The Brothers Dalziel: A Record of Fifty Years Work in Conjunction with many of the Most Distinguished Artists of the Period 1840-1890

In Short

This book serves as both a memoir and a professional ledger for a family of brothers who dominated the world of wood engraving between 1840 and 1890. They recount their collaborations with major Victorian artists like Millais, Tenniel, and Burne-Jones, detailing the technical challenges of transferring delicate drawings onto wood blocks for the press. By blending biographical anecdotes with technical insights, the book preserves a vital chapter in the history of book illustration, documenting the transition from individual craft to the high-volume, collaborative output of a flourishing publishing industry.

The Story

The narrative begins with a deep, ancestral respect for the craft of wood engraving, tracing the brothers’ lineage back to the traditions established by Thomas Bewick. The brothers establish themselves in London, quickly moving from small newspaper jobs to high-stakes artistic commissions. They possess an unwavering commitment to elevating the quality of children’s books and literary editions, finding early success with publishers who share their artistic vision, such as Joseph Cundall.

As their reputation grows, the brothers find themselves at the center of the Victorian art world. They act as a bridge between the visionary illustrators of the day and the technical demands of mass production. The story follows their intense collaboration with luminaries like John Everett Millais and Sir John Tenniel. They manage the complex logistical task of producing monumental works, such as the illustrated edition of Shakespeare and a sprawling, ambitious project for an illustrated Bible. These efforts are characterized by the delicate balance of maintaining the artist’s original intent while meeting the brutal realities of printing deadlines and commercial viability.

The narrative arc is punctuated by the fluctuating fortunes of their various publishing ventures. They face the frustration of public indifference toward works they hold in high regard—such as their efforts with Frederick Walker—and the devastating loss of talented partners like Tom Hood, the editor of their humorous periodical, Fun. Their personal anecdotes reveal a life defined by intense industry and an almost paternal concern for the artists and pupils who pass through their studio. They witness the meteoric rise of young talents, some of whom achieve great fame, while others are destroyed by personal failings, such as the tragic, self-destructive descent of a promising pupil into alcoholism.

The book culminates in a reflection on the changing tides of the publishing world. As the century draws to a close, the brothers look back on a half-century of continuous labor. They acknowledge that while the public taste was often fickle and critics were occasionally harsh, their commitment to the "true instincts of an artist" never wavered. The ending is not a final curtain but a fond look back at a legacy of friendship and craft, leaving the reader with a clear image of their studio as a place where the artistic and the commercial met in the service of beauty. It concludes with their own verses, emphasizing that the friendships forged in the heat of constant, shared labor are the true treasures that remain once the presses stop.

How It Unfolds

The foundations of a craft The brothers ground their practice in the legacy of Thomas Bewick, establishing the technical standards they would demand for the rest of their careers. They frame wood engraving not merely as a mechanical process, but as a discipline requiring the "true instincts of an artist."

The rise to prominence Through strategic partnerships with publishers like Cundall and Routledge, the brothers move into high-class illustrated books. They describe the early, intimate collaborations that paved the way for larger, more complex editions of the classics.

The grand collaborations The heart of the book details the logistical struggles of coordinating with masters like Millais and Tenniel. They reveal the tension between artistic temperament and the necessity of fulfilling long-term contracts.

The weight of ambition The narrative shifts to the creation of their most ambitious projects, including the illustrated Bible and various "Fine Art Books." They candidly discuss the financial risks and the frequent gap between critical acclaim and public sales.

The final reflection The brothers conclude by surveying the individuals who passed through their shop, from the brilliant to the tragic. They frame their fifty-year record as a tribute to the "friends that never fail," sealing their legacy in both ink and verse.

The People

The narrative is driven by the brothers themselves, who function as both the protagonists and the chroniclers. They are defined by their industry, their unwavering belief in the importance of their medium, and their protective, paternal role toward the artists they commission. In contrast, the artists they work with—such as the mercurial John Everett Millais—are depicted as brilliant but often overwhelmed by their own fame. Millais represents the tension of the artist who promises everything but, caught in the demands of his own success, occasionally fails to deliver. Sir John Tenniel stands out as a paragon of reliability and grotesque, delightful humor, a figure the brothers admire for his consistency. Tom Hood, the editor of Fun, serves as the tragic heart of the story; his dedication to work despite failing health highlights the brothers' deep loyalty to their colleagues. Finally, the unnamed pupil "W. Y." serves as a dark mirror, representing the fragility of talent when untethered from the discipline the brothers so highly prized.

In Its Own Voice

"First, the man who makes the drawing ought to know the capabilities of the material and should work accordingly; second, the engraver should have all the true instincts of an artist; and, third, he must have the full interval of time to perform his work with proper care."

The brothers outline the essential conditions for producing high-quality wood engravings in their preface.

"There, I've just been to see them and have given them a bit of my mind."

An anecdote about the excitable Landells, who used this phrase habitually when dealing with his co-partners.

"My friends come forth the quiet hour to share,-- The friends I trust, and trusting, best I love; Here by the fire where these warm friendships grew They talk to me--the friends that never fail."

The concluding stanza of the book, where the authors reflect on the enduring value of their professional and personal connections.

What It's Really About

At its core, this is a meditation on the marriage of art and industry. The authors argue that high-quality visual art is not the enemy of mass production, but its essential refinement. They wrestle with the question of whether a commercial product can possess a soul, maintaining that if the engraver and the artist are both treated with the respect due to a craftsman, a book can be both a popular success and a lasting aesthetic achievement. The text also investigates the fragility of the creative life—how it can be sustained by friendship and shared purpose, yet easily dismantled by the "old, old story" of drink, excess, or the simple, crushing pressure of professional expectations.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of printing, Victorian illustration, or the behind-the-scenes reality of the nineteenth-century art world will find this an invaluable primary source. It is written with a warmth that makes the distant era of woodblocks and ink feel immediate and human. You will feel as if you are sitting in a well-lit studio, listening to an elderly master recount the day’s letters from famous artists.

However, be prepared for the book's period-specific rhythms. It is not a fast-paced narrative but a dense, leisurely collection of memories. The brothers possess a Victorian sense of professional decorum, and they are unapologetic about their own contributions to art history. Some of the anecdotes—particularly those regarding the "eccentricity" of their peers or the moral failings of certain pupils—reflect the attitudes of the time, which can feel jarringly judgmental to the modern ear. Yet, for those who value the tactile, painstaking nature of pre-digital craftsmanship, the book’s detailed descriptions of how an image was coaxed onto wood are nothing short of magical. It is a slow, rewarding read for anyone who wants to understand the human hands behind the printed page.