DOI issue:
January to June, 1846
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16542#0183
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
17o
THE BRITISH ARTISTS.
PUNCH is proud of his country. He would
gladly avow his pride in the British
Artists : but if the exhibitors in Suffolk
Street have any right to the name, he
is sorry to say that his face is yet
rubicund with a blush, which com-
menced with his setting foot in the
rooms in Suffolk Street on the private
view, and has lasted ever since.
There were foreigners in the room—
men with black mustaches and trowsers-
pockets and flower-pot hats—who were
evidently taken in by the name, and
believed these painters to be the verit-
able "British Artists." They will go
back to France, (for Frenchmen never
go to two exhibitions in a foreign coun-
try, being gifted with an instinctive
power of seeing through things at a
single glance,) and shrug their shoulders when British Art is men-
tioned, and utter a most significant " Ah ! Bah ! " as they remember
the yards of spoilt canvas in Suffolk Street.
It is a humiliating sight, and that is the only epithet for it.
Punch has suffered much from the violent epidemic eruptions of
Gil Biases, and Vicars of Wakefield, and Findings of the Body of Harold,
which break out every May in the Academy Exhibition. But there
are redeeming points in that. If the artists cannot read they can
paint. If they show a marvellous lack of invention, and plentiful weak
wits, they have a command of the pencil, and a familiarity with the
resources of the palette. Their classical knowledge may be cold-drawn
from Lempriere, but the dose is administered with considerable aver-
age skill. But at Suffolk Street we have all the ignorance of the
Academy—the colour and design of the al fresco exhibitions in the
New Cut and High Holborn—the conceit peculiar to "the British
Artists." It was suggested to us that the place should be viewed as a
saleroom and not an exhibition. But how any of such pictures can be
sold, passes our comprehension. There is no saleroom, no Jew auction
mart, but there is occasionally a thing worth buying.
We write sweepingly. That there is not some good to counterbalance
the immense quantity of rubbish, it would be unfair to assert, but
what there is of it is swallowed up in the chaos of vulgarities and
absurdities. We call upon the Commissioners of Fine Arts to shut up
this gallery at once. We call upon Mr. Thomas Duncombe, or Mr.
Hawes, or Mr. Hume, or some other member who combines patriotism
with pictorial taste, to bring in a Bill for the condign punishment of all
who shall hereafter sin as the British Artists have sinned this year.
The only destination we can see for the bulk of these pictures, is for
the Government to purchase them, and fill the National Gallery—a
fitting receptacle for such horrors. The whole of Trafalgar Square
will thus be properly and congruously furnished. The fountains and
George the Fourth would keep the Suffolk Street pictures in counte-
nance, and "the finest area in Europe" would be " spoiled " at once,
instead of being ruined inch by inch by the Commissioners.
The Raphaels, and the Poessms, and the Reubenses, and the
Vandykes, and the Correggios, and the Carraccis, &c, might be
transferred to quarters more suited to their rank; and then the modern
Erostratus (who is only kept back by the great pictures) might
arise and burn down Gallery and contents ; so, winning a statue in our
future Valhalla, and the gratitude of all Englishmen of taste for aD
time to come.
Again, and in conclusion, we protest against the assumption of the
name of "British Artists " by the spoilers of canvass who exhibit in
Suffolk Street, They should be confined to the initials S. B. A., with
an interpretation clause for the use of strangers, fixing the meaning to
be, " Society of Bad Artists." This title they have won fairly. We
hope they may not have to wear it long.
Fashions from Paris.
Lord Brougham has gone over to Paris, for the purpose, we have
been told, of opening in person the grand congress of fashion which
takes place annually at Longchamps. We may consequently expect
amongst the next importation of modes, a Chapeau a la Lord Harry, and
who knows that his lordship, already so celebrated in trowsers, may
not bring us over the pattern of a new pair of pantaloons, called, in
compliment, after himself, Une paire de Brougham et Vaux 1
The best Engines of War.—Several fire-engines have been con-
structed for the Colonies. One of them will be sent over to Oregon,
for the purpose of putting Jonathan's pipe out.
THE DUKE AND HIS LETTER WRITERS.
It is too bad. The Duke of Wellington, like Echo, is expected to
answer every donkey that may choose to bray. A couple of letters
(that have not yet gone the round of the press) have been handed to us.
The first is to the Duke ; the second the Duke's answer :—
" My Lord Duke,—Being proud to feel that you are public property
I wish you to inform me whether, as an allottee of the Saffron Hill and
Isle of Dogs Junction Railway, I ought to pay twelvepence a share on
fifty shares, with three-and-sixpence for the application ?
" Your obedient servant,.
" Adolphus Carns.
