The Life of George Cruikshank in Two Epochs, Vol. 1. (of 2) by Blanchard Jerrold
No great stretch of the imagination is needed to conjure up an interesting picture in the corner of the graveyard of St. James's, Piccadilly, in that momentous June when the forces of France and the Allies were gathering hastily for the field of Waterloo. It was on the first of the month. From the famous print-shop of Mistress Humphrey in St.
James's Street, before which hosts of laughing men and women had been wont to linger, a coffin was home, containing the mortal part of the "Juvenal of caricature" as he had been called-of the hapless man of genius, who had lain, with short flashes of sanity, full six years with mind unstrung-a dreadful shadow over the mirthful shop. Behind followed the good Mistress Humphrey and her faithful Betty, her maid; probably stout Mortimer the picture dealer, possibly Mr. Gifford. Let us think of Landseer and James Stanley and others to whom poor Gillray had been known in his bright days, standing by the open grave near the Rectory House, within full sound of the hum of Piccadilly. And at hand we shall note a slim young man, with eager, piercing eyes, a hook nose, with fall whiskers trimmed to the corners of his mouth; a young man with incessant spasmodic action. His eyes start and his mouth works, as, the service ended, he gazes into the yawning grave. To his neighbour he says, under his breath, "A great man, sir-a very great man."
With a bow to weeping Mistress Humphrey he retires. The good soul, who has now done her last duty to the poor madman with whom she has borne patiently and gratefully so long, is pleased to note that Mr. Cruikshank had not forgotten to pay his last tribute of respect and gratitude to his master. Mrs. Humphrey, no doubt, regarded the young man whom she had employed to finish Gillray's work when he first fell ill, and who had since managed to keep the crowds laughing before her windows, as a very poor substitute for the dead genius. And in those days Cruikshank himself was still very modest, and was proud to be accounted strong enough to hold the pencil and the needle of the stricken Gillray.
Upon a sensitive, imaginative, observant man like George Cruikshank, the life of him whom he owned in his early days as his master, with its awful close, must have made a deep impression. Men said that Gillray had wrecked his career through frequenting low company, and by intemperate habits. Cruikshank knew something of this, had seen much of such company, and was in close companionship with tipplers. Gillray was not the first man of mark whom he had watched from tavern to tavern, and so on to poverty and death. Almost his earliest recollections were of drinking bouts, and their debasing consequences. His boyish sight had been offended at his father's house with the spectacle of drunken men rolled up in carpets, upon whose blank and soddened faces the morning sun was shining.* He had been saddened as a son by his father's example, and inexpressibly shocked by the manner of his death. It appears that Isaac Cruikshank, who was a heavy whisky drinker, laid a bet with a boon companion that he would drink more tumblers than his friend without falling under the table. He won his wager, but his excess brought upon him the illness of which he died, about his fifty-fifth year. **
* "At a meeting held at Manchester, this great artist gave
an address on Temperance; in the course of which, referring
to the early days of his life, and to the drinking habits
which existed at that period, he said he recollected
gentlemen coming to dine occasionally at his father's house,
and he was often surprised on coming downstairs of a morning
to find some of them rolled up in the carpet in an
extraordinary manner. His own father took too much drink,
and shortened his life by it. He shortened his life by the
fashion of the day, and left him (the speaker)
uneducated.... He had watched the effects of drink ever
since he had begun to reflect, both among the higher and
lower orders."-Poor Richards Almanac, 1876.
** This story was told to the Rev. Dr. Rogers by George
Cruikshank.
Such experiences, albeit they led Cruikshank to reflect seriously on the evils of excessive drinking, did not, as we have seen, at once turn him from the bottle. Mr. Paget remarked in Blackwood that Cruikshank was a severe anatomist of the vice long before any idea of his celebrated "Bottle" could have crossed his mind. In his "Sunday in London," published in 1833, he depicted the drunkard paying his week's score. In one of his Temperance speeches he said: "I am ashamed to say that for many years I went on following the ordinary custom of drinking, till I fell into pecuniary difficulties. I had some money at a banker's; he fell into difficulties, took to drinking brandy-and-water, and ended by blowing out his brains.
