Art in England: Notes and Studies

by Dutton Cook

The story of the two societies has thus been brought down to 1768. From that year dates the rise of a third society—the Royal Academy of Arts: an institution which has long outlived its rivals, which has indeed fed upon and gained strength from their decay and decease, as at the outset it owed its existence to the success of their previous efforts, and which, in spite of constant opposition and bitterest attack, flourishes still, as though possessed of that longevity which is proverbially the attribute of the threatened. 'The Academy,' said Haydon, 'originated in the very basest intrigue.' Undoubtedly there was intrigue in connexion with its origin, but not necessarily of the 'very basest' character. Some allowance must be made for 'poor human nature.' The contest dividing the Incorporated Society had been a very keen one—had been distinguished by much angry feeling and acrimonious spirit. It was hardly to be supposed that the defeated party, the sixteen expelled Directors and the additional eight who retired in sympathy with the expulsion of their colleagues, would sit down patiently under their defeat: their disgrace as they considered it. They had declined to regard themselves as members of a fluctuating committee, although such was distinctly their legal position, removable at the will of the society. For eight years they had held the reins of power; the supposition that these were to be theirs for life had some excuse, and they argued that their displacement, if in accordance with the letter of the law, was yet contrary to its spirit. It was true a majority was against them; but they found fault with the composition of the majority. There had been, they declared, too indiscriminate an admission of Fellows. Inferior practitioners, troublesome, pragmatical, jealous, anxious for power, had availed themselves of the loose terms of the charter, to creep into the society, and conspire against the legitimate influence of the respectable members. This was the Directors' view of the case. What was now to be their course? Should they submit, serve where they had once ruled, sink into simple Fellows, and thus, as it were, grace the triumph of their foes? Perish the thought! They would found a rival society!

It must not be understood that the Directors, as opposed to the Fellows, were wholly without friends in the society. Though outnumbered, they had yet a certain small following; while many held aloof from both parties, ill-pleased at the virulence with which their dissensions had been conducted. Reynolds in particular declined all interference in the contentions which were rending in twain the society. He had long withdrawn himself from the meetings of the Directors, declaring himself no friend to their proceedings, and when he discovered their intention 'to raise up a schism in the arts,' as Sir Robert Strange phrases it, and make a separate exhibition, he declared that he would exhibit with neither body.

An exhibition of the works of the ex-Directors in competition with the exhibition of the Fellows would have been fair play enough—a perfectly legitimate and honourable proceeding. It would then have rested with the public to declare which exhibition displayed the greater amount of merit and was the more worthy of their encouragement and support. Further, the attempt on the part of the Directors to obtain the favour of the King for their undertaking was hardly to be blamed. But what was distinctly unjustifiable in their proceedings was their intriguing to secure a monopoly of this favour: to possess themselves exclusively of the royal patronage, to the detriment and ultimate ruin, not merely of the society their own connexion with which had been so violently severed, but of the unoffending and praiseworthy smaller institution—the Free Society. In this matter, however, it must be said, the ex-Directors were not alone to blame. Other patrons of art may exhibit themselves, if they please, as partisans, but a royal patron should not condescend to a position at once so inequitable and so undignified. To this derogation, however, George III., good-humouredly weak or pertinaciously obtuse, suffered himself to be brought. He became the patron of a clique, and even yielded himself as an instrument to be employed for the injury of that clique's antagonists. Whatever had been the faults of the other societies as against the founders of the Royal Academy—and it must be admitted that the Free Society was, perfectly blameless in that respect,—as against the Crown they had done nothing to merit royal displeasure, but, on the contrary, were entitled, with the other enlightened institutions of the country, to count upon the King's encouragement.

Some such demon as, whispering in the ear of Visto, bade him 'Have a taste!' had been wheedling George in. The King proclaimed himself a patron of the arts, and then proceeded to assume the airs of a connoisseur. Certainly he did not distinguish himself much in that capacity; his pretensions were not backed by any real learning. He made woeful mistakes. For instance, he never appreciated Reynolds,[8] whose merits one would think were sufficiently patent—needed not a conjurer to perceive them—passing him over to appoint Allan Ramsay serjeant painter, when Hogarth dying vacated that honorary office. He preferred West's works, because they were smoother—and Dance's, because they were cheaper!

West was the King's pet painter. Dr. Drummond, Archbishop of York, had obtained for him, in February 1768, the honour of an audience. The artist took with him to the palace a picture, 'Agrippina landing with the Ashes of Germanicus,' which he had executed for the archbishop. The King greatly admired the work, and West forthwith received the royal command to paint 'The Departure of Regulus for Rome.' Later in the year a sketch of the picture was submitted to the King. At this time the newspapers were full of the dissensions of the Incorporated Society. Concerning these the King inquired of West. The artist—one of the eight Directors who had voluntarily quitted the Society after the ejection of their sixteen colleagues—related to the King the history of the Society's proceedings from the Directors' point of view. Whereupon the King stated 'that he would gladly patronize any association that might be found better calculated to improve the arts.'

West returned from the palace full of this royal announcement. He at once put himself in communication with three ex-Directors of the Incorporated Society,—Cotes, a fashionable portrait-painter; Chambers, who had been instructor in architecture to the King when Prince of Wales; and Moser, the gold-chaser and enameller, who had taught the King drawing. These four artists formed themselves into a committee to arrange the plan of an academy. The King, it is stated, took great personal interest in the scheme, and even drew up several laws with his own hand. He expressed great anxiety that the design should be kept a profound secret, lest it should be converted into a vehicle of political influence. The artists did not object to this secrecy; they rather preferred that their plan should, as it were, open fire upon their foes unexpectedly, with the suddenness of a battery promptly unmasked.