" P.S. When you 're writing will you also decide a little wager pend-
ing in the parlour of the Flower-Pot ? Did you say, ' Up, Guards, and
at 'em ;' or, ' Guards, up, and at 'em " ' ?
"Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington has received the letter
of Mr. Carns. He is the Commander-in-Chief, and not an attorney ;
and has no connexion with railways, except when he travels by them.
" As to the expression, ' Up, Guards, and at 'em,' and ' Guards, up,
and at 'em,' the people of the Flower-Pot may take whichever suits
them. To the Duke either is immaterial."
PUNCH TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS.
Lincoln, spare that tree,
Touch not a single bough;
Though in the way it be,
Oh stand up for it now.
Still let its shade expand
Where, round the social pot,
The Hansom cabmen stand—
Oh, Lincoln, harm it not !
If every ancient tree,
Because its green's grown brown,
Scrubbed up, perforce, must be,
What is there mayn't come down ?
Though barren all it looks,
Both head and heart unsound ;
Oh think upon the Dukes,
And leave it in the ground !
You ought to draw it mild.
You ought, upon my word ;
For cutting down you 're wild,—
Protection is the word.
The Piccadilly tree,
The burden on the land,
Is old,—so let it be,
Though in the way it stand !
Thy sire, great Clumber's King,
Thou 'rt certain to offend—
His son do such a thing !—
The world draws to an end !
Old laws, old Dukes, old Trees,
Delay, decay, dry-rot—■
Let Peel do as he please,
But, Lincoln, harm them not !
The Swedish N'lg'btingraie.
Lately, at Berlin, Jenny Lind sprained her left ancle ; whereupon
the King sent to her one of his private surgeons, and 1000 cards were
daily left at her house by " individuals of distinction !" Now, if an
English prima donna would wish to know the value of her ancle in
London, compared with Jenny Lind's ancle in Berlin,—we advise her
to sprain it, and she cannot fail to arrive at a computation.
THE EXHIBITIONS.
St. Paul's Cathedral was not so well attended on Easter Monday.
A penny showman, who was exhibiting " Mother Goose" opposite,
took away nearly all the custom.
Three foreigners who wished to see the monument to Shakspeake,
applied for admission at Westminster Abbey. The intelligent verger
told them " he had never heard of such a thing, but possibly they might
see it at Madame Tussaud's Exhibition."
17o
THE BRITISH ARTISTS.
PUNCH is proud of his country. He would
gladly avow his pride in the British
Artists : but if the exhibitors in Suffolk
Street have any right to the name, he
is sorry to say that his face is yet
rubicund with a blush, which com-
menced with his setting foot in the
rooms in Suffolk Street on the private
view, and has lasted ever since.
There were foreigners in the room—
men with black mustaches and trowsers-
pockets and flower-pot hats—who were
evidently taken in by the name, and
believed these painters to be the verit-
able "British Artists." They will go
back to France, (for Frenchmen never
go to two exhibitions in a foreign coun-
try, being gifted with an instinctive
power of seeing through things at a
single glance,) and shrug their shoulders when British Art is men-
tioned, and utter a most significant " Ah ! Bah ! " as they remember
the yards of spoilt canvas in Suffolk Street.
It is a humiliating sight, and that is the only epithet for it.
Punch has suffered much from the violent epidemic eruptions of
Gil Biases, and Vicars of Wakefield, and Findings of the Body of Harold,
which break out every May in the Academy Exhibition. But there
are redeeming points in that. If the artists cannot read they can
paint. If they show a marvellous lack of invention, and plentiful weak
wits, they have a command of the pencil, and a familiarity with the
resources of the palette. Their classical knowledge may be cold-drawn
from Lempriere, but the dose is administered with considerable aver-
age skill. But at Suffolk Street we have all the ignorance of the
Academy—the colour and design of the al fresco exhibitions in the
New Cut and High Holborn—the conceit peculiar to "the British
Artists." It was suggested to us that the place should be viewed as a
saleroom and not an exhibition. But how any of such pictures can be
sold, passes our comprehension. There is no saleroom, no Jew auction
mart, but there is occasionally a thing worth buying.
We write sweepingly. That there is not some good to counterbalance
the immense quantity of rubbish, it would be unfair to assert, but
what there is of it is swallowed up in the chaos of vulgarities and
absurdities. We call upon the Commissioners of Fine Arts to shut up
this gallery at once. We call upon Mr. Thomas Duncombe, or Mr.
Hawes, or Mr. Hume, or some other member who combines patriotism
with pictorial taste, to bring in a Bill for the condign punishment of all
who shall hereafter sin as the British Artists have sinned this year.
