1881-1882

THE EMPRESS FREDERICK, MRS. RICHMOND RITCHIE, RUSKIN, AND MR. PUNCH—‘A DAY IN A CHILD’S LIFE’—‘LITTLE ANN’ AND ‘MOTHER GOOSE.’

As has already been said, to drive to a palace in a royal carriage to see a princess had been a dream of Kate’s childhood; and in the year 1881 her baby wish saw its almost complete fulfilment. Royalties with a small ‘r’ were now, she said, a matter of course to her, but of Royalties with a big ‘R’ she had as yet no experience.

In her diary of engagements, the entry ‘Sunday, July 17, Crown Princess of Germany,’ foretells her first visit to Buckingham Palace. Her own account is not forthcoming, but we have hint of it in the following quotation from a letter written to her by Mrs. Richmond Ritchie.

It was just like a fairy tale to hear of you at court with all the nice little princes and princesses hopping about and asking you to make enchanting things for them. Mrs. Stanley[26] says they one and all lost their hearts to you, and to me for bringing you to their threshold.

To this Mrs. Ritchie adds:

I remember Miss Greenaway telling me of her visit to the Crown Prince and Princess at Buckingham Palace, and how cordial they were, and how the Crown Prince came in and put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said laughing, ‘I am the husband,’ as he stood up like a column by the Princess, who was a little woman.

This was the beginning of a friendship which did as much honour to the Imperial lady as to the artist whose worth she was so ready to recognise. Until the Empress’s death Kate Greenaway’s books, as often as not extra-embellished with original drawings, and her autographed Christmas cards, were always received with appreciative acknowledgments, generally accompanied by some little souvenir in return. They would be accompanied by letters from the Count Seckendorff such as these sent by the Empress’s command:[27]—

Count Seckendorff to Kate Greenaway

Count Seckendorff to Kate Greenaway

Of one of these presents Ruskin wrote on December 30, 1884:

I liked hearing about the present from [the] Princess. I wonder what it can be. I wish I was a Prince and could send you pearls and rubies.

At one time the Empress Frederick showed a personal sympathy not indicated by these formal letters, and during the period of her great sorrow wrote to Miss Greenaway touchingly and at length; but that correspondence no longer exists.

About this time Miss Greenaway was introduced at the house of the Hon. Mrs. Stanley to the Princess Christian, whose appreciation of her both personally and as an artist is shown in several letters from this year onwards, preserved by her with affectionate care.

As Mrs. Richmond Ritchie’s name has been mentioned, it should be said that for years she and Kate Greenaway were on terms of close intimacy, and although they were not able so frequently to meet in later years, there was always the most cordial regard and love between them. In 1885 there was talk of their ‘doing a story together,’ but it never came to anything; yet the idea had evidently been long in their heads, for in 1881 Mrs. Ritchie had written: ‘When we write our book it shall be called “Treats,” I think, and be all about nice things that happen to little girls—don’t you think so?’ It is matter for regret that a proposal so full of charming possibilities was never carried into execution.

In the same year Routledge & Sons published Mother Goose, or The Old Nursery Rhymes, Illustrated by Kate Greenaway—one of her daintiest productions, although marred in several instances by crude printer’s ink and careless register. Its success, though not equalling that of the Birthday Book, was yet very great, 66,000 copies being printed in English, German, and French. The sum of £252 was paid to her for the use of the drawings, and in royalties she received over £650. The book bears on the title-page the baby thrown into a basket of roses which so took Ruskin’s fancy. As Mrs. Allingham has said, ‘No one could draw roses like Kate Greenaway,’ and other critics have compared her drawing of flowers with the work now of Van Huysum and now of Botticelli. Some papers complained that some of the nursery rhymes had been unduly tampered with; but the illustrations met everywhere with the most cordial praise. An enthusiastic critic exclaimed, ‘Should the children of the present generation happen to take into their little curly heads to call together a “monster” meeting—say in the Lowther Arcade—and propose, second, and resolve to erect a great public monument to some favourite goddess, we have a strong conviction that, on a show of tiny hands being taken, the chairman would declare that Miss Kate Greenaway had been unanimously elected for the honour.’ It should be remembered that ‘correct versions’ of nursery rhymes and tales vary in different parts of the country, and that every one considers the version of his childhood the true one. Kate Greenaway naturally adopted those she had learnt in London or in Nottinghamshire, and the charge of ‘tampering’ falls to the ground.

