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[Illustration: AN ARTISTIC JOKE.
_A London Slum. My Parody of the Venetian School._]
THE CONFESSIONS OF A CARICATURIST
BY
HARRY FURNISS
_ILLUSTRATED_
VOLUME II
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS.
1902.
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LD., PRINTERS,
LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.
_All rights reserved._
December, 1901.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ARTISTIC JOKE.
The First Idea--How it was Made--"Fire!"--I am a Somnambulist--My
Workshop--My Business "Partner"--Not by Gainsborough--Lord Leighton--The
Private View--The Catalogue--Sold Out--How the R.A.'s Took It--How a
Critic Took It--Curious Offers--Mr. Sambourne as a Company Promoter--A
One-man Show--_Punch's_ Mistake--A Joke within a Joke--My Offer to the
Nation
_pp._ 1--25
CHAPTER IX.
CONFESSIONS OF A COLUMBUS.
The Cause of my Cruise--No Work--The Atlantic Greyhound--Irish
Ship--Irish Doctor--Irish Visitors--Queenstown--A
Surprise--Fiddles--Edward Lloyd--Lib--Chess--The Syren--The American
Pilot--Real and Ideal--Red Tape--Bribery--Liberty--The Floating Flower
Show--The Bouquet--A Bath and a Bishop--"Beastly Healthy"--Entertainment
for Shipwrecked Sailors--Passengers--Superstition.
AMERICA IN A HURRY--Harry Columbus Furniss--The Inky Inquisition--First
Impressions--Trilby--Tempting Offers--Kidnapped--Major
Pond--Sarony--Ice--James B. Brown--Fire!--An Explanation.
WASHINGTON--Mr. French of Nowhere--Sold--Interviewed--The Sporting
Editor--Hot Stuff--The Capitol--Congress--House of Representatives--The
Page Boys--The Agent--Filibuster--The "Reccard"--A
Pandemonium--Interviewing the President.
CHICAGO--The Windy City--Blowers--Niagara--Water and Wood--Darkness to
Light--My Vis-a-Vis--Mr. Punch--My Driver--It Grows upon
Me--Inspiration--Harnessing Niagara--The Three Sisters--Incline
Railway--Captain Webb.
TRAVELLING--Tickets--Thirst--Sancho Panza--Proclaimed States--"The
Amurrican Gurl"--A Lady Interviewer--The English Girl--A Hair
Restorer--Twelfth Night Club Reception at a Ladies' Club--The Great
Presidential Election--Sound Money _v._ Free Silver--Slumland--Detective
O'Flaherty.
_pp._ 26--130
CHAPTER X.
AUSTRALIA.
Quarantined--The Receiver-General of Australia--An Australian
Guide-book--A Death Trap--A Death Story--The New Chum--Commercial
Confessions--Mad Melbourne--Hydrophobia--Madness--A Land Boom--A Paper
Panic--Ruin.
SYDNEY--The Confessions of a Legislator--Federation--Patrick Francis
Moran.
ADELAIDE--Wanted, a Harbour--Wanted, an
Expression--Zoological--Guinea-pigs--Paradise!--Types--Hell Fire
Jack--The Horse--The Wrong Room! _pp._ 131--153
CHAPTER XI.
PLATFORM CONFESSIONS.
Lectures and Lecturers--The Boy's Idea--How to Deliver It--The
Professor--The Actors--My First Platform--Smoke--Cards--On the
Table--Nurses--Some Unrehearsed Effects--Dress--A Struggle with a
Shirt--A Struggle with a Bluebottle--Sir William Harcourt Goes out--My
Lanternists Go Out--Chairmen--The Absent Chairman--The Ideal
Chairman--The Political Chairman--The Ignorant
Chairman--Chestnuts--Misunderstood--Advice to Those about to Lecture--I
am Overworked--"'Arry to Harry." _pp._ 154-189
CHAPTER XII.
MY CONFESSIONS AS A "REFORMER."
Portraiture Past and Present--The National Portrait Gallery
Scandal--Fashionable Portraiture--The Price of an Autograph--Marquis
Tseng--"So That's My Father!"--Sala Attacks Me--My Retort--Du Maurier's
Little Joke--My Speech--What I Said and What I Did Not Say--Fury of
Sala--The Great Six-Toe Trial--Lockwood Serious--My Little
Joke--Nottingham Again--Prince of Journalists--Royal Academy Antics--An
Earnest Confession--My Object--My Lady
Oil--Congratulations--Confirmations--The Tate Gallery--The Proposed
Banquet--The P.R.A. and Modern Art--My Confessions in the Central
Criminal Court--Cricket in the Park--Reform!--All About that Snake--The
Discovery--The Capture--Safe--The Press--Mystery--Evasive--Experts--I
Retaliate--The _Westminster Gazette_--The Schoolboy--The
Scare--Sensation--Death--Matters Zoological--Modern Inconveniences--Do
Women Fail in Art?--Wanted a Wife _pp._ 190-234
CHAPTER XIII.
THE CONFESSIONS OF A DINER.
My FirstCity Dinner--A Minnow against the Stream--Those Table Plans--Chaos
--The City Alderman, Past and Present--Whistler's Lollipops--Odd
Volumes--Exchanging Names--Ye Red Lyon Clubbe--The Pointed
Beard--Baltimore Oysters--The Sound Money Dinner--To Meet General
Boulanger--A Lunch at Washington--No Speeches.
