DOI issue:
May 15, 1869
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16883#0204
May 15, 1869.]
199
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Academy would not be offended by these observations. But he was in
the habit of addressing another Assembly, of a more distinctly repre-
sentative character,—the members of which were elected, not by their
brother members, but by outsiders. That Assembly, he was proud to
say, was in the habit of largely considering the interests of out-
siders. The poorer and more helpless those outsiders, the more
generous, as a rule, was the consideration of their interests. In fact,
it was this consideration, which, in the Assemblage he referred to, had
mainly governed the course of Reform, and the whole progress of legis-
lation. He felt it ought to be so, he trusted it would be so, in that
Parliament of Art, whose members he was addressing.
CFrom, Me.. Leighton’s Speech.)
He had returned thanks for the Volunteers, but he had lately been
serving in a corps that was not exactly a Volunteer one—he meant
the Hanging Committee. {A laugh) There was a general impression
that it was not a pleasant thing to be hung. He shared that impres-
sion. But he could safely say it was a more unpleasant thing still to
hang. Still he would remind their distinguished guest who had spoken
on the subject, that the acceptance and rejection of pictures rested not
with the hangers, but with the Council. He had taken part in that
work too. Por corroboration of'his experience of it, he would appeal
to all his brother Academicians who had fulfilled the same most painful
duty. He begged to assure their Right Honourable guest that it was
not possible humanly to avoid injustice. Let him consider what was
involved. This year it was worse than ever: for there were one
thousand five hundred pictures more than usual sent in, and no more
time to judge them—nay, less, in fact, for the workmen were in the
building, and the work of the Council and hangers was necessarily
much interrupted. But here were more than four thousand pictures
to be judged in three days, from ten to six, with an interval of about
an hour. That gave twenty-one hours, or one thousand two hundred
and sixty minutes to do the work : or between three and four pictures
to a minute ! Among the four thousand, of course, there were many
pictures that aroused a good deal of discussion, and had to be put to
the vote. He left his hearers to judge how much cool judgment or
deliberation was possible, under these circumstances. Of course there
were many pictures so direfully bad, and some so pre-eminently good,
their reception or acceptance was settled by acclamation—at a glance,
as it were. But the mass of pictures came within neither of these
categories. Great care and much time were often necessary to weigh
fairly the merits of a modest unpretending picture, which had occupied
many months perhaps of thought and labour, but which might not have
been seen by any member of the Council till it was swept before them
in the rapid tide of pictures brought up for judgment. It might be in
a style the Council were unfamiliar with—perhaps of a class most of
them were ignorant of, or indifferent to. Landscape, for example. There
were only two or three landscape painters in the Academy. None of
them might be on the Council. What chance had a simple, natural,
unconspicuous, yet faithful and meritorious, landscape, of fair judg-
ment, under such circumstances ? So far from wondering that some
good pictures were rejected, his wonder was that cases of hardship and
involuntary injustice were not far more numerous. Luckily, though
some of the Council might get drowsy, others desperate, while all of
course, grew fractious, they had, as a rule, a sense of duty among them,
and felt they were sitting as judges, and tried to do their best. But it
was physically impossible to get through the work properly, in the time
allotted to it. Luckily a good many pictures were seen before-hand in
the studios : and men had their friends and acquaintances, of course,
and looked after their pictures. And a good deal was done by outside
influence.. There was a class of people it was impossible to refuse any-
thing to, if they really set their minds on it. But, with all these cor-
rectives, he had no doubt that cases of cruel injustice did occur, par-
ticularly to the works of unknown and modest men, who had no
friends on the Council, and no influential acquaintance outside it, or
whp shrank from setting that sort of influence in motion on behalf of
their works. He, for one, was ready to confess all this, and to avow
his penitence for any unintentional wrong that might have been done,
and to submit to any penance, that could, be imposed upon him—except
to serve again on the Hanging Committee. The truth was, the time
aLlowed for selection was too short. He would give thrice as long to
the work. He would like five hangers instead of three, and he would
always have a landscape painter if not an architect, among them. He
I would not have the fate of pictures decided at one glance, but would
leave time and opportunity for re-consideration, in all cases but those
of pictures so bad that they carried their fate in their faces. He did
not know whether a Council twice as numerous was not desirable,
and whether it might not be an advantage for them to act in relays,
so as to relieve the strain of too long-continued attention. After some
hours of rapid picture-seeing, it became almost as difficult to distin-
guish good work from bad, as Port from Sherry after many hours of
wine-tasting.
Again, it should be considered that this was their first year in the
new rooms. The Council really were all abroad. They did. not even
know with any certainty, how many pictures could be hung. They
began, as might be seen, by hanging wide, and leaving a great deal
of upper wall, but they kept hanging closer and closer, as they got on,
till at last they hung almost as high and as close as in the Old Rooms.
