocent as possible. He makes them with large noses, but he loves them, and you always find something kind in the midst of his humor, and the ugliness redeemed47 by a sly touch of beauty. The smiling mother reconciles one with all the hideous48 family: they have all something of the mother in them—something kind, and generous, and tender.
Knight49's, in Sweeting's Alley50; Fairburn's, in a court off Ludgate Hill; Hone's, in Fleet Street—bright, enchanted51 palaces, which George Cruikshank used to people with grinning, fantastical imps52, and merry, harmless sprites,—where are they? Fairburn's shop knows him no more; not only has Knight disappeared from Sweeting's Alley, but, as we are given to understand, Sweetings Alley has disappeared from the face of the globe. Slop, the atrocious Castlereagh, the sainted Caroline (in a tight pelisse, with feathers in her head), the "Dandy of sixty," who used to glance at us from Hone's friendly windows—where are they? Mr. Cruikshank may have drawn a thousand better things since the days when these were; but they are to us a thousand times more pleasing than anything else he has done. How we used to believe in them! to stray miles out of the way on holidays, in order to ponder for an hour before that delightful53 window in Sweeting's Alley! in walks through Fleet Street, to vanish abruptly54 down Fairburn's passage, and there make one at his "charming gratis55" exhibition. There used to be a crowd round the window in those days, of grinning, good-natured mechanics, who spelt the songs, and spoke56 them out for the benefit of the company, and who received the points of humor with a general sympathizing roar. Where are these people now? You never hear any laughing at HB.; his pictures are a great deal too genteel for that—polite points of wit, which strike one as exceedingly clever and pretty, and cause one to smile in a quiet, gentleman-like kind of way.
There must be no smiling with Cruikshank. A man who does not laugh outright57 is a dullard, and has no heart; even the old dandy of sixty must have laughed at his own wondrous58 grotesque image, as they say Louis Philippe did, who saw all the caricatures that were made of himself. And there are some of Cruikshank's designs which have the blessed faculty59 of creating laughter as often as you see them. As Diggory says in the play, who is bidden by his master not to laugh while waiting at table—"Don't tell the story of Grouse60 in the Gun-room, master, or I can't help laughing." Repeat that history ever so often, and at the proper moment, honest Diggory is sure to explode. Every man, no doubt, who loves Cruikshank has his "Grouse in the Gun-room." There is a fellow in the "Points of Humor" who is offering to eat up a certain little general, that has made us happy any time these sixteen years: his huge mouth is a perpetual well of laughter—buckets full of fun can be drawn from it. We have formed no such friendships as that boyish one of the man with the mouth. But though, in our eyes, Mr. Cruikshank reached his apogee61 some eighteen years since, it must not be imagined that such is really the case. Eighteen sets of children have since then learned to love and admire him, and may many more of their successors be brought up in the same delightful faith. It is not the artist who fails, but the men who grow cold—the men, from whom the illusions (why illusions? realities) of youth disappear one by one; who have no leisure to be happy, no blessed holidays, but only fresh cares at Midsummer and Christmas, being the inevitable seasons which bring us bills instead of pleasures. Tom, who comes bounding home from school, has the doctor's account in his trunk, and his father goes to sleep at the pantomime to which he takes him. Pater infelix, you too have laughed at clown, and the magic wand of spangled harlequin; what delightful enchantment62 did it wave around you, in the golden days "when George the Third was king!" But our clown lies in his grave; and our harlequin, Ellar, prince of how many enchanted islands, was he not at Bow Street the other day,* in his dirty, tattered63, faded motley—seized as a law-breaker, for acting64 at a penny theatre, after having wellnigh starved in the streets, where nobody would listen to his old guitar? No one gave a shilling to bless him: not one of us who owe him so much.
* This was written in 1840.
We know not if Mr. Cruikshank will be very well pleased at finding his name in such company as that of Clown and Harlequin; but he, like them, is certainly the children's friend. His drawings abound65 in feeling for these little ones, and hideous as in the course of his duty he is from time to time compelled to design them, he never sketches66 one without a certain pity for it, and imparting to the figure a certain grotesque grace. In happy schoolboys he revels67; plum-pudding and holidays his needle has engraved68 over and over again; there is a design in one of the comic almanacs of some young gentlemen who are employed in administering to a schoolfellow the correction of the pump, which is as graceful69 and elegant as a drawing of Stothard. Dull books about children George Cruikshank makes bright with illustrations—there is one published by the ingenious and opulent Mr. Tegg. It is entitled "Mirth and Morality," the mirth being, for the most part, on the side of the designer—the morality, unexceptionable certainly, the author's capital. Here are then, to these moralities, a smiling train of mirths supplied by George Cruikshank. See yonder little fellows butterfly-hunting across a common! Such a light, brisk, airy, gentleman-like drawing was never made upon such a theme. Who, cries the author—
"Who has not chased the butterfly,
And crushed its slender legs and wings,
And heaved a moralizing sigh:
Alas70! how frail71 are human things!"
