His excellences have become byewords, but there are no amusing myths or romantic legends connected with his life to excite the attention of the curious. It is easy for a visitor to discover the gentle humour and the even gentler pathos of Charles Lamb behind Rackham’s large tortoise-shell spectacles, but it is difficult to believe that the imagination of this unaffected magician has furnished the raw material for his exceptionally engaging art.Įven Punch takes Rackham seriously, and he has been delighting young and old for so many years that in 1922 an admirer can merely follow, with docility, the trails of praise which earlier writers have blazed. In this peaceful spot, far from the more exciting bohemian atmosphere of Chelsea, fragrant with the sweet odours of lilac and laburnum, and at Houghton, Arundel, his country home, he works patiently, like one of those quaint, keen-eyed, good-natured gnomes he loves to draw and which he in many ways resembles.
Arthur Rackham is a genial Englishman without eccentricities or idiosyncracies, who lives a serene uneventful life with his wife-who is also a gifted artist-and their daughter, in a studio appropriately situated near Primrose Hill in his native London.
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