Illustrations I Loved in My Earliest Years 6 (Last Installment in This Series)

When I was in junior high school, my mother bought books at an auction of teacher Flora Farden’s estate. Among them was Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, translated by William Robson. D. Appleton and Company published the book in 1899. Combining two volumes, the hardcover boasts 250 illustrations by Maurice Leloir that were engraved on wood by J. Huyot. Flora’s brother, Millard Farden, had autographed the book in June of 1901. I had never read such a long work of literature before. It contained 715 pages! I was not confident I would have the stamina! … but the spectacular art captured—and held—my interest! I thrilled at the derring-do of d’Artagnan and his formidable friends Athos, Porthos, and Aramis.

Thrilling to d’Artagnan’s Exploits

In Maurice Leloir’s Illustrations

Engraved on Wood by J. Huyot

In Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers

Translated by William Robson

D. Appleton & Company, 1899

In my teenage years, I dreamed large dreams of becoming an illustrator or a writer or a composer. Looking back, I guess I managed to bring the first two dreams to fruition, although not precisely in the ways I envisioned. When I studied the engravings in Dumas’ wonderful adventure, my eyes were filled with grand scenes packed with action: much like the life I predicted for myself.

I read all 715 pages. … and I wished there were more! (I did not realize that Dumas published two other works that can be viewed as sequels.) Long after I completed the tome, I paged back through it to see again the marvelous illustrations. They captured the sheer fun of d’Artagnan’s life. I use the word “fun” unguardedly because even the most intense crises with the direst consequences never seem so dreadful as to inspire horror while reading The Three Musketeers; instead, the reader instinctively knows (or Dumas cleverly signals) that all will be well: that the main characters will survive to triumph!

Leloir’s art perfectly suits the tone of Dumas’ historical novel. The fun that I mentioned is there to be seen in the postures of the figures. The handsome costumes amid the shimmering glory of French aristocracy are plenty to keep a teenager’s imagination running wild.

I have carried The Three Musketeers wherever I have gone. It has stood on a secure shelf somewhere nearby in every townhouse and home I have occupied. I have it beside me now, while I write this sentence. The bright red of the cover and the shield with crossed rapiers is just as bright today as it was when my mother purchased the book, and the gilt edges of the pages shine just as enticingly. The dreams the book contains are just as real for me today—and just as precious as ever!       

Illustrations I Loved in My Earliest Years 5

For Christmas in 1960, the neighbor across the street, Beulah Jones, gave me a book titled Corky Learns a Lesson. Illustrated by Zdeněk Miler, the story of Corky was a little too young for a boy already in grade school, but I loved the book all the same and love it just as much today.

Zdeněk Miler’s Illustration in Emil Ludvik’s Corky Learns a Lesson

Translated by Daphne Rusbridge (1960)

Corky Learns a Lesson was based on a film, About Kohoutkovia Hen, and featured a text by Emil Ludvik that was translated by Daphne Rusbridge. As with Disney-style animation, the rooster (named Corky) and the hen (named—Are you ready?—Henny) stand out from the richly painted backdrops. Warm orange, soft tan, moss green, and deep brown characterize the fifteen full-page illustrations measuring approximately 21 by 29 cm. Even though the scenes were European, I felt at home among the woodpiles, strings of onions, pitchforks, brooks, barns, baskets, and butter churns. As I was living on a farm, I was well acquainted with all such details. I remember thinking that Miler and I were fellow artists, for I had begun to consider myself one who might one day wield a mighty pen. Mrs. Hail, my first-grade teacher, may have encouraged me when she found I had made exact copies of the dogs in the drawings in our textbooks. My mother certainly rewarded me with compliments for my art. So whether I had any talent or not, I believed I did. … and believing is nine-tenths of fulfilling dreams.

I turned to Miler’s marvelous scenes again and again. Even now, as I page through the book, I am transported to the places Miler imagined. Most importantly, I feel no stress—only joy, tranquility, and security. Thistles without prickles and a friendly blue-eyed cow help convey the peacefulness of the rural environment. The sole threat consists of red berries that Corky finds too attractive, but I will say no more as I would not want to spoil the ending.

My father raised chickens, and, even at a young age, I recognized that Miler’s rooster and hen were lifelike. Their poses typified the chickens in my father’s yard, and I considered accuracy the highest goal of a truthful artist.

How little could I foresee that my life would take me away from the farm to spend years and years in cities! … yet, no matter how loud the sirens and jets, the rural spaces within my memory filled my hours with the crowing of roosters and the mooing of cows. I discovered I had never really left the farm; rather, I had brought the farm with me wherever I went.

… and I still have Corky Learns a Lesson to page through, reliving the playfulness and dreaminess of my childhood.       

Illustrations I Loved in My Earliest Years 3

When I was very small, my mother read to me from Thornton W. Burgess’ Old Mother West Wind, which had a publication date of 1910 by Grosset & Dunlap. I will not pretend that I understood all the details at such an early age, but I delighted in George Kerr’s illustrations, which depicted such animals as foxes, rabbits, and raccoons wearing gingham shirts and knee britches with suspenders.

One of George Kerr’s Illustrations

In Thornton W. Burgess’ Old Mother West Wind (1910)

As I grew a little older, my appreciation for Kerr’s art also grew. My mother drove me to the public library in Oxford, Indiana, five miles from my hometown of Pine Village. I was thrilled to find shelves full of other books by Burgess and Kerr. My mother showed me how to check out a few of them. The fact that I could take them home and read them before they had to be returned was so astonishing that I thought public libraries must be the most amazing humanitarian institutions ever invented!

Oxford’s library was archived in a relatively small building underwritten by Andrew Carnegie. At the time, it seemed large to such a small me. The fragrance of bindings, paper, ink, glue, and wax permeated the rooms with their tables and chairs wearing the glorious patina of years of use. I paid the nearly silent librarian the highest respect as she stamped the papers affixed inside the covers of the books I would read.

I returned to the library again and again, until I had read all the Burgess books in the collection. My young mind was filled with the exploits of the animals that lived in Mother West Wind’s world. Otters, squirrels, skunks, turtles, frogs, and owls joined the raccoons, rabbits, and foxes in action-packed story after story. The magnificent illustrations led me from chapter to chapter. Is there a word more sweeping than joy? If so, I would use it now to describe my response to Burgess’ many books.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, an idea had taken root: I wanted to become an artist. I wanted to bring viewers the joy that Kerr’s illustrations brought me. The idea quickly flowered, as I copied drawings in my books in the first grade. My mother had encouraged me to draw since I was tiny. At the age of three, I had created a pencil portrait of my grandmother. My father kept it in a cabinet. When I found the drawing years later, I was surprised that it so closely resembled my grandmother, even though the sketch was obviously that of a child. Now double the age when I drew my father’s mother, I thought I should be constantly drawing. The practice anticipated my sideline as an illustrator when I attended Indiana University. During my career at Northern Kentucky University, I created dozens of drawings for campus publications.

My love for black-and-white sketches in particular and for entertaining illustrations in general gained impetus from Old Mother West Wind long ago.