THE THIRTEEN CLUB--What it was--How it was Boomed--Gruesome
Details--Squint-Eyed Waiters--Superstitious Absentees--My Reasons for
being Present--'Arry of _Punch_--The Lost "Vocal" Chords--The
Undergraduate and the Undertaker--Model Speeches--Albert Smith--An
Atlantic Contradiction--The White Horse--The White Feather--Exit 13
_pp._ 235-271
CHAPTER XIV.
THE CONFESSIONS OF AN EDITOR.
Editors--Publishers--An Offer--Why I Refused it--The _Pall Mall Budget_
--_Lika Joko_--The _New Budget_--The Truth about my Enterprises--
_Au Revoir!_ _pp._ 272-280
[Illustration: HARRY FURNISS'S (EGYPTIAN STYLE). _From "Punch."_]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
An Artistic Joke. A London Slum. My Parody of the
Venetian School. _Frontispiece._
My Studio during the Progress of "An Artistic Joke" 1
Harry Furniss's Royal Academy 3
Throwing myself into it 5
Fire! 6
The Pictures by R. Macbeth:
Potato Gang in the Fens;
Twitch-burning in the Fens;
A Flood in the Fens 8
Macbeth in the Fens 9
Letter from the President of the Royal Academy 11
"An Artistic Joke" 15
Mr. Sambourne's Prospectus 18
Cover of "How he did it" 20
Initial "T" 20
My Portrait. Frontispiece for "How he did it" 21
Harry Furniss and his "Lay Figure" 22
Letter from the President of the Royal Academy 25
Initial "I" 26
A "T--Tonic" 27
An Atlantic "Greyhound." 28
The Saloon of the _Teutonic_. The First Morning at Breakfast 30
At Queenstown--A Reminiscence 33
Bog-Oak Souvenirs 34
The Captain's Table 36
Not up in a Balloon 38
Chess 40
Mr. Lloyd and the Lady. "If you will sing, _I_ will!" 42
The American Pilot--Ideal 43
The American Pilot--Real 43
The Health Officer comes on Board 45
Just in Time 46
"A Floating Flower Show" 47
The Bath Steward and the Bishop. "Your Time, Sir! Your Time!" 48
Americans and English on Deck 49
American Interviewing--Imaginary 52
American Interviewing--Real 53
"Sandy." 55
Chiropody 57
"New Trilby." 58
"Amiable Mr. Harry Furniss" 59
Major Pond 59
The Great Sarony 61
James B. Brown 63
Fire! 65
The Alarm 67
The Throne in the Senate 72
The Throne, House of Representatives 73
Initial "T" 74
The House of Representatives 75
An ex-Speaker 77
An ex-Minister 80
Anglophobia 82
The President--Ideal 83
The President--Real 83
Initial "A" 84
A Buffalo Girl 84
President Harrison's Reply 85
Mr. Punch at Niagara 86
Hebe 86
My Driver 87
Fra' Huddersfield 87
Niagara growing upon Me 88
I admire the great Horseshoe Fall 89
Jonathan harnessing Niagara 90
"The Three Sisters." 91
Inclined Railway, Niagara 92
Where Captain Webb was Killed 93
Tourists 94
American Travelling. Nothing to Eat 96
American Travelling. Nothing to Drink 97
Sleep(!) 100
A Washington Lady 102
A Lady Interviewer 104
A Sketch at "Del's" 105
Young America 106
An American Menu 107
My Portrait--_in the Future_ 108
I am Entertained at the Twelfth Night Club 110
Reception at a Ladies' Club 112
Wife and Husband 113
A Dream of the White House 114
The Political Quartette 116
After the Great Parade: "Am I to sit on an ordinary seat to-night?" 120
Italians 123
Where the Deed was done! 125
"A Youth with a Crutch" 127
In an Opium Joint 128
"In His Own Black Art" 128
"Hitting the Pipe" 129
"Good-bye" 130
Initial "W" 131
Coaling 132
Quarantine 133
Initial "T" 134
Sleepy Hollow 135
Prospectors 138
Quarantine Island 141
I am invited to present myself 143
Landing at Adelaide 148
Pondicherry Vultures 150
The Maid of the Inn 150
The Way into Paradise 151
Paradise 151
Adam and Eve 152
A Type 153
Queen's Hall, London. I was the first to speak from the Platform 154
"Parliament by Day" 156
"Parliament by Night" 157
Miss Mary Anderson 159
Initial "By" 159
Giving My "Humours of Parliament" to the Nurses 162
Speaker Brand, afterwards Viscount Hampden 164
The Surprise Shirt 166
Discovered! 168
The Fly in the Camera 169
Late Arrivals 171
Reserved Seats 172
Chairman No. 1 174
Chairman No. 2 177
The Pumpkin--a Chestnut 178
In "The Humours of Parliament." Ballyhooley Pathetic 181
Harry Furniss as a Pictorial Entertainer 182
"Grandolph ad Leones." Reduction of a Page Drawing for _Punch_ made by
me whilst travelling by Train 185
Down with Dryasdust 189
From a Photo by Debenham and Gould 190
G. A. Sala 195
"Art Critic of the _Daily Telegraph_" 199
Counsel for the Plaintiff 200
Mr. F. C. Gould's Sketch in the _Westminster_, which Sala
maintained was mine 200
Defendant 202
My Hat 202
The Plaintiff 203
The Editor of _Punch_ supports me 203
Sir F. Lockwood and Myself 204
"Six Toes" Signature 205
The Sequel--I Distribute the Prizes at Nottingham 205
Initial "T" 206
The See-Saw Antic 207
The first P.R.A. 209
No Water-Colour or Black-and-White need apply 210
A National Academy 211
The Central Criminal Court. From _Punch_ 215
"Thank Y-o-o-u!" 216
Regent's Park as it was. From _Punch_. A Rough Sketch on Wood 217
The Late Mr Bartlett 220
Sketch by Mr. F. C. Gould 223
The Lady and Her Snakes 226
Do Women fail in Art--The Chrysalis 228
The Butterfly 230
Early Victorian Art 232
Young Lady's Portrait of her Brother 233
Waiting 234
Initial "P" 235
Menu of the Dinner given to me by the Lotos Club, New York 237
Alderman--Ideal. Real 239
J. Whistler, after a City Dinner (Drawn with my Left Hand) 241
An Odd Volume 241
My Design for Sette of Odd Volumes 242
My Design (reduced) for the Dinner of Ye Red Lyon Clubbe 243
A Distinguished "Lyon" 243
Headpiece and Initial "S" 245
A Sound Money Dinner 249
A Sketch of Boulanger 251
Address of Boulanger's Retreat 252
A Note on My Menu 253
Remarkable and much-talked-of Lunch to me at Washington.