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This year she also contributed a charming frontispiece entitled ‘Little Fanny’ to Routledge’s Christmas Number, which should not be forgotten by the collector. It was a wonderful shilling’s worth for those days, and including as it does contributions by Caldecott, Gustave DorÉ (then at the zenith of his somewhat evanescent fame), Griset, and Mr. Walter Crane, it is now something of a trouvaille.

Another trifle of this year which should not be overlooked is a tail-piece, ‘Little Dinky,’ done for Locker-Lampson’s privately produced selection of his London Lyrics.

Kate was now hard at work on the illustrations for A Day in a Child’s Life, Illustrated by Kate Greenaway, Music by Myles B. Foster, to be published by Messrs. Routledge in 1882.

Concerning its origin Mr. Foster—son of the eminent water-colour painter, Birket Foster—writes:

If I remember rightly, I had already put the whole thing together, and, in fact, I had suggested this as a happy ‘follow’ to The Children’s Christmas, by Bob and myself. It seemed such a nice subject for children’s music. I culled from books Nos. 1, 3, 4, 5, and 8, asked my friend M. Gibney to write ‘Tired,’ compounded the rhymes of ‘The Lesson’ and ‘Sleeping’ myself, and then showed the whole thing, already set to music, to Mr. Evans, and he suggested sending it to K. G., saying that if she liked the idea, she would illustrate it. That I believe to be the commencement. At this time some hundreds of mill-hands at Keighley in Yorkshire and at Holt in Wiltshire were finding pleasure in The Children’s Christmas, and the thought of their wishes and little needs largely led me on to the work in question, and they performed the Day in a Child’s Life very prettily in tableaux. It was followed each year by a new work (with my own words)—Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Lampblack, etc.—but, alas, all these lacked the charm of Kate Greenaway’s exquisite art.

Commercially considered, this extremely pretty book was a success, 25,000 copies being issued to the English-speaking world alone, yet the press was not unanimous in its approval. The Times especially complained that ‘Miss Greenaway seems to be lapsing into rather a lackadaisical prettiness of style. Her little people are somewhat deficient in vitality. On the whole, we fear we can hardly, for all its prettiness of binding and colouring, recommend her Day in a Child’s Life as a very cheerful present, nor is the selection of songs which she has illustrated of a much more stimulating order.’

This year on no fewer than three separate occasions Punch again turned his attention to Miss Greenaway, all within the space of one month. On December 10, under the heading ‘Punch’s “Mother Hubbard” Grinaway Christmas Cards,’ Mr. Harry Furniss gave a full-page drawing of fourteen grouped cards, the first of which represented Mr. Punch presenting a Christmas card to the Queen and Royal Family, all, saving Her Majesty, being dressed in Greenaway costumes. John Bright appears as Little Jack Horner, picking a 70th plum out of his birthday pie; the Duke of Cambridge in petticoats is riding a cock-horse; Mr. (Lord) Cross as Jack—Jill is in the background—has tumbled down with a pail of ‘Thames Water Bill’; Lord Randolph Churchill, as Little Tommy Tattlemouse, is haranguing ‘a little house’ from the box of the Fourth Party; Sir John Millais is trying a glass slipper on the foot of his own ‘Cinderella’; the Duke of Bedford, as ‘Mary Mudford quite contrary,’ is appreciatively contemplating the untidiness and inhaling the perfume of Covent Garden market; Mr. Fawcett, postmaster-general, as ‘Spring-heeled Jack,’ is taking a flying leap over the telegraph wires; Mr. Parnell, as the wolf in bed, casts his ogreish eyes on the little figure of Ireland and her basket of neglected Irish Industry; Mr. Gladstone, as the ‘Jack,’ is chopping down the beanstalk of the Land League; Sir Whittaker Ellis, the new Lord Mayor of London, as Dick Whittington, is issuing invitations from the Mansion House; and other topics of the day are introduced with similar ingenuity.

On December 17, Mr. Linley Sambourne contributed one of his most highly finished drawings, entitled ‘The Royal Birthday Book.’ Mr. Punch, kneeling in court-dress, receives Princess Beatrice’s Birthday Book from the Princess herself, an ideally and delightfully draped figure wearing coronet and sandals, the central figure of the composition. Toby stands on guard, crayon-holder in hand, while on the clouds, prominent among other floating figures, like sympathetic familiars, are Kate Greenaway (in Kate Greenaway costume), Caldecott, and Mr. Walter Crane.

