Social Pictorial Satire — Inside the Classic

Leech's Instinctive Appeal

Du Maurier characterizes Leech's art as a 'happy kind' that 'goes straight to the heart of the multitude.' He compares Leech's drawings to simple, enduring tunes like 'Home, Sweet Home'—melodies that need little accompaniment to charm. Leech's lines, though not always technically refined, possess a 'sweet and true natural voice' that Du Maurier calls 'the magic of nature.' He notes that Leech often depicted 'manly British pluck and honesty' and physical beauty, which may have limited his appeal abroad but endeared him to the national audience. Du Maurier suggests that Leech's popularity, while greater than Keene's, rests on qualities that do not travel as well as Keene's more purely artistic merits.

Keene's Mastery of Economy

In contrast, Du Maurier presents Keene as a 'very Sebastian Bach in his counterpoint,' whose knowledge of harmony in black and white is complete. He praises Keene's economy: 'his lines are as few as can be—he is most economical in this respect and loves to leave as much white paper as he can.' A French painter is quoted saying Keene could 'frame a gust of wind' with a half-dozen strokes. Du Maurier argues that Keene's achievement is one of 'consummate knowledge of effect' and 'certainty of execution,' appealing more to brother-artists than to the general public. He notes that Keene's work gains appreciation from foreign experts, who are not distracted by his perceived shortcomings in depicting English social nuances.

A Musical Parallel for Two Approaches

Du Maurier develops an extended musical analogy to clarify the difference between the two artists. Leech's drawings are like 'Volkslieder—national airs' that directly reach the national heart, while Keene's are more like the work of a professional singer whose 'aesthetic achievement is all the greater' but whose tunes are 'less obviously sweet.' He observes that Leech's popularity has been greater in England, but Keene is 'as much admired by the artists of France and Germany as by our own—if not more.' The comparison underscores Du Maurier's central argument: that artistic merit and popular appeal do not always coincide, and that Keene's craftsmanship, though less immediately winning, may prove more enduring among those who understand the technical challenges of the craft.

The Role of the Critic and the Public

Du Maurier returns to his opening distinction between the public critic and the expert critic, suggesting that the expert is 'some years in advance of that other critic, the public, who may, and probably will, come round to his way of thinking in time.' This observation frames his comparison of Leech and Keene as a case study in how artistic reputation evolves. He implies that Keene's current lesser popularity may eventually be corrected as the public learns to appreciate his technical mastery. The essay thus becomes not only a portrait of two artists but also a meditation on the dynamics of critical reception and the gap between immediate pleasure and lasting artistic value.

Du Maurier's essay rewards readers who attend to his careful distinctions between instinct and training, national taste and cosmopolitan judgment. The musical analogy he employs is not decorative but structural, shaping his argument about why some art pleases instantly while other art demands a more educated eye. Readers may find it useful to compare Du Maurier's own illustrations—listed in the front matter—with the works of Leech and Keene he discusses, to see how his principles apply to his own practice.

There’s something tender about how Leech’s easy charm lingers while Keene’s craft commands respect—both earned, both real. It put me in mind of that old collection of quiet interviews, Little Visits with Great Americans, Vol. 2 (of 2) Or Success, Ideals and How to Attain Them — Edition Insights, where success feels less like a summit than a series of modest, human choices. I still think about that distinction sometimes.