The Autographs on back of Menu 254
Mr. Punch and his Dog Toby 256
A Memorandum in Pencil 258
Thirteen Club Banquet. The Table Decorations 259
Mr. W. H. Blanch 260
The Broken Looking-Glass 261
The Badge 261
Squint-Eyed Waiter 263
Coffins, Sir! 266
"The Chairman will be Pleased to Spill Salt with You."
From the _St. James's Budget_ 267
A Knife I was Presented with 268
Tailpiece 271
"Au Revoir" 280
CONFESSIONS OF A CARICATURIST.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ARTISTIC JOKE.
[Illustration: MY STUDIO DURING THE PROGRESS OF "AN ARTISTIC JOKE."]
The First Idea--How it was Made--"Fire!"--I am a Somnambulist--My
Workshop--My Business "Partner"--Not by Gainsborough--Lord
Leighton--The Private View--The Catalogue--Sold Out--How the R.A.'s
Took It--How a Critic Took It--Curious Offers--Mr. Sambourne as a
Company Promoter--A One-man Show--_Punch's_ Mistake--A Joke within
a Joke--My Offer to the Nation.
"_In the year 1887 he startled the town and made a Society sensation by
means of an exceedingly original enterprise which any man of less
audacious and prodigious power of work would have shrunk from in its
very inception. For years this Titanic task was in hand. This was his
celebrated 'artistic joke,' the name given by the 'Times' to a bold
parody on a large scale of an average Royal Academy Exhibition. This
great show was held at the Gainsborough Gallery, New Bond Street, and
consisted of some eighty-seven pictures of considerable size, executed
in monochrome, and presenting to a marvelling public travesties--some
excruciatingly humorous and daringly satirical, others really exquisite
in their rendering of physical traits and landscape features--of the
styles, techniques, and peculiar choice of subjects of a number of the
leading artists, R.A.'s and others, who annually exhibit at Burlington
House. It was a surprise, even to his intimate friends, who, with one or
two exceptions, knew nothing about it until the announcement that Mr.
Furniss had his own private Royal Academy appeared in the 'Times.' He
worked in secret at intervals, under a heavy strain, to get the
Exhibition ready, particularly as he had to manage the whole of the
business part; for the show at the Gainsborough Gallery was entirely his
own speculation. Granted that the experiment was daring, yet the
audacity of the artist fascinated people. Nor did the Academicians, whom
some thought would have been annoyed at the fun, as a body resent it.
They were not so silly, though a minority muttered. Most of them saw
that Mr. Furniss was not animated by any desire to hold them up to
contempt, but his parodies were perfectly good-natured, that he had
served all alike, and that he had only sought the advancement of English
art. During the whole season the gallery was crushed to overflowing, the
coldest critics were dazzled, the public charmed, and literally all
London laughed. It furnished the journalistic critics of the country
with material for reams of descriptive articles and showers of personal
paragraphs, and whether relished or disrelished by particular members of
the artistic profession, at least proved to them, as to the world at
large, the varied powers (in some phases hitherto unsuspected) and
exuberant energies of the Harry Furniss whose name was now on the tongue
and whose bold signature was familiar to the eyes of that not easily
impressed entity, the General Public._
_"In fact, London had never seen anything so original as Harry Furniss's
Royal Academy. The work of one man, and that man one of the busiest
professional men in town. Indeed it might be thought that at the age of
thirty, with all the foremost magazines and journals waiting on his
leisure, with a handsome income and an enviable social position assured,
ambition could hardly live in the bosom of an artist in black and white.
Unlike Alexander, our hero did not sit down and weep that no kingdom
remained to conquer, but set quietly to work to create a new realm all
his own. His Royal Academy, although presented by himself to the public
as an 'artistic joke,' showed that he could not only use the brush on a
large scale, but that he could compose to perfection, and after the
exuberant humour of the show, nothing delighted and surprised the
public more than the artistic quality and finished technique in much of
the work, a finish far and away above the work of any caricaturist of
our time."_
[Illustration]
The idea first occurred to me at a friend's house, when my host after
dinner took me into the picture gallery to show me a portrait of his
wife just completed by Mr. Slapdash, R.A. It stood at the end of the
gallery, the massive frame draped with artistic care, while attendants
stood obsequiously round, holding lights so as to display the _chef
d'[oe]uvre_ to the utmost advantage. As I beheld the picture for the
first time I was simply struck dumb by the excessively bad work which it
contained. The dictates of courtesy of course required that I should say
all the civil things I could about it, but I could hardly repress a
smile when I heard someone else pronounce the portrait to be charming.