I lost my money, and in my distress applied to friends who aided me for a time, but they themselves fell into difficulties, and I was forced to extricate myself by the most extraordinary exertions. In this strait I thought, The best thing I can do is to take to water; but still I went on for some time before I quite weaned myself from my own drinking habits. I went to take luncheon with my friend Dickens (who, I am sorry to say, is not a teetotaler); he asked me to take wine, but I told him I had taken to water, for, in my opinion, a man had better take a glass of prussic acid than fall into the other habit of taking brandy-and-water; and I am happy to say that Charles Dickens quite agreed with me, that a mam had better wipe himself out at once, than extinguish himself by degrees by the soul-degrading and body-destroying enemy."
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Immediately after the death of Gillray, we find evidence of the twinges of conscience which Cruikshank felt, even while he continued to fall, at intervals, into wild excesses. These were followed by dark passages of remorse, and by resolutions which were again and again broken. The fate of the men-and that of Gillray especially-whom he had seen fall victims to what he was pleased to call the fashionable vice, would rise before him. But, in an impulsive, convivial moment, his own sad experiences of time wasted and opportunities gone, and of the friends he had lost, were often forgotten; and he found himself, as of old, wending his way home, in the small hours, covered with a sense of disgrace. Cruikshank was no better, and no worse, than his contemporaries. A letter in Procter's * neat hand lies before me. It is dated from Gray's Inn Square, March 13th, 1839; and he says:
"I shall be very happy to be one of the number to dine with Macready. But, remember, I cannot be one of those who will doubtless be found under the table at four a.m. (as I understand was the case upon a late occasion)."
* Barry Cornwall.
If, however, Cruikshank was not early a convert to the practice of temperance, he was, as I have remarked, a preacher betimes.
His "Introduction to the Gout" (1818) is in his best vein. A toper is seated over his pot, and holding a peach upon his fork, with which he is about to cool his mouth. An imp-one Gout-approaches from the fireplace, and with the tongs is about to drop a red coal on the great-toe of Toper. Another drawing (a lithograph) of this date is suggestive. It is called "Deadly Lively." Death has stepped in, surprising a man and two women, who are drinking in a kitchen, before a blazing fire. Death is filling the man's glass; the old woman is falling from her seat, and the young man is tumbling drunk under the table. Presently (in the same year) the artist is in a gayer mood as a satirist. The picture is called "Tit-Bits." An Irishwoman, overcome by beer, has fallen into a deep sleep under a tree. Her slumbers give a yokel an opportunity of stealing one of her chickens, while a cur licks the tarts in her basket.* Then we have "The Three Bottle Divine," no rara avis in those days. It is the head of a heavy, coarse-featured man, in sporting guise, his face garnished with carbuncles and large spectacles.
So far back as 1836, Cruikshank gave the public a foretaste of "The Bottle" in a vignette to a music title. Two individuals are represented-one old and spectacled, the other young and with an eyeglass,-examining with horror the contents of a spirit bottle, which is filled with malignant imps emblematical of alcohol as "doctored by publicans," and sold for "Old Tom," etc. The cork has turned devil, and throws up his arms in delight at the work of his imps.
* The foregoing were drawn by Cruikshank from Captain Hehl's
designs.
"Gin" remarks Mr. Thackeray, years before Cruikshank had become a Temperance advocate, or in the least degree an abstainer; "gin has furnished many subjects to Mr. Cruikshank, who labours in his own sound and hearty way to teach his countrymen the dangers of that drink. In the 'Sketch-book' is a plate upon the subject, remarkable for fancy and beauty of design; it is called the 'Gin Juggernaut,' and represents a hideous moving palace, with a reeking still as the roof, and vast gin-barrels for wheels, under which unhappy millions are crushed to death. An immense black cloud of desolation covers over the country through which the gin monster had passed, dimly looming through the darkness, whereof you see an agreeable prospect of gibbets with men dangling, burnt houses, etc. The vast cloud comes sweeping on in the wake of this horrible body-crusher; and you see, by way of contrast, a distant, smiling, sunshiny tract of old English country, where gin as yet is not known. The allegory is as good, as earnest, and as fanciful as one of John Bunyan's, and we have often fancied there was a similarity between the men."
