Kitabı oku: «John Leech, His Life and Work, Vol. 2 [of 2]», sayfa 13

It was predicted that Leech's death would be death to Punch. How false and foolish that prophecy was, none knew so well as Leech himself; but while admitting to the full the great talent of the present Punch staff of artists, it cannot be denied that Leech's place is vacant, and I assume the prophetic mantle and proclaim (I hope mistakenly) that it will never be filled. It should always be borne in mind that though it is impossible to exaggerate the benefit that Punch derived from Leech's pencil, the artist is also deeply indebted to Punch for the exceptional opportunities the peculiar character of the paper offered for the display of his powers. The fact is, the paper and the illustrations were exactly suited to each other, and always worked harmoniously together.

That Leech's death would be keenly felt by all connected with Punch goes without saying, and if tears are evidences of grief, those that fell from the eyes of the whole of the staff as they stood round Leech's grave gave full assurance of their sorrow.

On the 3rd of November, by a notice in the daily papers, the public were informed that the funeral of John Leech would take place at Kensal Green on the following day. At two o'clock on the afternoon of the 4th, great crowds of people lined the ways from the chapel to the grave, which was already surrounded by the friends and acquaintances of the dead. The pall-bearers were Mark Lemon, Shirley Brooks, Tom Taylor, J. E. Millais, R.A., Horace Mayhew, M. Evans (Bradbury and Evans, of Punch), John Tenniel, F. C. Burnand, Samuel Lucas, and Henry Silver (all members of the staff or contributors to Punch). These were followed by John Leech, the artist's father; Dr. Quain, poor Leech's unwearied attendant in his illness; Charles Keene, George Du Maurier, and others, all more or less associated with Leech in their relation to Punch. In attendance were Charles Dickens, W. H. Russell, Perceval Leigh, Edmund Yates, Charles F. Adams, German Reed, H. K. Browne ('Phiz'), Thomas Landseer, A.R.A., George Cruikshank, Godfrey Turner, Creswick (the tragedian), Marcus Stone, J. Phillip, R.A., W. P. Frith, R.A., and many others. The red coats of two soldiers made bright spots amongst the sombre crowd. The service for the dead was read by the Rev. S. R. Hole, now Dean of Rochester, whose warm friendship for Leech distressingly affected him in his delivery of the solemn passages in the burial service. The last words had scarcely ceased when we crowded together, and without a dry eye amongst us, as we took our farewell look into the resting-place of the man we loved so well. One tomb only divides the graves of Thackeray and Leech. Of both these men it may be justly said that, like Saul and Jonathan of old, "they were beautiful in their lives," and but a short time and a small space divide them in their deaths.

Leech's wife and children soon followed him to the grave; and though, to the surprise and regret of all who knew of the immense mass of work that he produced, he was unable to leave even a moderate fortune behind him, it is satisfactory to know that his family did not suffer. Anything approaching privation was warded off by means which it is not necessary to particularize.

The whole world is the inheritor under the will of Leech; and what a legacy he has bequeathed! Posterity will be able to study us in our habits as we lived, in our pleasures and our pains, in our follies and eccentricities, in our sports and amusements – in short, in every condition of life, high and low. A type, or types, of every class, from the very poor to the very rich, from the beggar to the King, spring perfect from Leech's pencil. He revels in beauty; tenderness and manly strength combine in his works, as they did in himself, a love of what is good and pure, and a hatred of the ignoble and the base is shown in all he drew, and in every act of his private life. My endeavour in these pages has been to convey to those to whom Leech will be but a name, as clear an idea as lay in my power of the "life and character" of the author of the matchless works which will be a delight for all time. Death only sanctifies the loving memory in which Leech will be held by those who knew him. The kindly and intelligent of future generations will, I hope and believe, not only appreciate the humour and character, the fun and frolic, in Leech's drawings, but discover also the delightful nature of their producer in many a tender touch, in many a good-natured rendering of matter that was susceptible in other hands of severe or vulgar treatment; and if I can create for him something of the affectionate regard in the future that is universally felt for him in the present, my object in writing this imperfect memoir will be attained.