PUCK, March 23rd, 1881.
The hideous cruelties practised by the government of the Czar of Russia on all those of his subjects who do not worship and adore the “Little Father” with single-minded devotion and reverent awe, have more than once furnished a subject for Mr. Keppler’s sympathetic pencil. At the time of the appearance of this cartoon, in March of 1881, these brutalities had attracted general attention throughout the civilized world. Perhaps they were no worse than they had been before; but there seemed to be reason to believe that they were just then of an exceptional atrocity, the recent Russo-Turkish war having noticeably stimulated the savage element in what one of their own artless writers calls the “semi-barbarian race” of Russians.
THE REIGN OF PEACE.—THE MOUSE IS SAFE WHILE THE MOON SHINES.
PUCK, February 15th, 1888.
This cartoon bears date of February 15th, 1888, but it might have appeared with very little variation at any time during the last ten or twelve years of Bismarck’s premiership. While that great and clear light shone in the European heavens nothing was left wholly to chance in all that quarreling, jealous congeries of states. Nothing was done—nothing was even planned that was not in some measure suggested or shaped by that giant will and that alert and far-seeing intelligence.
It is worth while to call attention to the logical composition of this cartoon. Observe that it is thought out to the last point. The eye takes in at a glance the thronging, hungry beasts of prey, the mighty luminary hanging high in the firmament and the poor little Bulgarian rat helpless on his little rock amidstream between the frowning cliffs, yet safe in that clear radiance so long as it deigns to shine upon him. But note the settled suggestion of warlike possibilities conveyed by the helmet on the head of the Man in the Moon and the curious hints of animal ferocity given by the lines under the heavy moustache, the feline cleft in the middle, and the mane-like touches beside the cheeks. Now, looking at the cat-like beasts of prey, observe that Prussia occupies the point of advantage, and uses it to “stand off” the approach of Russia, who crouches on a somewhat higher cliff, rapacious, strong, eager, yet with wary eyes half-turned upon the ever-dreadful Prussia. Follow that furtive cat-like glance a little further and you will see that it takes cognizance of the sly approach toward the prey which Austria is making under cover of Germany’s position. Italy and France crawl on in the background, paying more attention to each other than to their remote chances of individual gain. Russia and France, you see, are on one side of the stream; the Triple Alliance of the hour on the other. For a touch of interesting detail look at the figure of France with its fine bushy beard, its red liberty cap, and its very conspicuous epaulettes. To one who follows the nicety of the artist’s symbolization, this indicates that the picture was drawn at the time when “Boulangism” was rampant in Paris. It was not the era of Thiers, the clean-shaven statesman, or the vieux Militaire time of MacMahon, or the time of Grévy with his little bourgeois whiskers. It was a sort of bogus-Gambetta revival, which is aptly characterized here in features that suggest those of President Carnot, without permitting the weak amiability of his expression to typify militant France. And—one thing more—note how that whole picture, by means of color, composition and perspective, centres itself to your eye in one little figure that does not occupy (by measure) the one two-hundredth part of its space.