We now come to the well-known story of the arrival at Windsor Castle of Kirby, the President of the Incorporated Society, at a time when the King is inspecting West's completed picture of, 'Regulus.' Kirby joins in the general admiration of the work; he turns to West, and trusts that it is the artist's intention to exhibit the picture. West replies that the question of exhibition must rest with his Majesty, for whom the picture has been painted. 'Assuredly,' says the King, 'I shall be happy to let the work be shown to the public.' 'Then, Mr. West, you will send it to my exhibition,' adds the President of the Incorporated Society. 'No!' his Majesty interposes, 'it must go to my exhibition—to the Royal Academy!' Mr. Kirby is thunderstruck,—the battery had been unmasked. Profoundly humiliated he at once retires from the royal presence, not to survive the shock very long, says the story. However, he lived to 1774.

Mr. Kirby was a landscape painter of repute in his day. Author of a work on perspective, and the friend of Gainsborough, he had risen from quite humble life to a position of some eminence, entirely by his own exertions. It was admitted that he had attained the post of President of the Incorporated Society without intrigue on his part, and that both by reason of his professional skill and his private worth, he was entitled to the respect alike of the friends and foes of that institution. The King condescended to play an ignoble part when he took pains to mortify and distress so honest a gentleman. Rival artists might conspire against the Society from which they had seceded, and seek to mine its position; but his Majesty stooped very low when he lent his royal hand to the firing of the train. However, he had thrown himself heart and soul into the project for founding a new society—the Royal Academy. So that he reared that edifice, he seemed to care little how he might sully his fingers in the process. In this, as in some other occurrences in the course of his reign, he demonstrated sufficiently that he could on occasion be obstinate and fatuous, wanting both in discrimination and in dignity.

After the scene at Windsor Castle, in which poor Mr. Kirby had been demolished, a meeting was held at the house of Wilton, the sculptor, of some thirty artists, including, of course, the twenty-four ex-Directors of the Incorporated Society, to hear Chambers, the architect, read the proposed academy's code of laws which had been prepared under the immediate inspection of the King, and to nominate the officers of the institution. Some uneasiness had been felt during the day as to whether Reynolds would or not join the academy. He had hitherto abstained from all part in the proceedings; but that he should be the first president had been decided by the King in consultation with the other conspirators. Penny, the portrait-painter, had visited Reynolds to sound him on the subject, but found him obdurate. West was then deputed to wait upon the greatest English painter, and to leave no means untried in the way of persuading him to join the new association. For a time Reynolds was cold and coy enough, but influenced at last by the allurement of probable knighthood, or the force of other arguments, he permitted himself to be carried in West's coach to the meeting at Wilton's. He was at once declared president; Chambers being appointed treasurer, Newton secretary, Moser keeper, Penny professor of painting, and Dr. William Hunter professor of anatomy. Reynolds, however, deferred his acceptance of the post of president until he had consulted his friends Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke upon the subject, and it was not until a fortnight after his election that he finally consented to fill the proposed office.

The first formal meeting of the Royal Academy was held in Pall Mall on the 14th December 1768. Mr. Chambers read a report to the artists assembled, relating the steps that had been taken to found the Academy. No allusion was made in this report to the secret negotiations and consultations with the King; but it was set forth that on the previous 28th November, Messrs. Chambers, Cotes, Moser, and West had had the honour of presenting a memorial to the Crown, signed by twenty-two artists, soliciting the royal assistance and protection in establishing a new society for promoting the arts of design. The objects of the society were stated to be 'the establishing a well-regulated school or academy of design, for the use of students in the arts, and an annual exhibition, open to all artists of distinguished merit, where they may offer their performances to public inspection, and acquire that degree of reputation and encouragement which they shall be deemed to deserve.' 'We apprehend,' the memorialists had proceeded, 'that the profits arising from the last of these institutions will fully answer all the expenses of the first: we even flatter ourselves they will be more than necessary for that purpose, and that we shall be enabled annually to distribute somewhat in useful charities. Your Majesty's avowed patronage and protection is therefore all that we at present humbly sue for; but should we be disappointed in our expectations, and find that the profits of the society are insufficient to defray its expenses, we humbly hope that your Majesty will not deem that expense ill-applied which may be found necessary to support so useful an institution.' This memorial, so the report went on to state, the King had received very graciously: saying that he considered the culture of the arts as a national concern, and that the memorialists might depend upon his patronage and assistance in carrying their plan into execution; further, he desired that a fuller statement in writing of their intentions might be laid before him. Accordingly, Mr. Chambers had drawn up a sketch of his plan, and, having obtained its approval by as many artists as the shortness of time would allow, had submitted it to the King, who, on the 10th of December 1768, signified his approbation, ordered that the plan should be carried into execution, and with his own hand signed Mr. Chambers's plan—'the Instrument,' as it was then, and has ever since been called. Mr. Chambers then read the Instrument to the meeting, after which the artists present signed an obligation or declaration, promising to observe all the laws and regulations contained in the Instrument, and all future laws that might be made for the better government of the society, and to employ their utmost endeavours to promote the honour and interest of the establishment, so long as they should continue members thereof. The Academy thus obtained its constitution, and assumed such form of legal existence as it has ever possessed.