John Leech's Pictures of Life and Character E-Book

William Makepeace Thackeray

• Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

In "John Leech's Pictures of Life and Character," William Makepeace Thackeray presents a captivating amalgamation of social commentary and vivid illustration, encapsulating the complexities of Victorian society. This collection of humorous and satirical sketches, adorned with the masterful illustrations of John Leech, targets the foibles of the bourgeoisie and the emerging middle classes. Thackeray's sharp wit, combined with Leech's engaging artwork, creates a powerful critique of the period'Äôs cultural and social norms, showcasing the author's deft ability to intertwine visual art with literary narrative in a manner that was innovative for his time. Thackeray, a prominent figure in Victorian literature, was deeply influenced by his own experiences within the societal strata he critiques. Born in India and raised in England, his exposure to diverse social classes and the intricacies of human character shaped his worldview. His background in art and literature allowed him to appreciate and utilize illustrations effectively, leading to a rich interplay of text and image in this work, which aims not only to entertain but to provoke thoughtful reflection on the human condition. Readers seeking to explore the nuances of 19th-century British society, enriched by keen observations and humor, will find "John Leech's Pictures of Life and Character" an essential addition to their literary repertoire. Thackeray invites readers to laugh, reflect, and perhaps even recognize themselves within his insightful portrayals, making this work both a delightful and thought-provoking experience.

Leseprobe

William Makepeace Thackeray

John Leech's Pictures of Life and Character

Published by Good Press, 2020

[email protected]

EAN 4064066104122

Table of Contents

Cover

Titlepage

Text

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* Reprinted from the Quarterly Review, No. 191, Dec. 1854, by permission of Mr. John Murray.

We, who can recall the consulship of Plancus, and quite respectable, old-fogyfied times, remember amongst other amusements which we had as children the pictures at which we were permitted to look. There was Boydell's Shakspeare, black and ghastly gallery of murky Opies, glum Northcotes, straddling Fuselis! there were Lear, Oberon, Hamlet, with starting muscles, rolling eyeballs, and long pointing quivering fingers; there was little Prince Arthur (Northcote) crying, in white satin, and bidding good Hubert not put out his eyes; there was Hubert crying; there was little Rutland being run through the poor little body by bloody Clifford; there was Cardinal Beaufort (Reynolds) gnashing his teeth, and grinning and howling demoniacally on his death-bed (a picture frightful to the present day); there was Lady Hamilton (Romney) waving a torch, and dancing before a black background—a melancholy museum indeed. Smirke's delightful "Seven Ages" only fitfully relieved its general gloom. We did not like to inspect it unless the elders were present, and plenty of lights and company were in the room.

Cheerful relatives used to treat us to Miss Linwood's. Let the children of the present generation thank their stars THAT tragedy is put out of their way. Miss Linwood's was worsted-work. Your grandmother or grandaunts took you there and said the pictures were admirable. You saw "the Woodman" in worsted, with his axe and dog, trampling through the snow; the snow bitter cold to look at, the woodman's pipe wonderful: a gloomy piece, that made you shudder. There were large dingy pictures of woollen martyrs, and scowling warriors with limbs strongly knitted; there was especially, at the end of a black passage, a den of lions, that would frighten any boy not born in Africa, or Exeter 'Change, and accustomed to them.

Another exhibition used to be West's Gallery, where the pleasing figures of Lazarus in his grave-clothes, and Death on the pale horse, used to impress us children. The tombs of Westminster Abbey, the vaults at St. Paul's, the men in armor at the Tower, frowning ferociously out of their helmets, and wielding their dreadful swords; that superhuman Queen Elizabeth at the end of the room, a livid sovereign with glass eyes, a ruff, and a dirty satin petticoat, riding a horse covered with steel: who does not remember these sights in London in the consulship of Plancus? and the wax-work in Fleet Street, not like that of Madame Tussaud's, whose chamber of death is gay and brilliant; but a nice old gloomy wax-work, full of murderers; and as a chief attraction, the Dead Baby and the Princess Charlotte lying in state?