The book contains four of O’Flaherty’s short stories, each one accompanied by a Salkeld illustration. Salkeld uses a sharp, clean line in the illustrations, with a unique stylization based upon the shape and form of the figures and the environment; there is no rendering or shading to add further definition to the subjects, just the essentials. While there may not be a unifying visual element among the four illustrations, there is a quality of menace that recurs through the images, from the crowd of onlookers in Red Barbara to the stormy ocean waves of The Oar.

I could not confirm how the original illustrations were made, but the quality of the line suggests pen-and-ink drawing. However, Salkeld also worked in printmaking, so it’s possible the original art could have been made through etching, a line engraving, or a lithographic process. The gray wash of the illustrations even resembles an etching plate or lithographic stone. The printed illustrations in the book itself rest on the surface of the textured paper without any evidence of pressing or indentation, so it’s likely that the book was produced by an offset printing method, by the printing house of William Edwin Rudge in Mount Vernon, New York.

Though Cecil Ffrench Salkeld may seem to be an obscure figure nowadays, he was an active participant in the artistic and literary life of Dublin in the 20^th century. Born in 1904 to Irish parents in India, his mother Blanaid, herself a poet, actress, and translator, returned to Ireland with Cecil in 1910 upon her husband’s death. Cecil entered the Dublin Metropolitan School of Art at the age of 15 and continued his studies in Germany at the Kassell Kunstschule, before having his first solo show in 1924 at the Dublin Painter’s Gallery. [1]

From 1937 to 1946 Cecil and Blanaid operated the Gayfield Press, which highlighted and supported writers within the Dublin literary scene. He was a co-founder of the Irish National Ballet School, with ballet and dancers serving as subjects for many of his paintings. A mural he painted for Davy Byrne’s pub can still be seen today, a locale made famous by its inclusion in James Joyce’s Ulysses. Finally, his daughter Beatrice was married to the writer Brendan Behan, and Cecil served as the basis for the character of Michael Byrne in Flann O’Brien’s At Swim Two Birds. [2]   

For the final 2023 installment of The Printed Image, I’m continuing our exploration of illustrated works by Gustave Doré within Falvey Library’s Special Collections, this time focusing on John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost, in a large format edition published in 1886 by Cassell, Petter, and Galpin.

In my last blog post, we ended with Doré’s depiction of Satan in the deepest circle of Hell, a giant brooding beast encased in ice. Doré’s work within Paradise Lost can be seen as a prequel of sorts, as Milton and Doré, separated by centuries, depict Satan’s rebellion and war with Heaven, his fall to Hell, and his temptation of Adam and Eve.

(Click on images for larger view.)

While Milton’s poem features Adam and Eve as key characters, Doré’s illustrations are dominated by the angelic and the demonic, playing to his strengths for dynamic and dramatic imagery. These divine figures are visualized alone within heavenly or infernal realms, or within congregations that are in active conflict. One notable detail is that, with the exception of the wings, there is sometimes little difference between angel and demon, they share nearly the same face and figure. Even Satan doesn’t assume a more sinister appearance until later in the series of illustrations.

Paradise Lost may be viewed in-person in Falvey Library’s Rare Book Room by appointment. An edition with Doré illustrations from 1900 can be viewed at Internet Archive. And Gustave Doré’s biblical illustrations continue to be on display in the Divine Inspiration exhibit, on view on Falvey Library’s first floor.

Mike Sgier is a Distinctive Collections Coordinator at Falvey Library.

For this October installment of The Printed Image, we’re continuing the exploration of Gustave Doré’s illustrated works within Special Collections while also journeying to an underworld of doom and darkness.

Doré’s illustrations for Dante’s Inferno have defined this literary masterwork for modern audiences, to the point where readers may know the images without knowing the artist. Doré began work on the illustrations in 1855 and eventually self-published his own edition in 1861, after he was unable to find a publisher willing to take the financial risk. Doré’s own risk paid off, and the Inferno illustrations became a defining point in his career. [1] (The edition in Falvey’s Special Collections was published later by P.F. Collier in New York.)

