buds and fair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo; when the lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy housewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass. (page 3)

This natural world is an inhabited one, not a distant romantic view, and in the same essentially human way, Pyle visualizes his characters, as with the friar:His cheeks were as red and shining as a winter crab, albeit they were nearly covered with a close curly black beard, as were his chin and upper lip likewise. His neck was thick like that of a north country bull, and his round head closely set upon shoulders e’en a match for those of Little John himself. Beneath his bushy black brows danced a pair of little gray eyes that could not stand still for very drollery of humor. (page 161)

But if The Merry Adventures luxuriates in the leisurely scene setting of the novel, it can also offer a novel’s close interpretations. As Agosta comments: “Pyle clarifies the logic, causal connections, and character motivations so conspicuously absent from the ballad tradition” (page 28). Early on, Little John is tempted to the Blue Boar Inn rather than his mission to Lincoln: Robin is annoyed, but John’s failing is ultimately covered up because of Robin’s desire to conceal his own failure in battle with the tinker. This is just ironic motivation, but character can be more thoughtfully explored: Will Stutely is “over-cautious” after his escape from hanging by the sheriff (page 146), and later Robin will not stand for being hit by Will Scarlet, but will accept a blow from the king who, though disguised as a friar, still carries real authority.

In this way Pyle can lay out some splendid scenes and also search into the characters and their relations more deeply than did the ballads. A similar mix of richness and subtlety is to be found in the illustrations. For Robin Hood, as in his later stories of King Arthur, Pyle used what Henry Pitz calls his “decorative” style (page 104), relying on the tradition of bold line drawing in an elaborate frame that goes back to Dürer, whom he admired enormously. His experience with working for magazines had taught him to draw with pen and ink in a way that could be engraved dramatically: early experiments with color printing were too crude for his satisfaction, and at this stage, he kept to the black and white he made so famous. But Pyle could also use what Pitz calls his “impressionist” style, filling his drawings with drama like the pre-Raphaelites’ realistic but passionate treatment of medieval themes and surpassing in emotive power the technical skill of the dominant London illustrators Kate Greenaway, Ralph Caldecott and Walter Crane.

Not only are the illustrations full of fascinating detail, the sort of thing children—and adults—love to pore over. They are also subtly structured. The outlaws, noble and upright in their nature, are normally presented in a vertical plane; their enemies are horizontal. The death of Guy of Gisborne (page 322) is the classic instance, but it is a common pattern. And the outlaws are very often represented beside a road that stretches up into the vertical distance: theirs is a world of motion and ascent. This can change: the king’s blow lays Robin almost horizontal (page 355) and the brilliant illustration of Robin nearly trapped by the king’s men (page 306) shows him bent over, encased. The lateral is essentially hostile: the few scenes at court or in an abbey are heavily horizontal in design, even when depicting the Merry Men, as when Alan a Dale sings to Queen Eleanor, though there is still a window behind them to suggest their continuing liberty (page 274).

Apart from the variety and subtlety of the illustrations, the frames themselves are wonderfully varied and suggestive. The more the illustration shows outlaw triumph, the more richly natural will the frame be; where the outlaws are in difficulty, the frame is almost lifeless, and real trouble thins the frame right down—as with the sorrowful knight (page 192) or the king striking Robin (page 355). The frame for Robin’s death (page 366), where the open window still offers a future, if only for the myth, gives a transcendent Blakean image of Azrael, the angel of the soul. To intensify the visual impact, throughout there are smaller but still rich headings and