However, as my host seemed to think that perhaps I was too near, and
that the work might gain in enchantment if I gave it a little distance,
we moved towards the other end of the gallery and, at his suggestion,
looked into an antiquated mirror, where I got in the half light what
seemed a reflection of it. The improvement was obvious, and I told my
friend so. I told him that the effect was now so lifelike that the
figure seemed to be moving; but when he in turn gazed into the glass he
explained somewhat testily that I was not looking at his wife's portrait
at all, but at the white parrot in the cage hard by. The moral of this
incident is that if patrons of art in their pursuit of eccentricities
will pay large sums to an artist for placing a poor portrait in a
massive frame with drapery hanging round it in the most approved modern
style, and be satisfied with such a result, they must not be surprised
if a parrot should be mistaken for a framed type of beauty. I was,
however, not satisfied until I had examined the picture in question
closely and honestly in the full light of day, when I saw that Mr.
Slapdash, R.A., had sold his autograph and a soiled canvas in lieu of a
portrait to my rich but too easily pleased friend.
As I walked back into the drawing-room, one of the musical humorists of
the day was cleverly taking off the weak points of his brother
musicians, and bringing out into strong light their peculiarities and
faults of style. The entertainment, however, did not tend to raise my
drooping spirits, for I was sad to think how low our modern art had
sunk, and with a heavy heart and a sigh for the profession I pursue, I
went sadly home. Of course my pent-up feelings had to find relief, so my
poor wife had to listen to an extempore lecture which I then and there
delivered to her on portraiture past and present--a lecture which I fear
would hardly commend itself to the Association for the Advancement of
British Art. Further, I asked myself why should I not take a leaf out of
the musical humorist's book and like him expose the tricks and
eccentricities of British art in the present day?
The following morning, being a man of action as well as of word, I
started my "Artistic Joke." I was determined to keep the matter secret,
so I worked with my studio doors closed, and as each picture was
finished it was placed behind some heavy curtains, secure from
observation, and I kept my secret for three years, until the work was
complete.
I soon found that I had set myself a task of no little magnitude. Before
I could really make a start I had to examine each artist's work
thoroughly. I studied specimens of the work of each at various periods
of his or her career. I had to discover their mannerisms, their
idiosyncrasies and ideas, if they had any, their tricks of brushwork,
and all the technicalities of their art. Then I designed a picture
myself in imitation of each artist. In a very few instances only did I
parody an actual work. This fact was generally lost sight of by those
who visited the Exhibition. The public imagined that I simply took a
certain picture of a particular artist and burlesqued it. I did this
certainly in the case of Millais' "Cinderella" and one or two others;
but in the vast majority of the works exhibited, even in Marcus Stone's
"Rejected Addresses," which appeared to so many as if it must have been
a direct copy of some picture of his, the idea was entirely evolved out
of my own imagination. In thinking out the various pictures I devoted
the greatest care to accuracy of detail. I was particular as to the
shape of each, and even went so far as to obtain frames in keeping with
those used by the different artists. Of course it was out of the
question for me to do the pictures in colour, which would have required
a lifetime, and probably tempted me to break faith with my idea; not to
mention the fact that I should in that case most likely have sent the
collection to the Academy, of which obtuse body, if there is any justice
in it, I must then naturally have been elected a full-blown member.
[Illustration: THROWING MYSELF INTO IT.]
In order to get the Exhibition finished in time, I often had to work far
into the night, and on one occasion when I was thus secretly engaged in
my studio upon these large pictures until the small hours, I remember a
catastrophe very nearly happened which would have put a finishing touch
of a very different kind to that which I intended, not only to the
picture, but to the artist himself. It happened thus. About three
o'clock in the morning, long after the household had retired to rest, I
became conscious of a smell of burning. I made a minute search round the
studio, but could not discover the slightest indication of an incipient
conflagration. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me. Beneath the
studio is a vault, access to which is gained by a trap-door in the
floor. Could it be that the secret of my "Artistic Joke" had become
common property in the artistic world, and that some vindictive
Academician, bent upon preventing the impending caricature of his _chef
d'[oe]uvre_, was even now, like another Guy Fawkes, concealed below, and
in the dead of night was already commencing his diabolical attempt to
roast me alive in the midst of my caricatures? Up went the trap-door,
and with candle in hand I explored the vault. The result was to calm my
apprehensions upon this score, for there was no one there. Still
mystified as to where the smell of fire, now distinctly perceptible,
came from, I next walked round the outside of my studio, exciting
evident suspicion in the mind of the policeman on his beat. No, there
was not a spark to be seen; no keg of gunpowder, no black leather bag,
no dynamite, no infernal machine. I returned into the house and went
upstairs, roused all my family and servants, who, after a close
examination, returned to their beds, assuring me that all was safe
there, and half wondering whether the persistent pursuit of caricaturing
does not produce an enfeebling effect upon the mind. Consoled by their
assurances, I returned once more to my studio, where the burning smell
grew worse and worse. However, concluding that it was due to some fire
in the neighbourhood, I settled down to work once more; but hardly had I
taken my brush in hand when showers of sparks and particles of
smouldering wood began to descend upon my head and shoulders, and cover
the work I was engaged on. I started up, and looking up at my big
sunlight, saw to my horror that I had wound up my easel, which is twelve
feet high, and more nearly resembles a guillotine than anything else, so
far that the top of it was in immediate contact with the gas, and
actually alight!
[Illustration: FIRE!]
The _Times_ took the unusual course of giving, a month in advance of its
opening on April 23rd, 1887, a preliminary notice of this Exhibition.
It said: "A novel Exhibition, for which we venture to prophesy no
little success, is being prepared by Harry Furniss of _Punch_ celebrity.
