ART IN BOOK ILLUSTRATION.
BY CHARLES E. HURD.
Books, books, books! Their number, variety, gorgeousness of bindings, and wealth of illustration confuse the visitor who at this season wanders through the bookstores of a great city, whether aimlessly, or with the design of purchase. Books stare at him from the long rows of shelves; books are piled in reckless profusion upon the counters; they protrude from under the tables, as if vainly seeking to hide themselves there from insatiable buyers; they bulge through the broken paper of packages in corners; they crowd themselves into the windows, where the boldest and most gorgeous display themselves as if calling to the passers-by to come in and purchase.
One cannot help wondering, sometimes, where all these books come from. Who are their makers? What reason is there for their existence? Under what circumstances were they thrust upon the world? For, really, eight out of ten count as nothing in the literary race for fame or money. Either the publisher or the author—nowadays, as a rule, the latter—must suffer. The book—representative of the hopes, the wearisome labors, and, sometimes, of the brains of the author—leaps into being with the air of "Who will not buy me?" which soon changes into that of "Who will buy me?" and goes out finally to stand at the doors of the second-hand bookstores on a dirty shelf, to get its covers blistered in the sun, its binding dampened by the rain, all the while shamefully conscious of the legend displayed above,—"Anything on this shelf for 25 cents."
FOREST OF ARDENNES.
[From Childe Harold.]
There are, however, books that achieve success, and that publishers thrive upon. Books that are "a joy forever," companions, counsellors, and friends, the value of whose printed pages is aided and added to by the hand of the draughtsman, and in which text and illustration harmoniously blend to make the perfect book.
It speaks well for the growing taste of the American public that these books, whose cost of manufacture often reaches many thousands of dollars, always meet with popular favor, and so exacting has the public taste become that no publisher of reputation dares leave a stone unturned in the carrying-out of any literary project in which illustration bears part.
STAMBOUL.
[From Childe Harold.]
It is only by putting the work of twenty years ago by the side of that of to-day that one can realize what wonderful strides have been made in every department of bookmaking, more especially in that of illustration. The art of wood-engraving has been carried, one could almost say, to perfection. In its marvellous capability of imitation it has, perhaps, lost individuality, but it has proved its adaptability to the production of the most diverse and beautiful effects. In the hands of artistic workmen,—for an engraver must nowadays be an artist as well as a workman,—a wood cut may imitate a true engraving, an etching, a mezzotint, a charcoal or crayon drawing, or even the wash of water color, or india ink. One with some theoretical knowledge of the art will find wonderful opportunities for study in some of the holiday volumes of the present season, which show the latest developments of the skill of the engraver, and the different methods of producing effects.
IANTHE.
[From Childe Harold.]
Let us stand here at the counter in one of our largest bookstores, and turn over the pages of a few of the books which lie nearest. First at hand is Childe Harold, the latest in that admirable series of gift books which includes The Princess, Owen Meredith's Lucile, and Scott's Lady of the Lake. How charmingly everything is balanced in the making of the book,—type, margin, binding, and what we are now specially considering, illustration. How full of atmosphere are the landscapes, and how clear and perfectly kept their values! Look at the exquisite little wood scene on page 123, with the foreground in shadow, and a bar of sunshine lying across the middle distance. And here, in a totally different subject, a view of Stamboul, where the engraver has had to deal with land, water, and sky,—how cleverly he has managed to bring each part of his picture into its proper relations with the others, and yet how simply it is done! Changing from landscape to figure, take the ideal head, "Ianthe," which one might imagine was drawn, feature by feature, from the portrait of Byron, which forms the frontispiece of the volume. It is an example of what perfect knowledge can achieve on the part of the engraver,—delicate and yet strong in its way, soft without being indistinct, every line being made to fulfil its purpose and nothing more.
TOWER OF THE MENGIA.
[From Tuscan Cities.]
Here is another volume from the same house, "Tuscan Cities," which shows the capabilities of wood-engraving in quite another direction. Some of the illustrations might absolutely be taken for etchings, so faithfully have the peculiarities of the artist been followed. Compare the treatment of "The Tower of the Mengia" with that of the pictures already mentioned, and mark the difference of effect.
THE LADY OF THE LAKE.
[From Heroines of the Poets.]
"HOW THEY CARRIED THE GOOD NEWS."
[From Ideal Poems.]
EVENING BY THE LAKESIDE.
[From Poems of Nature.]
MATERNITY.
[From "Songs of Seven.">[
Here is another exquisite holiday volume,—"Heroines of the Poets,"—which will further exemplify what we have been saying. It has been made up of a series of pictures by Fernand H. Lungren, with accompanying text. Any single picture will serve as an illustration. For instance, this of Ellen, in "The Lady of the Lake," a subject of unusual difficulty, and requiring unusual skill for its proper management. It needs no second glance to see how perfectly the engraver has triumphed over his difficulties. Or, select at random any of the illustrations in this second volume from the same publishers, "Ideal Poems." One of the best, perhaps, is Henry Sandham's vigorous illustration of Browning's poem, "How they brought the good news from Ghent to Aix." The sunburst over the eastern hills, the cattle black against the light, the panting horses and their eager riders, and the rolling clouds of dust,—the character of each and all, as portrayed by the artist, is perfectly rendered.
"THE SWANHERDS WHERE THE SEDGES ARE."
[From The High Tide.]
Elbridge Kingsley has acquired reputation for engraving directly from nature, without the intervention of brush or pencil. One may judge of the results of his work by the plates in Whittier's "Poems of Nature," issued as a special holiday volume the present season. The pictures vary in merit, but they all show what the skilled workman is capable of doing with block and graver.
Here is another volume of the season, an exquisite edition of "The Favorite Poems" of Jean Ingelow, from which we copy two pictures as admirably illustrating a phase of wood-engraving especially pleasing and attractive. The first, from "Songs of Seven," has the advantage of being a charming subject in itself, but the engraver has been as conscientious in his work as if he had no such aid, and the result is doubly satisfying to the eye. The other, from "The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire," is equally gratifying and artistic.
THE SILENT CHRISTMAS.
[Wonderful Christmases.]