As it was, they had only hung about one hundred and fourteen more
pictures, he believed than last year: and this was exactly the extra
number sent by Academicians and Associates. Then, though there were
sixty foreign exhibitors, he was very sorry to say the catalogue of 1869
showed forty-two fewer names of English exhibitors than that of 1868.
Considering the large additional space at their command, he could not
say he thought this satisfactory. He hoped they would manage better
another year.
{From the Peesident’s Speech.)
They had been afraid of lowering their standard of excellence. The
fact was, they could not afford to do it. The difficulty was to keep it
up, particularly if old Academicians—good old boys, he was well aware, [
but, regularly used up, would insist on sending pictures, as they often
did. He had done his best, for insiders and outsiders too—and he
thought, for his own part, the Council and the hangers had been, too
sharp in a good many cases—he had seen them at work, and could only
say he was thankful his pictures hadn’t to pass through tueir hands.
When people talked of “ levelling up ’’—and he didn’t object to the
phrase—he agreed with their distinguished guest, the Eirst Lord of
the Treasury, that Academician’s work—a good deal of it, at least—
mustn’t be taken into account in fixing the standard. Perhaps it
might be well to put a mark on a good many of the R.A.’s pictures to
show they weren’t to be considered by the students in the “ levelling
up” business. Pie wouldn’t say some of his own Portraits mightn’t
be among the number—and perhaps his excellent friend, the Secretary,
wouldn’t object to two or three of his being “spotted,” in the same
way. Of course they had sent their full number. They were under
the notion there’d be lots of room this year. It seems there wasn’t,
for he had heard even more grumbling about rejections, he thought,
than usual. Pie had no doubt there was reason enough for it. There
were a good many young fellows took to painting nowadays, who had
better have stuck to shoemaking or tailoring, or some other honest
trade : good fellows enough, he had no doubt, and clever, he dared say,
but with no connections, and no fortunes, and no manners ; who
looked like guys, and could only live from hand to mouth, and were on
their beam-ends if they didn’t sell their picture as soon as it was
painted. Pie pitied ’em; but he didn’t see how that sort of thing was
to be helped, if that sort of people insisted on coming into a gentle-
manly profession. He was told their schools were to be improved.
He understood they wanted improvement, and he was glad it was
coming. There was another thing. The Academy had changed
its quarters. It meant to change its manners. In future a politely-
worded note would be sent to those whose pictures were rejected,
informing them of the fact, aud telling them when and where they
would have their pictures returned. Then there would be arrangements
for the orderly admission of applicants for rejected pictures at specified
times, and for returning their pictures without their having to wait
and hustle for them for hours—so that the bear-garden business of
last week would be avoided. It was too bad to have a row round their
place like that at the old Opera pit-door on the Jenny Lind nights,
which he remembered. A civil notice would be sent to outsiders
exhibiting, of the day on which they would be admitted to varnish or
touch up their pictures. After all, the Academicians were gentlemen,
whatever the artists might be as a lot, and he thought they ought to set
an example to outsiders of good breeding and consideration. Pie was
glad to see they had got a decent refreshment-room. Pie was told it
was well managed: prices fair, and refreshments as good as they usually
were at such places—rather better, if anything. That was an improve-
ment. But there were the umbrellas. He was afraid improvement
was sadly wanted in that department. The two poor devils he had seen
at that work as he came through the hall, even at the private view yes-
terday, looked regularly baked—groggy he should have said—blown,
dead beat. They knew what he meant. It was regular cruelty to
animals. And if that was so yesterday, what would it be on Monday,
all next week, and all through the season, in fact ? They ought really
to put on half-a-dozen fellows instead of two. They could afford it,
and he thought some clever fellow might invent a spring clip, or some-
thing of the kind, to put on the umbrellas, instead of those big tickets
with long strings that took such a deal of tying and untying. These
were small matters, perhaps, but after all they told on people’s com-
forts. And he thought the President of the Academy should be like
an Elephant—he did not mean that he ought to have a trunk and tusks,
but that he ought to be able to paint a portrait, or to pick up a pin.
Pie had been picking up pins in Academy administration, and sticking
them into his brethren—that is, not exactly his brethren, for he was
President, and would allow no brother near the throne—he meant into
the other Members of the Academy. He thought they ought to march
with the times, whatever some obstructive old fogies might say; and
he, for one, would be glad to march at their head. “Live and let
live” was his motto. Pie might not be as good a painter as some who
had filled that chair, but he would yield to none of his predecessors in
the desire to deal kindly and justly with all, in or out of the Academy,
whom he had anything to do with. {Cheers.)