A very unexceptionable morality truly; but it would have puzzled another than George Cruikshank to make mirth out of it as he has done. Away, surely not on the wings of these verses, Cruikshank's imagination begins to soar; and he makes us three darling little men on a green common, backed by old farmhouses72, somewhere about May. A great mixture of blue and clouds in the air, a strong fresh breeze stirring, Tom's jacket flapping in the same, in order to bring down the insect queen or king of spring that is fluttering above him,—he renders all this with a few strokes on a little block of wood not two inches square, upon which one may gaze for hours, so merry and lifelike a scene does it present. What a charming creative power is this, what a privilege—to be a god, and create little worlds upon paper, and whole generations of smiling, jovial men, women, and children half inch high, whose portraits are carried abroad, and have the faculty of making us monsters of six feet curious and happy in our turn. Now, who would imagine that an artist could make anything of such a subject as this? The writer begins by stating,—
"I love to go back to the days of my youth,
And to reckon my joys to the letter,
And to count o'er the friends that I have in the world,
Ay, and those who are gone to a better."
This brings him to the consideration of his uncle. "Of all the men I have ever known," says he, "my uncle united the greatest degree of cheerfulness with the sobriety of manhood. Though a man when I was a boy, he was yet one of the most agreeable companions I ever possessed74. . . . He embarked75 for America, and nearly twenty years passed by before he came back again; . . . but oh, how altered!—he was in every sense of the word an old man, his body and mind were enfeebled, and second childishness had come upon him. How often have I bent76 over him, vainly endeavoring to recall to his memory the scenes we had shared together: and how frequently, with an aching heart, have I gazed on his vacant and lustreless77 eye, while he has amused himself in clapping his hands and singing with a quavering voice a verse of a psalm78." Alas! such are the consequences of long residences in America, and of old age even in uncles! Well, the point of this morality is, that the uncle one day in the morning of life vowed79 that he would catch his two nephews and tie them together, ay, and actually did so, for all the efforts the rogues80 made to run away from him; but he was so fatigued81 that he declared he never would make the attempt again, whereupon the nephew remarks,—"Often since then, when engaged in enterprises beyond my strength, have I called to mind the determination of my uncle."
Does it not seem impossible to make a picture out of this? And yet George Cruikshank has produced a charming design, in which the uncles and nephews are so prettily82 portrayed83 that one is reconciled to their existence, with all their moralities. Many more of the mirths in this little book are excellent, especially a great figure of a parson entering church on horseback,—an enormous parson truly, calm, unconscious, unwieldy. As Zeuxis had a bevy84 of virgins85 in order to make his famous picture—his express virgin—a clerical host must have passed under Cruikshank's eyes before he sketched86 this little, enormous parson of parsons.
Being on the subject of children's books, how shall we enough praise the delightful German nursery-tales, and Cruikshank's illustrations of them? We coupled his name with pantomime awhile since, and sure never pantomimes were more charming than these. Of all the artists that ever drew, from Michael Angelo upwards87 and downwards88, Cruikshank was the man to illustrate31 these tales, and give them just the proper admixture of the grotesque, the wonderful, and the graceful. May all Mother Bunch's collection be similarly indebted to him; may "Jack73 the Giant Killer," may "Tom Thumb," may "Puss in Boots," be one day revivified by his pencil. Is not Whittington sitting yet on Highgate hill, and poor Cinderella (in that sweetest of all fairy stories) still pining in her lonely chimney-nook? A man who has a true affection for these delightful companions of his youth is bound to be grateful to them if he can, and we pray Mr. Cruikshank to remember them.