As everyone knows, Mr. Furniss has long adorned the columns of our
contemporary with pictorial parodies of the chief pictures of the Royal
Academy, the Grosvenor, and other shows, and it has now occurred to him
to develop this idea and to have a humorous Royal Academy of his own. He
has taken the Gainsborough Gallery in Old Bond Street, which he will
fill some time before the opening of Burlington House with a display of
elaborate travesties of the works of all the best known artists of the
day. There will be seventy pictures in black and white, many of them
large size, turning into good-natured ridicule the works of every
painter, good and bad, whose pictures are familiar to the public," etc.,
etc. This gives a very fair idea of the nature and objects of my "Royal
Academy." My aim was to burlesque not so much individual works as
general style, not so much specific performances as habitual manner. As
an example I take the work of that clever decorative painter and etcher,
Mr. R. W. Macbeth, A.R.A. By his permission I here reproduce reductions
in black and white of three of his well-known pictures, and side by side
I show my parody of his style and composition--not, as you will observe,
a caricature of any _one_ picture, but a boiling down of _all_ into an
original picture of my own in which I emphasise his mannerisms.
Furthermore, in my catalogue I parodied the same artist's mannerism in
drawing in black and white, and with one or two exceptions this applies
to all the works I exhibited. I hit upon a new idea for the illustrated
catalogue. The illustrations, with few exceptions, did not convey any
idea of the composition of the pictures, and in many cases they were
designed to further the idea and object of the Exhibition by reference
to pictures not included therein. My joke was that the Exhibition could
not be understood by anyone without a catalogue, and the catalogue could
not be understood by anyone without seeing the Exhibition. Therefore
everyone visiting the Exhibition had to buy a catalogue, and everyone
seeing the catalogue had to visit the Exhibition. _Q.E.D.!_ The idea,
the catalogue, and everything connected with this "Artistic Joke"
were my own, with the exception of the title, which was so happily
supplied by Mr. Humphry Ward as the heading to the preliminary notice he
wrote for the _Times_. _At the last moment_ I called in my fellow-worker
on _Punch_, Mr. E. J. Milliken, to assist me with some of the
letterpress of the catalogue and write the verses for it. I had all but
a small portion of the catalogue written before he so kindly gave this
assistance, but at the suggestion of a mutual friend I gave him half the
profits of the catalogue, which amounted to several hundred pounds. I am
obliged to make this point clear, as to my astonishment it was reported
that the whole Exhibition was a joint affair, no doubt originated by Mr.
Punch in a few lines: "When two of Mr. Punch's young men put their heads
together to produce so excellent a literary and artistic a joke as that
now on view at the Gainsborough Gallery----" This was accepted as a
matter of fact by many, not knowing that this "joke," my work of years,
was a secret in the _Punch_ circle as outside it. The false impression
which Mr. Punch had originated he corrected in his Happy Thought way:
"_The Artistic Jubilee Jocademy in Bond Street._--The fire insurances on
the building will be uncommonly heavy because there is to be a show of
Furniss's constantly going on inside. Why not call it 'Furniss Abbey
Thoughts?'"
[Illustration: POTATO GANG IN THE FENS.
TWITCH-BURNING IN THE FENS.
A FLOOD IN THE FENS.
THE PICTURES BY R. MACBETH.
_Reproduced by permission of the Artist._]
[Illustration: MACBETH IN THE FENS.
_My parody in "An Artistic Joke" of Mr. Macbeth's composition and style
of work, showing that in my "Academy" I did not parody one subject, but
designed a picture embodying all the characteristics of the Artist._]
The following brief correspondence passed between the President of the
Royal Academy and myself:--
"Mr. Harry Furniss presents his compliments to Sir Frederick
Leighton and trusts he will forgive being bothered with the
following little matter.
"Sir Frederick is no doubt aware of Mr. Furniss's intention to have
a little Exhibition in Bond Street this spring,--a good-natured
parody on the Royal Academy. The title settled upon--the only one
that explains its object--is
"HARRY FURNISS'S
"ROYAL ACADEMY,
"'AN ARTISTIC JOKE.'"
"In this particular case the authorities (Mr. Furniss is informed)
see no objection to the use of the word _Royal_ pure and simple,
but as a matter of etiquette he thinks it right to ask the question
of Sir Frederick Leighton also.
"_March 11th, 1887._"
[Illustration: LETTER FROM THE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.]
A word or two may not be out of place here on the practical difficulties
which beset an artist who opens an Exhibition on his own account, and is
forced by circumstances to become his own "exploiteur." Men may have
worked with a more ambitious object, but certainly no man can ever have
worked harder than I did at this period. Outside work was pouring in, my
current _Punch_ work seemed to be increasing, but I never allowed
"Furniss's Folly" (as some good-natured friend called my Exhibition at
the moment) to interfere with it. I had only arranged with a "business
man" to take the actual "running" of the show off my hands, and he was
to have half the profits if there should happen to be any. At the
critical moment, when I was working night and day at my easel, when in
fact the "murther was out" and the date actually settled for the
"cracking" of my joke--in short, when I fondly imagined that all the
arrangements were made, I received a letter from my "business" friend
backing out of the affair, "as he doubted its success." Half-an-hour
after the receipt of this staggerer (I have never had time to reply to
it) I was dashing into Bond Street, where I quickly made all
arrangements for the hire of a gallery and the necessary printing,
engaged an advertising agent and staff, and myself saw after the
thousand and one things indispensable to an undertaking of this kind.