The similarity, if you look deeply into the two imaginations, is strong and striking, as it is between the genius of Doré in its grotesque and moral moods, and that of Cruikshank. Compare Doré's "Wandering Jew," his "Rabelais," his "Contes Drolatiques," with Cruikshank's work about 1826, and even later, and you cannot fail to discover the strong affinity between the two great artists. Doré knew nothing of Cruikshank's work in his early time, and Cruikshank had never heard Doré's name when, in 1854, I brought over to England the blocks of his "Wandering Jew." **
** I introduced George Cruikshank to Gustave Doré in the
Doré Gallery in Bond Street. Doré looked wonderingly at the
vivacious, wild old man as he went through a pantomime in
default of French, to express his admiration of the pictures
the gallery.
In his illustrations to "Sketches by Boz," Cruikshank first approached intemperance from that point of view in which he treated it afterwards in "The Bottle." His view of the gin-shop comprehends a complete story.
"We have sketched this subject, says Dickens, "very slightly, not only because our limits compel us to do so, but because, if it were pursued further, it would be painful and repulsive. Well-disposed gentlemen and charitable ladies would alike turn with coldness and disgust from a description of the drunken besotted men and wretched, broken-down, miserable women, who form no inconsiderable portion of the frequenters of these haunts; forgetting, in the pleasant consciousness of their own high rectitude, the poverty of the one and the temptation of the other. Gin-drinking is a great vice in England, but poverty is a greater; and until you can cure it, or persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek relief in the temporary oblivion of his own misery with the pittance which, divided among his family, would just furnish a morsel of bread for each, gin-shops will increase in number and splendour If-Temperance Societies could suggest an antidote against hunger and distress, or establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution of bottles of Lethe-water, gin palaces would be numbered among the things that were. Until then, their decrease may be despaired of." Dickens here glanced, and only carelessly, at the surface of the great question. This poverty which he deplored was the result of the drink. The Lethe-water would be unnecessary if the gin-and-water were stopped. Poverty, dirt, hunger, promote the publican's trade; but this trade breeds the misery on which it thrives. The quartern which the father drinks, helps to raise a customer in his son, for the trade of the publican's son. More than ten years elapsed before this view of the Temperance question was destined to have complete sway and mastery over the genius of Dickens's illustrator; but already he saw deeper into it, because he looked more earnestly into it than the writer, who had not yet done with the comedy element of drunkenness.
In 1841, Cruikshank drew for Bentley's Miscellany an "allegorical representation of the infatuation of the mob for ardent spirits, and the drunkenness occasioned by an election, from a design by T. L. F." * In 1846, he illustrated Our Own Times, and in the London Penetralia we find him moralizing with his etching-needle, in the ragged school of Chick Lane, Smithfield, and satirising, under the head of "A Tremendous Sacrifice," the slop-sellers who live in luxury on the work of poor seamstresses.
* "In the centre of the composition is the pedestal of an
altar, ornamented with a bas-relief of Britannia, on which
is resting a barrel of liquor, inscribed, 'Ruin Members and
Co.-Poverty-Treadmill-Botany Bay,' the tap running for
the gratification of an assemblage of drunken wretches, who
eagerly endeavour to get their favourite beverage, excepting
those who are helplessly drunk or fighting."-Reid's
Descriptive Catalogue.
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Cruikshank was now inclining strongly to the work to which he was destined to give the last thirty years of his life. And in 1847 he gave himself up heart and soul to the preaching, by example as well as by tongue and etching-needle, the moral which had haunted him so long, that had left him no rest till he grappled with and conquered it, since he had watched the eclipse of Gillray's genius, and seen his own father hurried, by a boastful toper's bet, to his premature grave.
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The Cockaynes in Paris; Or, 'Gone abroad' by Blanchard Jerrold
The day Lilah found out that she was pregnant, she caught her fiancé cheating on her. Her remorseless fiancé and his mistress almost killed her. Lilah fled for her dear life. When she returned to her hometown five years later, she happened to save a little boy's life. The boy's father turned out to be the world's richest man. Everything changed for Lilah from that moment. The man didn't let her experience any inconvenience. When her ex-fiancé bullied her, he crushed the scumbag's family and also rented out an entire island just to give Lilah a break from all the drama. He also taught Lilah's hateful father a lesson. He crushed all her enemies before she even asked. When Lilah's vile sister threw herself at him, he showed her a marriage certificate and said, "I'm happily married and my wife is much more beautiful than you are!" Lilah was shocked. "When did we ever get married? Last I checked, I was still single." With a wicked smile, he said, "Honey, we've been married for five years. Isn't it about time we had another child together?" Lilah's jaw dropped to the floor. What the hell was he talking about?