The accompanying legend runs:

The Christmas volumes well deserve their gains
Of Caldecott’s, Kate Greenaway’s, and Crane’s.
Fair Beatrice, we thank you for your pains.

Much Ado About Something, Act ii. Sc. 3

(Mr. Punch’s Version).

And finally, on December 24, Mr. Furniss gave a second series of four ‘Grinaway Christmas Cards,’ in which Mr. Edison figures as Aladdin, Britannia as Old Mother Hubbard, Mrs. Langtry as the Sleeping Beauty, and Irving, Ellen Terry, Mrs. Kendal, Charles Warner, Nellie Farren, Bancroft, Toole, Brough, and others as the Girls and Boys coming out to Play. It was all excellent fooling—another indication, if one were needed, that Kate Greenaway’s name and method were name and method to conjure with.

The following letter of this year from a highly distinguished authoress who wishes to preserve her anonymity gives a vivid idea of the pleasure which her books brought into innumerable homes:—

At this time Kate was sending copies of her Mother Goose to a few chosen friends, among them to her kind mentor and chief adviser H. Stacy Marks; and the presentation brought her the following critical letter of acknowledgment:—

Stacy Marks to Kate Greenaway

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Ruskin received his copy in a less critical spirit; and a few weeks later he wrote:

John Ruskin to Kate Greenaway

The year 1882 was chiefly occupied with the illustrations for a new edition of that early love of hers, Little Ann and other Poems, by Jane and Ann Taylor, a charming production, though slightly marred by certain little faults of drawing which, with all her strict self-training, Miss Greenaway strangely enough never quite overcame. The ‘stilt-like’ shadows had certainly disappeared, but the feet still sometimes went a little astray, and signs were not wanting here and there that seem to herald the advent of mannerism. But it was a passing phase.

She was now suffering more than ever from imitators, to the vast indignation of her friends and admirers. For example, Mr. Locker designates a book entitled Afternoon Tea ‘a shameful imitation of your manner, [which] if it goes on will tend to disgust the brutal British public and therefore injure you.’

In Belgium especially, where she had a great vogue, not only were her books themselves being imitated, but the illustrations were copied without acknowledgment on to handkerchiefs, plates, vases, caskets, and other objects of commerce, and the copying was so vilely done that they were caricatures rather than reproductions of her work. All this tended, as Mr. Locker truly predicted, to vulgarise the Fairyland which she was creating.

As far as she could Kate combated the evil by refusing to part with the copyright of her works. In 1898 she wrote to Mr. Stuart M. Samuel, M.P., a generous patron for whom she would certainly have strained a point if she could:

Thank you so very much for the cheque, but I’m so sorry I cannot give you the copyright. I have made it a rule for a long time not to part with the copyright of my drawings, for I have been so copied, my drawings reproduced and sold for advertisements and done in ways I hate.

Nor was Belgium the only offending land. In France and England there were also many manufacturers who recognised the adaptability of her designs for printed fabrics and did not hesitate to ‘lift’ them for their own purposes. Still, there were honourable exceptions among those who were not prepared to copy or adapt her productions without receiving due permission and offering pecuniary acknowledgment. The offers of most of these, however, she did not care to accept, from a feeling that the ‘pot-boiling’ character of the work would be derogatory to her art. But apropos of an application by Mr. Powell, of the Whitefriars glassworks, it may be mentioned that the very next year Ruskin himself carried out his expressed intention, and had a drawing of hers of a little girl with a doll ‘put on glass,’ and wrote of it from Brantwood:

It will be a nursery window when you are next here, but it might be, as rightly, part of a cathedral window.

A gratifying episode of 1882 was the appearance in the great French art magazine, the Gazette des Beaux-Arts (vol. i. pp. 74 et seq.) of an article by Monsieur Alfred de Lostalot, in which, whilst recognising particulars in which her work fell short of that of Caldecott and Mr. Walter Crane, he yet gave her the first place for the special qualities of charm and sentiment. And, after a eulogy too long to quote here, he ends up quaintly—‘Meanwhile I shall lock up the works of W. C., of C., and of Kate Greenaway in my bookcase with precious care; unexpected conclusion: works so precious cannot be left in the hands of children!’

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Kate Greenaway knew exactly what kind of letters children like to receive, and she loved to send them playful missives, instinct with her love of flowers and animals. An example of such letters, addressed to the little friend for whom she had so tender an affection, may be given in illustration.

Kate Greenaway to Miss Lily Evans

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