Publisher’s Note

UNUSUAL and fortunate circumstances have enabled us to make generally available for the first time in close to two hundred years a series of prints which constitute an exciting bibliographic rarity. Preserved by a happy chance (and no doubt soon to be lost from view again in some archive or private collection), these late eighteenth-century ephemeral sheets are full of the richest British humor and vitality. Their draftsmanship is rough, vigorous and pungent; their subject matter ranges over the world of childhood.

Contained in this volume is the bulk of the catchpenny output of a single firm, Bowles and Carver of London, over a few years. A few of the prints in the series were not available; others have been omitted because they were repetitious or less successful artistically. Distressingly few popular prints like these have come down to us; large uniform runs like this one are all but unknown. The specific information which these unassuming productions supply on customs, costumes, daily life, occupations, entertainments and Zeitgeist in general is, of course, enormously valuable. But perhaps even more so are their unaffected charm and immediate appeal, not weakened by time, ocean or relentless change in fashion.

The preservation and study of popular art and literature in the form of single printed sheets was given great impetus in the nineteenth century through the efforts of a few enthusiasts in France and England. This century has seen the spread of interest in national production to other countries, and the foundation of the praiseworthy Musée International de l’Imagerie in Epinal (Vosges), the home of the early nineteenth-century French publisher of imagerie populaire, Jean-Charles Pellerin.

The rise of woodcutting and metal engraving as reproductive arts in Europe about 1400, together with the relative cheapness of paper by that time, unleashed a flood of these fly-sheets (feuilles volantes, fliegende Blätter, pliegos sueltos, and so on). Religious images were predominant in the fifteenth century (and always remained an important part of such production in Roman Catholic and Orthodox areas), but even then secular subjects were growing steadily in popularity.

In England the balladmonger who sold printed copies of his texts—memorably exemplified by the rogue Autolycus in The Winter’s Tale—was already perfectly at home in the sixteenth century, and was to remain so (see No. 189 in the present volume). These flysheets—catchpennies—broadsides—broadsheets—“ awfuls”—were also used in the following centuries to publicize exciting crimes (and the subsequent executions; see No. 250). Another significant employment of broadsides in England and her American colonies was for political pamphleteering. (In the bulk of this production, the role of the illustrations varied a great deal.)

On the other hand, inexpensive popular children’s literature, produced in considerable quantities in England by the eighteenth century, was chiefly in the form of chapbooks consisting of a number of pages stitched together. Individual sheets like those in the present volume—featuring illustrations rather than text; issued by a single firm; published in a numerical series—have not yet been sufficiently described by historians of popular art. The field is vast and many gaps remain to be bridged. Indeed, even the firm of Bowles and Carver, map and printsellers at No. 69 in St. Paul’s Church Yard, still awaits its archivist and chronicler, and further information on its catchpenny activities is not available at present, although its cartographical publications are of recognized importance.1

The dating of this series is an easier task. Of course, we are in the reign of George III (see Nos. 12, 92, 226 and 230), but in addition three of the sheets are dated (No. 240 to 1787, No. 12 probably to 1794, and No. 233 to 1795 or possibly 1793), while others supply a terminus post quem: No. 252 commemorates the storming of the Bastille ; the event depicted in No. 253 also took place in 1789; and No. 256 pits the famous pugilist Daniel Mendoza against “the gentleman boxer” Richard Humphries—their three encounters were in 1788, 1789 and 1790.

Although many artists’ hands are in evidence, only one of the sheets credits a draftsman; No. 233 bears the notice “H. C. B. del:.” Pictures and words were engraved on metal; Bewick’s revolution in wood engraving had not reached Messrs. Bowles and Carver. And yet it would be strange if their series, or others like it, exerted no influence on nineteenth-century catchpenny production, of which the prime mover in England was the famous James Catnach, active in London from 1813 to 1838.

The subjects of these Bowles and Carver works provide an exhilarating survey of the popular preoccupations and “mythology” of their day. Most of the sheets are miscellanies, with a multitude of small pictures of objects, animals and characters attractive to children (there is only one alphabet, however, No. 141). But there is greater variety than this. We have already encountered the royal family; we also find glorification of the Navy (No. 11) and of British Courage (No. 253). There are patron saints, but martial ones (No. 32—much more patriotism than religion in this series!). There are those hardy perennials, allegories of the seasons (Nos. 17 and 103) and the elements (No. 18); there are groups of children’s games (Nos. 110, 120–122 and 173).

Also present are beloved figures from Shakespeare (No. 189); Falstaff, the most popular, appears in three other places (Nos. 30, 108 and 180). Literature is also represented by characters from The Beggar’s Opera (No. 180), by John Gilpin (No. 174) and by many caricatures with mock names of the sort favored by the comic stage since the days of Ben Jonson (Nos. 30, 133 and 143).

Alongside such traditional English figures as Dick Whittington (No. 254) and the Wise Men of Gotham (No. 234), we find commedia dell’arte clowns familiar from the pantomime (Nos. 35, 40, 144; Pierrot occurring as “Pero”). Together with traditional celebrations (Guy Fawkes’ Day in No. 236) and traditional concepts (“the world turned upside down,” No. 160), are to be discovered such stirring current events as the exploits of the Wonderful Pig of Knowledge (No. 158) and the Irish Giant (No. 221).

The many animals, especially monkeys, engaged in human activities recall the earlier eighteenth-century singeries painted on the walls of private apartments in France. Other iconographic tidbits include studies of military uniforms (No. 20) and sailing ships (No. 22); many sheets testify to the craze for racehorses (Nos. 21, 44, 98 ff., 167 and 168; the popular favorites are identified by name). Another standard subject, which can be traced at least as far back as the reign of James I, is that of street vendors’ cries (Nos. 29, 67 and 196). The eighteenth-century craving for topographical views is reflected in No. 233, and there are even puzzle-pictures (Nos. 77 and 238–240).

The subjects, the approach, the artistic mannerisms, the verve and wit, all remind us that we are in the century of Hogarth (died 1764) and the very generation of the peerless caricaturists Rowlandson (1756–1827) and Gillray (1757–1815). The unsung anonymous illustrators of these ephemera cannot match those titans in skill and force—but what of the uncanny way they have of speaking directly to the universal and eternal child in us?