And all this extraneous worry continued to hamper my studio work until
the Exhibition was actually opened. Of course I had to make hurried
engagements at any price, and consequently bad ones for me. Every
householder is aware that should he change his abode he is surrounded in
his new home by a swarm of local tradespeople and others anxious to get
something out of him. Well, my experience upon entering the world of
"business," hitherto strange to me, was precisely the same. All sorts of
parasites try to fasten themselves on to you. Business houses regard you
as an amateur, and consequently you pay dearly for your experience. You
are not up to the tricks of the trade, and although you may not
generally be written down an ass, you must in your new vocation pay your
footing. It is therefore incumbent upon anyone entering the world of
trade for the first time to keep his wits very much about him.
The local habitation for my Exhibition, which upon the spur of the
moment I was fortunate enough to find in Bond Street, was called for
some inexplicable reason the Gainsborough Gallery, and thereby hangs a
tale. One afternoon there arrived a venerable dowager in a gorgeous
canary-coloured chariot, attended by her two colossal footmen. She
sailed into the gallery, which, fortunately for the old and scant of
breath, was on the ground floor, and slightly raising the pince-nez on
her aristocratic nose, looked about her with an air of bewilderment.
Then going up to my secretary she said, "Surely! these are not by
Gainsborough?"
"No, madam," was the reply. "This is the Gainsborough Gallery, but the
pictures are by Harry Furniss."
Almost fainting on the spot, the old lady called for her salts, her
stick, and her attendants three, and was rapidly driven away from the
scene of her lamentable mistake.
The public attendance at the "The Artistic Joke" was prodigious from the
first. Even upon the private view day, when I introduced a novelty, and
instead of inviting everybody who is somebody to pay a gratuitous visit
to the show, raised the entrance fee to half-a-crown, the fashionable
crowd besieged the doors from an early hour, and made a very
considerable addition to my treasury. Those of my readers, however, who
did not pay a visit to the Gainsborough will be better able to realise
the amount of patronage we received, notwithstanding the numerous
attractions of the "Jubilee" London season, if I relate an incident
which occurred on the Saturday after we opened. It was the "private
view" of the Grosvenor Gallery, and the crowd was immense. Indeed, many
ladies and gentlemen were returning to their carriages without going
through the rooms, not, like my patron the dowager, because they were
disappointed at not finding the work of the old masters, but because the
visitors were too numerous and the atmosphere too oppressive. As I
passed through the people I heard a lady who was stepping into her
carriage say to a friend, "I have just come from 'The Artistic Joke,'
and the crowd is even worse there. They have had to close the doors
because the supply of catalogues was exhausted." This soon caused me to
quicken my pace, and hastening down the street to my own Exhibition, I
found the police standing at the doors and the people being turned away.
The simple explanation of this was that so great had been the public
demand that the stock of catalogues furnished by the printers was
exhausted early in the afternoon, and as it was quite impossible to
understand the caricatures without a catalogue, there was no alternative
but to close the doors until some more were forthcoming.
Finding the telephone was no use, I was soon in a hansom bound for the
City, intending by hook or by crook to bring back with me the
much-needed catalogues, or the body of the printer dead or alive. Upon
arriving in the City, however, to my chagrin I found his place of
business closed, though the caretaker, with a touch of fiendish
malignity, showed me through a window whole piles of my non-delivered
catalogues. Not to be beaten, I hastened back to the West End and
despatched a very long and explicit telegram to the printer at his
private house (of course he would not be back in the City until Monday),
requiring him, under pain of various severe penalties, to yield up my
catalogues instanter. As I stood in the post office of Burlington House
anxiously penning this message, and harassed into a state of almost
feverish excitement, the sounds of martial music and the tramp of armed
men in the adjacent courtyard fell upon my distracted ear. With a sickly
and sardonic smile upon my face I laid down the pen and peeped through
the door.
"Yes! I see it all now," I muttered. "The whole thing is a plant. The
printer was bribed, and, _coute que coute_, the Academy has decided to
take my body! Hence the presence of the military; and see, those
cooks--what are they doing here in their white caps? My body! Ha! then
nothing short of cannibalism is intended!"
This frightful thought almost precipitated me into the very ranks of the
soldiery, when I discovered that the corps was none other than that of
the Artist Volunteers, which contains several of my friends. Seizing one
of those whom I chanced to recognise, I hurriedly whispered in his ear
the thoughts of impending butchery which were passing in my terrified
mind. But he only laughed. "You will disturb their digestions, my dear
Furniss, some other way," he said, "than by providing them with a _piece
de resistance_. Make your mind easy, for we are only here to do honour
to the guests. This is the banqueting night of the Royal Academy."
From what I heard, some amusing incidents occurred in the house at my
"Royal Academy."
[Illustration: "AN ARTISTIC JOKE."
_A portion of my parody of the work of Sir Alma Tadema, R.A._]
It was no uncommon sight to see the friends and relatives, even the sons
and daughters, of certain well-known Academicians standing opposite the
parody of a particular picture, and hugely enjoying it at the expense of
the parent or friend who had painted the original. Other R.A.'s, who
went about pooh-poohing the whole affair, and saying that they intended
to ignore it altogether, turned up nevertheless in due time at the
Gainsborough, where, it is true, they did not generally remain very
long. They had not come to see the Exhibition, but only their own
pictures. One glance was usually enough, and then they vanished. The
critics (and their friends) of course remained longer. Even Mr. Sala
went in one day and seemed to be immensely tickled by what he saw.