On her wedding day, Khloe’s sister connived with her groom, framing her for a crime she didn’t commit. She was sentenced to three years in prison, where she endured much suffering. When Khloe was finally released, her evil sister used their mother to coerce Khloe into an indecent liaison with an elderly man. As fate would have it, Khloe crossed paths with Henrik, the dashing yet ruthless mobster who sought to alter the course of her life. Despite Henrik’s cold exterior, he cherished Khloe like no other. He helped her take retribution from her tormentors and kept her from being bullied again.
Everyone was shocked to the bones when the news of Rupert Benton's engagement broke out. It was surprising because the lucky girl was said to be a plain Jane, who grew up in the countryside and had nothing to her name. One evening, she showed up at a banquet, stunning everyone present. "Wow, she's so beautiful!" All the men drooled, and the women got so jealous. What they didn't know was that this so-called country girl was actually an heiress to a billion-dollar empire. It wasn't long before her secrets came to light one after the other. The elites couldn't stop talking about her. "Holy smokes! So, her father is the richest man in the world?" "She's also that excellent, but mysterious designer who many people adore! Who would have guessed?" Nonetheless, people thought that Rupert didn't love her. But they were in for another surprise. Rupert released a statement, silencing all the naysayers. "I'm very much in love with my beautiful fiancee. We will be getting married soon." Two questions were on everyone's minds: "Why did she hide her identity? And why was Rupert in love with her all of a sudden?"
For seven years, Jillian pursued Bryan with unyielding passion, but he remained distant, his emotions tightly sealed. Disheartened, she left for overseas after graduating from college. Three years later, Jillian, now a successful attorney, sat provocatively on the lap of Bryan's competitor. She flashed Bryan a playful smile and taunted, "What's wrong, Bryan? Are you impotent?" Bryan's restraint shattered in an instant. In a swift motion, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed. The next morning, as Bryan woke up, Jillian flashed a mischievous smile. "Let's keep things casual, okay?"
My family was on the poverty line and had no way to support me in college. I had to work part-time every day just to make ends meet and afford to get into the university. That was when I met her—the pretty girl in my class that every boy dreamt of asking out. I was well aware she was out of my league. Nevertheless, I mustered all my courage and bravely told her that I had fallen for her. To my surprise, she agreed to be my girlfriend. With the sweetest smile I had ever seen, she told me that she wanted my first gift for her to be the latest and top-of-the-line iPhone. I worked like a dog and even did my classmates’ laundry to save up. My hard work eventually paid off after a month. I finally got to buy what she wanted. But as I was wrapping my gift, I saw her in the dressing room, making out with the captain of the basketball team. She then heartlessly made fun of my inadequacy and made a fool out of me. To make things worse, the guy whom she cheated on me with even punched me in the face. Desperation washed over me, but there was nothing I could do but lie on the floor as they trampled on my feelings. But then, my father called me out of the blue, and my life turned upside down. It turned out that I was a billionaire's son.
Due to the plight of her family, Phoebe had no choice but to embark on the path of selling herself. In an accident, she had a tangled night with Alexander. Everything began to derail, and even if she fled to the ends of the earth, she would still be found by him and entangled... *** Phoebe screamed in frustration, "What do you want from me?" What was this supposed to be? He raised an eyebrow wickedly. "What do I want? You'll find out soon enough." With that, he hoisted her up and carried her back into the office. The door slammed shut with a kick, and he cleared the desk with a sweep of his arm before laying her down on it, his body pinning hers in place, completely trapping her in his grasp. Every cell in his body was telling him he wanted her. He wanted to claim her again. This time, there would be no escape for her-he wouldn't let her slip away. Never again. If he had suffered for five years, then this woman wouldn't get off easily either!