It is folly89 to say that this or that kind of humor is too good for the public, that only a chosen few can relish90 it. The best humor that we know of has been as eagerly received by the public as by the most delicate connoisseur91. There is hardly a man in England who can read but will laugh at Falstaff and the humor of Joseph Andrews; and honest Mr. Pickwick's story can be felt and loved by any person above the age of six. Some may have a keener enjoyment92 of it than others, but all the world can be merry over it, and is always ready to welcome it. The best criterion of good humor is success, and what a share of this has Mr. Cruikshank had! how many millions of mortals has he made happy! We have heard very profound persons talk philosophically93 of the marvellous and mysterious manner in which he has suited himself to the time—fait vibrer la fibre populaire (as Napoleon boasted of himself), supplied a peculiar94 want felt at a peculiar period, the simple secret of which is, as we take it, that he, living amongst the public, has with them a general wide-hearted sympathy, that he laughs at what they laugh at, that he has a kindly spirit of enjoyment, with not a morsel95 of mysticism in his composition; that he pities and loves the poor, and jokes at the follies96 of the great, and that he addresses all in a perfectly sincere and manly97 way. To be greatly successful as a professional humorist, as in any other calling, a man must be quite honest, and show that his heart is in his work. A bad preacher will get admiration98 and a hearing with this point in his favor, where a man of three times his acquirements will only find indifference99 and coldness. Is any man more remarkable100 than our artist for telling the truth after his own manner? Hogarth's honesty of purpose was as conspicuous101 in an earlier time, and we fancy that Gilray would have been far more successful and more powerful but for that unhappy bribe102, which turned the whole course of his humor into an unnatural103 channel. Cruikshank would not for any bribe say what he did not think, or lend his aid to sneer104 down anything meritorious105, or to praise any thing or person that deserved censure106. When he levelled his wit against the Regent, and did his very prettiest for the Princess, he most certainly believed, along with the great body of the people whom he represents, that the Princess was the most spotless, pure-mannered darling of a Princess that ever married a heartless debauchee of a Prince Royal. Did not millions believe with him, and noble and learned lords take their oaths to her Royal Highness's innocence107? Cruikshank would not stand by and see a woman ill-used, and so struck in for her rescue, he and the people belaboring108 with all their might the party who were making the attack, and determining, from pure sympathy and indignation, that the woman must be innocent because her husband treated her so foully109.
To be sure we have never heard so much from Mr. Cruikshank's own lips, but any man who will examine these odd drawings, which first made him famous, will see what an honest hearty110 hatred111 the champion of woman has for all who abuse her, and will admire the energy with which he flings his wood-blocks at all who side against her. Canning, Castlereagh, Bexley, Sidmouth, he is at them, one and all; and as for the Prince, up to what a whipping-post of ridicule112 did he tie that unfortunate old man! And do not let squeamish Tories cry out about disloyalty; if the crown does wrong, the crown must be corrected by the nation, out of respect, of course, for the crown. In those days, and by those people who so bitterly attacked the son, no word was ever breathed against the father, simply because he was a good husband, and a sober, thrifty113, pious114, orderly man.
This attack upon the Prince Regent we believe to have been Mr. Cruikshank's only effort as a party politician. Some early manifestoes against Napoleon we find, it is true, done in the regular John Bull style, with the Gilray model for the little upstart Corsican: but as soon as the Emperor had yielded to stern fortune our artist's heart relented (as Beranger's did on the other side of the water), and many of our readers will doubtless recollect115 a fine drawing of "Louis XVIII. trying on Napoleon's boots," which did not certainly fit the gouty son of Saint Louis. Such satirical hits as these, however, must not be considered as political, or as anything more than the expression of the artist's national British idea of Frenchmen.
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1
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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appeasing
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| 安抚，抚慰( appease的现在分词 )； 绥靖（满足另一国的要求以避免战争） | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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emollient
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| n.镇痛剂；缓和药；adj.使柔软的；安慰性的，起镇静作用的 | |
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philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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gushing
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| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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slough
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| v.蜕皮，脱落，抛弃 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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affixed
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| adj.[医]附着的，附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 )；粘贴；加以；盖（印章） | |
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declamation
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| n. 雄辩，高调 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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vapor
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| n.蒸汽，雾气 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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writhes
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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imps
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| n.（故事中的）小恶魔( imp的名词复数 )；小魔鬼；小淘气；顽童 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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gratis
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| adj.免费的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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apogee
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| n.远地点；极点；顶点 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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abound
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| vi.大量存在；(in，with)充满，富于 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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lustreless
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| adj.无光泽的，无光彩的，平淡乏味的 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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virgins
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| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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100
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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101
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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102
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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103
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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104
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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105
meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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106
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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107
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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108
belaboring
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| v.毒打一顿( belabor的现在分词 )；责骂；就…作过度的说明；向…唠叨 | |
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109
foully
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| ad.卑鄙地 | |
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110
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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111
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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112
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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113
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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114
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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115
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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