Strange to relate, however, when he had passed through about one-third
of the show, he was observed to stop abruptly, turn himself round, and
flee away incontinently, never to be seen there again. I was much
puzzled to discover a reason for this remarkable man[oe]uvre, the more
so as at that time I had not wounded his _amour propre_ by indulging in
an "Artistic Joke" of much more diminutive proportions at his expense,
or, as it subsequently turned out, at my own. Since, however, the
world-famous trial of _Sala_ v. _Furniss_ I have looked carefully over
all the pictures in my Royal Academy, with a view to throwing some light
upon the critic's abrupt departure. I remain, nevertheless, in the dark,
for the most rigid scrutiny has failed to reveal to me one single
feature in the show, not even a Grecian nose, or a foot with six toes,
which could have jarred upon the refined taste of the most sensitive of
journalists. I shall return to Mr. Sala in another portion of these
confessions, but am more concerned now with the parasites, the artistic
failures, the common showmen, the traffickers in various wares, and
other specimens of more or less impecunious humanity, who applied to me
to let them participate in the profits of a success which I had toiled
so hard to achieve. In imitation of Barnum, I might have had, if I had
been so inclined, a series of side shows, ranging in kind from the big
diamond which a well-known firm in Bond Street asked me to let them
exhibit, to the "Queen's Bears" and a curious waxwork of a bald old man
which by means of electricity showed the gradual alterations of tint
produced by the growth of intemperance. One of these applications I was
for a moment inclined to entertain. It has more than once been proposed
that to enable the British public to take its annual bolus at Burlington
House with less nausea, the Royal Academy should introduce a band of
some sort, so that under the influence of its inspiriting strains the
masterpieces might be robbed of a little of their tameness, the portrait
of My Lord Knoshoo might seem less out of place in a public Exhibition,
and the insanities of certain demented colourists might be made less
obtrusive monopolists of one's attention. Therefore, when "a musical
lady and her daughters" applied to me for permission to give "Soirees
Musicales" at the Gainsborough, it struck me for a moment that it would
be effective to forestall the action of the Academy; but on second
thoughts I reflected that as the Burlington House band would probably be
of the same quality as the pictures, it would be adhering more closely
to the spirit of my "Artistic Joke" if I gave my patrons a barrel organ
or a hurdy-gurdy which should play the "Old Hundredth" by steam.
Although one would have thought that a single visit of a few hours'
duration would have sufficed to go through a humorous Exhibition of this
kind, I found that several people became _habitues_ of the place, and
paid many visits; but it is of course possible to have too much of a
good thing, and a joke loses its point when you have too much of it. No
better illustration of this can be afforded than in the case of my own
secretary at the time, who had sat in the Exhibition for many months.
One day, when the plates were being prepared for an album which I
published as a souvenir of the show, the engraver arrived with a proof.
[Illustration: MR. SAMBOURNE'S PROSPECTUS.]
"But there is some mistake here," said my secretary. "We have no such
picture as that on the premises."
The engraver was puzzled, and as he seemed rather sceptical upon the
point, he was allowed to look round, and speedily found the picture he
had copied. It had actually been close at my secretary's elbow since the
"Artistic Joke" was opened to the public, but as the pictures were all
under glass, I suppose he had only seen his own reflection when gazing
at them. It was this perhaps which caused another gentleman whom I have
before mentioned to beat so hasty a retreat. Both of them may have been
frightened by what they saw.
The suggestion that I should be run as a public company emanated from
the fertile brain of my friend Mr. Linley Sambourne. This is his rough
idea of the prospectus:
This Company has been formed to acquire the sole exclusive
concession of the marvellous and rapid power of production of the
above-mentioned Managing Director, and to take over the same as a
going concern.
These productions have been in continual flow for many years past,
and are too well known to need any assurance of the possibility of
a failure of supply. It is therefore with the utmost confidence
that this sure and certain investment is now offered to the public
with an absolute guarantee of a percentage for Fifteen Years of
Forty-five per cent.
Mr. Furniss can be seen at work with the regularity of a threshing
machine and the variety of a kaleidoscope any day from 8 o'c. a.m.
to 8 o'c. p.m. on presentation of visiting card.
BANKERS,
Close, Gatherum & Co., Lombard Street.
SOLICITORS,
Black, White & Co., Tube Court.
SECRETARY, _pro tem._
Earl M----,
Arrystone Grange.
_The Subscription List will close on or before Monday, April 1st,
1887._
* * * * *
Messrs. C. White & Greyon Grey invite subscriptions for the
undermentioned Share Capital and Debentures of the
HARRY FURNISS PARODY CARTOON COMPANY
(Unlimited).
Incorporated under the Joint Stock Companies Acts, 1862 and 1883.
Share Capital L4,000,000.
Divided as follows:
450,000 Ordinary Shares of L5 each L2,250,000
175,000 7 p.c. Cumulative Preference Shares
of L10 each 1,750,000
DIRECTORS.
Chairman: H. V---- W----, Esq., Regent Street, photographer.
Sir John S---- V----, Kt., Pine Court, Kent.
H---- F----, Esq., Draughtsman and Designer, 45, Drury Lane.
HARRY FURNISS, ESQ., R.R.A., R.R.I., &c.,
will join the Board as Managing Director on allotment.
A JOKE WITHIN A JOKE.
[Illustration]
A showman, particularly with some attraction of the passing hour, must
"boom his show for all it's worth," as the Americans say; so I "boomed"
my "Artistic Joke" with an advertising joke, and at the same time
parodied another branch of art--the art of advertising the artists, by a
special number of a magazine devoted to the work of an Academician. The
special numbers, generally published at Christmas, are familiar and
interesting to us all. Still, from any point of view they are fair game.
They are of course merely non-critical, eulogistic accounts of the
artist and his work. So
"_How he Did It--The Story of my 'Artistic Joke,'_" duly appeared,
written by my Lay-figure.
"PREFACE.