The only destination we can see for the bulk of these pictures, is for
the Government to purchase them, and fill the National Gallery—a
fitting receptacle for such horrors. The whole of Trafalgar Square
will thus be properly and congruously furnished. The fountains and
George the Fourth would keep the Suffolk Street pictures in counte-
nance, and "the finest area in Europe" would be " spoiled " at once,
instead of being ruined inch by inch by the Commissioners.
The Raphaels, and the Poessms, and the Reubenses, and the
Vandykes, and the Correggios, and the Carraccis, &c, might be
transferred to quarters more suited to their rank; and then the modern
Erostratus (who is only kept back by the great pictures) might
arise and burn down Gallery and contents ; so, winning a statue in our
future Valhalla, and the gratitude of all Englishmen of taste for aD
time to come.
Again, and in conclusion, we protest against the assumption of the
name of "British Artists " by the spoilers of canvass who exhibit in
Suffolk Street, They should be confined to the initials S. B. A., with
an interpretation clause for the use of strangers, fixing the meaning to
be, " Society of Bad Artists." This title they have won fairly. We
hope they may not have to wear it long.
Fashions from Paris.
Lord Brougham has gone over to Paris, for the purpose, we have
been told, of opening in person the grand congress of fashion which
takes place annually at Longchamps. We may consequently expect
amongst the next importation of modes, a Chapeau a la Lord Harry, and
who knows that his lordship, already so celebrated in trowsers, may
not bring us over the pattern of a new pair of pantaloons, called, in
compliment, after himself, Une paire de Brougham et Vaux 1
The best Engines of War.—Several fire-engines have been con-
structed for the Colonies. One of them will be sent over to Oregon,
for the purpose of putting Jonathan's pipe out.
THE DUKE AND HIS LETTER WRITERS.
It is too bad. The Duke of Wellington, like Echo, is expected to
answer every donkey that may choose to bray. A couple of letters
(that have not yet gone the round of the press) have been handed to us.
The first is to the Duke ; the second the Duke's answer :—
" My Lord Duke,—Being proud to feel that you are public property
I wish you to inform me whether, as an allottee of the Saffron Hill and
Isle of Dogs Junction Railway, I ought to pay twelvepence a share on
fifty shares, with three-and-sixpence for the application ?
" Your obedient servant,.
" Adolphus Carns.
" P.S. When you 're writing will you also decide a little wager pend-
ing in the parlour of the Flower-Pot ? Did you say, ' Up, Guards, and
at 'em ;' or, ' Guards, up, and at 'em " ' ?
"Field-Marshal the Duke of Wellington has received the letter
of Mr. Carns. He is the Commander-in-Chief, and not an attorney ;
and has no connexion with railways, except when he travels by them.
" As to the expression, ' Up, Guards, and at 'em,' and ' Guards, up,
and at 'em,' the people of the Flower-Pot may take whichever suits
them. To the Duke either is immaterial."
PUNCH TO THE WOODS AND FORESTS.
Lincoln, spare that tree,
Touch not a single bough;
Though in the way it be,
Oh stand up for it now.
Still let its shade expand
Where, round the social pot,
The Hansom cabmen stand—
Oh, Lincoln, harm it not !
If every ancient tree,
Because its green's grown brown,
Scrubbed up, perforce, must be,
What is there mayn't come down ?
Though barren all it looks,
Both head and heart unsound ;
Oh think upon the Dukes,
And leave it in the ground !
You ought to draw it mild.
You ought, upon my word ;
For cutting down you 're wild,—
Protection is the word.
The Piccadilly tree,
The burden on the land,
Is old,—so let it be,
Though in the way it stand !
Thy sire, great Clumber's King,
Thou 'rt certain to offend—
His son do such a thing !—
The world draws to an end !
Old laws, old Dukes, old Trees,
Delay, decay, dry-rot—■
Let Peel do as he please,
But, Lincoln, harm them not !
The Swedish N'lg'btingraie.
Lately, at Berlin, Jenny Lind sprained her left ancle ; whereupon
the King sent to her one of his private surgeons, and 1000 cards were
daily left at her house by " individuals of distinction !" Now, if an
English prima donna would wish to know the value of her ancle in
London, compared with Jenny Lind's ancle in Berlin,—we advise her
to sprain it, and she cannot fail to arrive at a computation.
THE EXHIBITIONS.
St. Paul's Cathedral was not so well attended on Easter Monday.
A penny showman, who was exhibiting " Mother Goose" opposite,
took away nearly all the custom.
Three foreigners who wished to see the monument to Shakspeake,
applied for admission at Westminster Abbey. The intelligent verger
told them " he had never heard of such a thing, but possibly they might
see it at Madame Tussaud's Exhibition."