199
PUNCH, OP THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Academy would not be offended by these observations. But he was in
the habit of addressing another Assembly, of a more distinctly repre-
sentative character,—the members of which were elected, not by their
brother members, but by outsiders. That Assembly, he was proud to
say, was in the habit of largely considering the interests of out-
siders. The poorer and more helpless those outsiders, the more
generous, as a rule, was the consideration of their interests. In fact,
it was this consideration, which, in the Assemblage he referred to, had
mainly governed the course of Reform, and the whole progress of legis-
lation. He felt it ought to be so, he trusted it would be so, in that
Parliament of Art, whose members he was addressing.
CFrom, Me.. Leighton’s Speech.)
He had returned thanks for the Volunteers, but he had lately been
serving in a corps that was not exactly a Volunteer one—he meant
the Hanging Committee. {A laugh) There was a general impression
that it was not a pleasant thing to be hung. He shared that impres-
sion. But he could safely say it was a more unpleasant thing still to
hang. Still he would remind their distinguished guest who had spoken
on the subject, that the acceptance and rejection of pictures rested not
with the hangers, but with the Council. He had taken part in that
work too. Por corroboration of'his experience of it, he would appeal
to all his brother Academicians who had fulfilled the same most painful
duty. He begged to assure their Right Honourable guest that it was
not possible humanly to avoid injustice. Let him consider what was
involved. This year it was worse than ever: for there were one
thousand five hundred pictures more than usual sent in, and no more
time to judge them—nay, less, in fact, for the workmen were in the
building, and the work of the Council and hangers was necessarily
much interrupted. But here were more than four thousand pictures
to be judged in three days, from ten to six, with an interval of about
an hour. That gave twenty-one hours, or one thousand two hundred
and sixty minutes to do the work : or between three and four pictures
to a minute ! Among the four thousand, of course, there were many
pictures that aroused a good deal of discussion, and had to be put to
the vote. He left his hearers to judge how much cool judgment or
deliberation was possible, under these circumstances. Of course there
were many pictures so direfully bad, and some so pre-eminently good,
their reception or acceptance was settled by acclamation—at a glance,
as it were. But the mass of pictures came within neither of these
categories. Great care and much time were often necessary to weigh
fairly the merits of a modest unpretending picture, which had occupied
many months perhaps of thought and labour, but which might not have
been seen by any member of the Council till it was swept before them
in the rapid tide of pictures brought up for judgment. It might be in
a style the Council were unfamiliar with—perhaps of a class most of
them were ignorant of, or indifferent to. Landscape, for example. There
were only two or three landscape painters in the Academy. None of
them might be on the Council. What chance had a simple, natural,
unconspicuous, yet faithful and meritorious, landscape, of fair judg-
ment, under such circumstances ? So far from wondering that some
good pictures were rejected, his wonder was that cases of hardship and
involuntary injustice were not far more numerous. Luckily, though
some of the Council might get drowsy, others desperate, while all of
course, grew fractious, they had, as a rule, a sense of duty among them,
and felt they were sitting as judges, and tried to do their best. But it
was physically impossible to get through the work properly, in the time
allotted to it. Luckily a good many pictures were seen before-hand in
the studios : and men had their friends and acquaintances, of course,
and looked after their pictures. And a good deal was done by outside
influence.. There was a class of people it was impossible to refuse any-
thing to, if they really set their minds on it. But, with all these cor-
rectives, he had no doubt that cases of cruel injustice did occur, par-
ticularly to the works of unknown and modest men, who had no
friends on the Council, and no influential acquaintance outside it, or
whp shrank from setting that sort of influence in motion on behalf of
their works. He, for one, was ready to confess all this, and to avow
his penitence for any unintentional wrong that might have been done,
and to submit to any penance, that could, be imposed upon him—except
to serve again on the Hanging Committee. The truth was, the time
aLlowed for selection was too short. He would give thrice as long to
the work. He would like five hangers instead of three, and he would
always have a landscape painter if not an architect, among them. He
I would not have the fate of pictures decided at one glance, but would
leave time and opportunity for re-consideration, in all cases but those
of pictures so bad that they carried their fate in their faces. He did
not know whether a Council twice as numerous was not desirable,
and whether it might not be an advantage for them to act in relays,
so as to relieve the strain of too long-continued attention. After some
hours of rapid picture-seeing, it became almost as difficult to distin-
guish good work from bad, as Port from Sherry after many hours of
wine-tasting.
Again, it should be considered that this was their first year in the
new rooms. The Council really were all abroad. They did. not even
know with any certainty, how many pictures could be hung. They
began, as might be seen, by hanging wide, and leaving a great deal
of upper wall, but they kept hanging closer and closer, as they got on,
till at last they hung almost as high and as close as in the Old Rooms.
