The tailpiece, here reproduced by the kind permission of Mr. Thomson and Messrs. Macmillan, only appears on page 95 of the issues of 1890.
After that date we have a drawing which, though a pretty enough little picture of Lady Blarney and Miss Carolina Wilhelmina Amelia Skeggs (I love, like the Vicar himself, to give the whole name), is to my mind far inferior to that {174} which seems to have given offence to some extraordinarily constructed purists.
Mr. Austin Dobson, to whom we are indebted for the enlightening Prefatory account, in this volume, of the more important illustrated editions of the Vicar, tells me that he has an impression that the immediate cause of the disappearance of the peccant tailpiece was a certain objection raised by a reviewer in the Spectator. In justice, however, to that organ I must at once put it on record that I can find no trace of its having so demeaned itself.
As a matter of fact I have reason to believe that suggestions were made by certain persons who arrogate to themselves a sort of private proprietorship in the “fine old English novel” and the “fine old English caricature” that the little tailpiece was in rather bad taste, and that the artist, rather than allow the slightest grounds for such an imputation to exist, hastened to remove the offender, and substituted one that was irreproachable. Personally I grieve to think that there should be any one in existence with a moral digestion so dyspeptic as to discover the least coarseness or ill-flavour in {175} this dainty little fancy, And though the artist, we may be sure, has not troubled himself unduly about the insinuation, I cannot but feel indignant that even a hint of indecorousness should be made against one who, above all others, has kept his pencil free from any taint of unworthiness. However, it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and we are fain to congratulate ourselves upon thus being enabled to enrol Mr. Hugh Thomson in a brotherhood which he certainly will not repudiate.
Passing allusion has been made above to certain illustrations which also disappeared from Mr. Outram Tristram’s very readable book Coaching Days and Coaching Ways, illustrated by Mr. Hugh Thomson and Mr. Herbert Railton, after the first edition of that very charming volume was exhausted. It had been my intention to reproduce these cancelled drawings here, but I have since come to the conclusion that it would be little short of an outrage to perpetuate what would be cruelly unrepresentative of Mr. Hugh Thomson’s work. So far as the artist himself is concerned no obstacle is raised, for he writes {176} to me in the most generous way, “‘Calling for the Squire’s Mailbag’ was withdrawn for the same reason as ‘Wild Darrell’ (viz. because it was not considered sufficiently good). I should like to withdraw scores of other drawings. However, one cannot help oneself. It is not very pleasant to have these reproduced again, but I quite understand the motive of your book, and should be very churlish indeed to put any obstacle in your way.” This seems to me so nobly altruistic an attitude that I feel I should be lacking in mannerliness were I to take advantage of it.
It will be enough merely to draw attention to facts which will be of interest to those who possess one or other of the editions of this book.
First and foremost then, take down your copy and note whether the number of the illustrations is 216 or 219. Happy as you are if you possess the latter, twice happy will you be if the former be yours, for in this case you will be the owner, not only of a first edition, not only of an edition containing the cancelled illustrations, but also of the edition from which the best idea of the beauty of the original drawings may be got. And for this {177} reason, that in all but this, the 1888 edition, the reproductions have been greatly reduced in size. Of course we are here concerned with the cancelled pictures, “Wild Darrell” on page 43 and “Calling for the Squire’s Mailbag” on page 311, but we must remember that their chief value lies in their being the guarantees of our having an editio princeps. So we have it that in this instance as in the case of Trilby the earliest issues have the double charm of satisfying at the same time our taste for the beautiful and our appetite for the curious. Unlike the case of Trilby, however, we have here no romantic circumstances such as appeal to the true bibliomaniac. The cancellation is merely the result of a laudable determination on the part of the artist and his publisher to eliminate such illustrations as they do not consider altogether exemplary. Incidentally of course their action enhances, in the eyes of the bibliomaniac, the value of those copies which they rightly consider marred by their inclusion. But this is no business of theirs. They are not concerned with diseased humanity but with the poor sane public for whom they cater. {178}
The above remarks apply of course to many minor suppressions of the same kind. There is, to take one example, the well-known case of Curmer’s 1838 edition of Paul et Virginie and La Chaumière Indienne superbly illustrated by Meissonier, Tony Johannot, Huet, and others. This book is a standing compliment to British wood-engraving of the day, for, though published in Paris by a French publisher, by far the larger number of the blocks were entrusted to Samuel Williams, Orrin Smith, and other British hands. In the earliest issue appears on page 418 the wood-engraving of “La Bonne Femme.” Engraved by Lavoignat after Meissonier it was suppressed in later issues probably because of its ugliness, whether the fault of artist or engraver I know not. At any rate the engraver was not one of the British contingent.
CHAPTER IX THE SUPPRESSED OMAR KHAYYAM ETCHING
WHEN the iconography of Edward FitzGerald’s Ruba’iyat of Omar Khayyam comes to be compiled, there will be one item which will be found to be well-nigh unattainable by the enthusiastic collector. That item is not unnaturally dismissed in a very few words by Colonel W. F. Prideaux in his “Notes for a Bibliography of Edward FitzGerald.” He is dealing with the third edition, published by Quaritch in the year 1872. “It may be added,” he writes, “that a weird frontispiece to this edition was designed and etched by Mr. Edwin Edwards, the artist friend to whom FitzGerald lent his house at the beginning of 1871, and whose death in 1879 was a source of sorrow to him. A few copies of the etching were struck off, but it did not meet with the {180} approval of FitzGerald, and was consequently never used.”