For any criticism to have value it must rest clearly and honestly upon a definite point of view.
"The Toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where each tooth point goes.
The Butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that Toad."
If one elects, for instance, to criticize an illustration in particular—or a particular illustration—or the present status of popular illustration in general—the position of the critic must be frankly chosen and firmly held. If it is that of the technician, either the original artist or the reproducer or even the publisher, then a given picture in a magazine may be discussed merely as a picture, as a half-tone, or as a page effect, intelligently and competently. If the purely aesthetic viewpoint is chosen, all the above considerations may be waived and the given picture judged as frankly ugly, or as beautiful, quite apart from its technique. If, again, the base of judgment is that of the reader, in whose eyes an illustration should illustrate—i.e., give light, make clear the meaning of the text—then we look at a given picture to see if it carries out the ideas expressed in the tale or article, and value it by that.
On this base also stands the author, only one person, to be sure, as compared with the multitude of readers, but not a dog, for all that. The author, foaming at the mouth, remote and helpless, here makes common ground with the reader and expects an illustration to illustrate. Perhaps, we should say, "the intelligent reader"—leaving out such as the young lady in the tale, who said they might read her anything, "if it was illustrated by Christie."*
[*—This does not by any means deny intelligence to all appreciators of Mr. Christie's work, but merely to such as select literature for the pictures attached.]
THE FORERUNNER believes that it may voice the feelings of many writers and more readers; almost all readers, in fact, if it here and now records a protest against an all too frequent illustrative sin: where the gentleman, or lady, who is engaged and paid to illustrate a story, prefers to insert pictures of varying attractiveness which bear no relation to the text. This is not illustration. It is not even honest business. It does not deliver the goods paid for. It takes advantage of author, publisher and public, and foists upon them all an art exhibition which was not ordered.
To select a recent popular, easily obtainable, instance of vice and virtue in illustration, let us take up the "American Magazine" for August. Excellent work among the advertisements—there the artist is compelled to "follow copy"; his employer will take no nonsense. That's one reason why people like to look at them—the pictures are intelligible. Admirable pictures by Worth Brehm to Stewart White's story—perfect. You see the people, Mr. White's people, see them on the page as you saw them in your mind, and better. Good drawing, and personal character—those special people and not others. The insight and appreciation shown in the frontispiece alone makes as fine an instance of what illustration ought to be as need be given.
Those light sketches to the airy G. G. Letters are good, too—anything more definite would not belong to that couple.
But Mr. Cyrus Cuneo shows small grasp of what Mr. Locke was writing about in his "Moonlight Effect." The tailpiece, by somebody else, is the best picture of the lot.
Mr. Leone Brackner does better in Jack London's story, though falling far short of the extreme loathsomeness Mr. London heaps so thickly. J. Scott Williams follows "Margherita's Soul" with a running accompaniment and variations, in pleasant accord with the spirit of that compelling tale. He gives more than the scene represented, gives it differently, and yet gives it.