As it was, they had only hung about one hundred and fourteen more
pictures, he believed than last year: and this was exactly the extra
number sent by Academicians and Associates. Then, though there were
sixty foreign exhibitors, he was very sorry to say the catalogue of 1869
showed forty-two fewer names of English exhibitors than that of 1868.
Considering the large additional space at their command, he could not
say he thought this satisfactory. He hoped they would manage better
another year.
{From the Peesident’s Speech.)
They had been afraid of lowering their standard of excellence. The
fact was, they could not afford to do it. The difficulty was to keep it
up, particularly if old Academicians—good old boys, he was well aware, [
but, regularly used up, would insist on sending pictures, as they often
did. He had done his best, for insiders and outsiders too—and he
thought, for his own part, the Council and the hangers had been, too
sharp in a good many cases—he had seen them at work, and could only
say he was thankful his pictures hadn’t to pass through tueir hands.
When people talked of “ levelling up ’’—and he didn’t object to the
phrase—he agreed with their distinguished guest, the Eirst Lord of
the Treasury, that Academician’s work—a good deal of it, at least—
mustn’t be taken into account in fixing the standard. Perhaps it
might be well to put a mark on a good many of the R.A.’s pictures to
show they weren’t to be considered by the students in the “ levelling
up” business. Pie wouldn’t say some of his own Portraits mightn’t
be among the number—and perhaps his excellent friend, the Secretary,
wouldn’t object to two or three of his being “spotted,” in the same
way. Of course they had sent their full number. They were under
the notion there’d be lots of room this year. It seems there wasn’t,
for he had heard even more grumbling about rejections, he thought,
than usual. Pie had no doubt there was reason enough for it. There
were a good many young fellows took to painting nowadays, who had
better have stuck to shoemaking or tailoring, or some other honest
trade : good fellows enough, he had no doubt, and clever, he dared say,
but with no connections, and no fortunes, and no manners ; who
looked like guys, and could only live from hand to mouth, and were on
their beam-ends if they didn’t sell their picture as soon as it was
painted. Pie pitied ’em; but he didn’t see how that sort of thing was
to be helped, if that sort of people insisted on coming into a gentle-
manly profession. He was told their schools were to be improved.
He understood they wanted improvement, and he was glad it was
coming. There was another thing. The Academy had changed
its quarters. It meant to change its manners. In future a politely-
worded note would be sent to those whose pictures were rejected,
informing them of the fact, aud telling them when and where they
would have their pictures returned. Then there would be arrangements
for the orderly admission of applicants for rejected pictures at specified
times, and for returning their pictures without their having to wait
and hustle for them for hours—so that the bear-garden business of
last week would be avoided. It was too bad to have a row round their
place like that at the old Opera pit-door on the Jenny Lind nights,
which he remembered. A civil notice would be sent to outsiders
exhibiting, of the day on which they would be admitted to varnish or
touch up their pictures. After all, the Academicians were gentlemen,
whatever the artists might be as a lot, and he thought they ought to set
an example to outsiders of good breeding and consideration. Pie was
glad to see they had got a decent refreshment-room. Pie was told it
was well managed: prices fair, and refreshments as good as they usually
were at such places—rather better, if anything. That was an improve-
ment. But there were the umbrellas. He was afraid improvement
was sadly wanted in that department. The two poor devils he had seen
at that work as he came through the hall, even at the private view yes-
terday, looked regularly baked—groggy he should have said—blown,
dead beat. They knew what he meant. It was regular cruelty to
animals. And if that was so yesterday, what would it be on Monday,
all next week, and all through the season, in fact ? They ought really
to put on half-a-dozen fellows instead of two. They could afford it,
and he thought some clever fellow might invent a spring clip, or some-
thing of the kind, to put on the umbrellas, instead of those big tickets
with long strings that took such a deal of tying and untying. These
were small matters, perhaps, but after all they told on people’s com-
forts. And he thought the President of the Academy should be like
an Elephant—he did not mean that he ought to have a trunk and tusks,
but that he ought to be able to paint a portrait, or to pick up a pin.
Pie had been picking up pins in Academy administration, and sticking
them into his brethren—that is, not exactly his brethren, for he was
President, and would allow no brother near the throne—he meant into
the other Members of the Academy. He thought they ought to march
with the times, whatever some obstructive old fogies might say; and
he, for one, would be glad to march at their head. “Live and let
live” was his motto. Pie might not be as good a painter as some who
had filled that chair, but he would yield to none of his predecessors in
the desire to deal kindly and justly with all, in or out of the Academy,
whom he had anything to do with. {Cheers.)