The image on the right, engraved by Héliodore Pisan, is composed with a density of lines and marks, many of them short cuts and stipples that create a gradual gradation from the dark landscape in the background to the bright flame within Farinata’s tomb.

This is contrasted with the illustration below, by an engraver only known as ‘Delduc,’ where the negative space dominates the image. We can see evidence of an engraver’s tools in its making, but it also closely resembles a pen-and-ink drawing, which is not an easy feat for a wood engraving. Pisan’s treatment creates an aura of dark menace while Delduc presents Hell’s torments with clarity and precision.

Over the course of the fall semester, I’ll be highlighting books from Falvey Library’s Distinctive Collections featuring the work of French illustrator Gustave Doré. This is in conjunction with the new exhibit Divine Inspiration: Revealing the Sacred in Biblical Texts and Imagery, now on display on the first floor of Falvey Library. Doré created over 200 biblical illustrations for an edition of the Bible published in 1866, and a case in the exhibit is dedicated to his work, as well as being included on the exhibit poster.

For this first entry in the series, we’re focusing on illustrations Doré created prior to his biblical illustrations with Doré Fairy Tales (formally titled “Popular Fairy Tales”), a 32-page volume that collects four stories, published in 1888. An author is not credited for the text, but Doré’s illustrations most likely derived from illustrations he created for Charles Perrault’s fairy tales, around 1862.

An artistic prodigy and enormously prolific, Doré earned acclaim for his book and newspaper illustrations while striving for acceptance in the traditional French art establishment. The majority of his illustrations were produced through wood engraving, a process where an image is carved into a block of wood by carving away the negative space of the image. Ink can then be rolled onto the carved surface and subsequently printed, though often metals plates were created from the blocks by means of electrotyping or stereotyping, allowing the images to be used in industrial printing, and for wider dissemination of the illustrations [1].

Doré was able to utilize the engraving medium to add a staggering level of detail to his illustrations, with expressive costuming, characters and locales. The illustrations have a strong grounding in realistic environments, but still leave room for the strange and fantastic, as seen in the illustrations for The Seven-League Boots. But these qualities are also due to the engravers who collaborated with Doré, as they were the ones who carved the woodblocks based on Doré’s drawings, thus bringing his visions to life. Doré often drew directly onto the woodblocks prior to carving, so not much evidence remains of his preparatory drawings prior to an engravers’ tools [1].

In many cases, the engraver’s signature would be included on the illustrations along with Doré’s, as can be seen in the bottom left corner of a Blue-Beard illustration. However, for many of the illustrations in this particular edition, Doré’s signature is the only one that is prominent. This could be due to the way the illustrations were formatted for this particular edition, or how the printing plates were disseminated to the publisher.

One final aspect I’ll note is the paper used for this edition. The paper has a significant texture or “tooth” to it that is detectable when reading, and brings a unique character to the illustrations. But it also creates an uneven surface for the ink to rest upon, which may account for spots where it appears the ink has been rubbed away. This is a reminder that every variable in printing will impact a book and its contents, and will be a factor in its preservation.

For this installment of The Printed Image, I’m returning to a book format to highlight the illustrations of Sidney H. Meteyard for The Golden Legend, a narrative poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This particular edition was published by Hodder & Stoughton in New York, around 1910.

Taking place in medieval Italy, the poem recounts the struggles of Prince Henry of Hoheneck, who is stricken with a malady that can only be cured by the blood of a maiden who consents to die for his sake. Through the machinations and deceptions of Lucifer himself, Henry loses his princely seat and becomes an outcast, finding solace only with Elsie, the daughter of a former vassal. Elsie is so moved by his plight that she decides to sacrifice her life for his, so as to become closer to Christ. Eventually, Elise is kidnapped by Lucifer and rescued by Henry, who is miraculously healed during the rescue effort. The two lovers are happily married, and Henry is restored to his princely seat.

The Golden Legend may be viewed in Falvey Library’s Rare Book Room by appointment. A similar edition of this book is also available digitally through Open Library.

Mike Sgier is a Distinctive Collections Coordinator at Falvey Library.