[Illustration]
"The fact of my being only an artist's lay-figure will account for any
stiffness or angularity in my literary style. Whilst conscious of my
deficiencies in this respect, I am comforted by the consideration that a
lay-figure attempting literature cannot by any possibility perpetrate
greater absurdities than are committed by many a ready writer who
indulges in those glowing and gushing descriptions of artists and their
work which it is now the fashion to publish, in some such shape as the
present, for the delectation (and delusion) of a gossip-loving public."
This, the origin of "The Artistic Joke," is a fair specimen of the
absurdity I published as an advertisement, though many bought it and
read it as a "true and authentic account" of the confessions of a
caricaturist's lay-figure:
[Illustration: MY PORTRAIT. FRONTISPIECE FOR 'HOW HE DID IT.']
"As many would be interested in knowing how this extraordinary idea of
an Academy _pour rire_ first occurred to this artist, I hasten to
gratify their natural curiosity. It was before little Harry reached the
age of seven, and while watching with fellow-feeling the house-painters
at work in his father's house. One day, at lunchtime, when the men had
left their ladders and paraphernalia near the picture-gallery (a long
room containing choice works of all the great masters), he seized his
opportunity: with herculean strength and Buffalo-Billish agility, our
hero dragged all the ladders, paints and brushes into the gallery, and
soon was at work 'touching up' the pictures, to gratify his boyish love
of mischief. Truth to tell, his performance was but on a par,
artistically, with that usually shown when mischievous boys get hold of
brushes and paint and a picture to restore."
[Illustration:
25, Old Bond Street,
LONDON, W.
Jubilee Day 1887
I have been favoured--if that is the proper word--with a sight of an
advance copy of this perpetration.
I feel that the Easy confidence which has hitherto existed between an
artist and his Lay Figure is for ever broken and fled. If I had only
known that wine was taking advantage of her exceptional opportunities to
betray my misplaced confidence in this popular but pestilent fashion, I
would have made firewood of her long ago.
It is now too late. The temptation is turn Graphic Gusher and
confidential Trotter-out, has proved too much for a wee docile and
discreet Lay Figure. I am one more victim at unsuspected hands, to the
revolting rage for "Revelations."
I am bound to admit, however, that whilst the taste of the whole "Story"
is execrable, the facts upon which it is founded are undisputable.
The Tale is an o'er true one, though it has been compiled without the
knowledge, and is published exactly against the desire of
Harry Furniss]
"Before Harry had finished touching-up the valuable family portraits,
his father came in, glanced round, and fell onto a couch in roars of
laughter. 'It's the best Artistic Joke I've ever seen, my boy, and
here's a shilling for you!' A happy thought struck Harry at the moment.
He kept it to himself for over twenty-five years; and now, standing high
upon an allegorical ladder, he repeats the Joke daily, from nine to
seven, admission one shilling."
This book of sixty pages sold extremely well, and, strange to say, I
made more money out of this joking advertisement--the work of a few
days--than I did out of my elaborate album of seventy photogravure
plates which occupied two years to produce and cost me L2,000.
The following lines from _Fun_ give the origin of my Joke's peculiar and
ingenious turn:
"The fact is the Forty were sad in their mind
(Unfortunate _Aca_demicians!)
Associates also were troubled in kind,
With jeers at their works and positions,
Till one who was younger and bolder than all
Declared 'doleful dumps' to be folly,
'Come--away to the club, and for supper let's call,
And try to be decently jolly.'
"So they fed with good will on the viands prepared
(Pork chops were the principal portion),
Then retiring to bed, with their dreams they were scared,
And spent half the night in contortion;
Then rose in their sleep and came down to this room,
And, instead of a purposeless pawing,
They painted these pictures, then fled in the gloom,
And Furniss has touched up the drawing!"
Having parodied the artists' work, the R.A. catalogue, and the
publishers' R.A. special numbers, I went one step further. I parodied
"Art Patrons." At that time there was a great stir in art circles in
consequence of the authorities of the National Gallery dallying with Mr.
Tate's offer of his pictures to the nation; so to emulate him, and Mr.
Alexander, and Mr. Watts, and other public benefactors in the world of
art, I sent the following letter to the Directors of the National
Gallery:
"Mr. Harry Furniss presents his compliments to the Trustees of the
National Gallery and begs to congratulate them upon the munificent
gifts lately made to them, particularly Mr. Henry Tate's, which
provides the nation with an excellent sample of current art. At the
same time Mr. Harry Furniss feels that having it in his power to
provide a more complete collection of our modern English school, he
is inspired by the generous offers of others to humbly imitate this
good example, and will therefore willingly give his 'Royal Academy'
(parodies on modern painters), better known as 'The Artistic Joke,'
which caused such a sensation in 1887, to the National Gallery if
the Trustees will honour him by accepting the collection."
Yet it was not believed, at least not in Aberdeen, for the leading paper
of the Granite City published the following:
"Someone has played a joke on Mr. Harry Furniss. An announcement
appears this morning to the effect that 'animated by the generosity
of Mr. Henry Tate and other benefactors of the National Gallery,
Mr. Harry Furniss has offered to the Trustees his collection of
illustrations of the work of modern artists recently on view in
Bond Street,' and that he 'has received a communication to the
effect that his offer is under consideration.' I believe no one was
more surprised by this communication than Mr. Furniss. He never
made the offer except possibly in jest to some Member of
Parliament, and naturally he was much surprised to learn that his
offer was 'under consideration.' The illustrations in question
could scarcely be dispensed with by Mr. Furniss, as they are to him
a sort of stock-in-trade."
Not only in Aberdeen but I found generally my seriousness was doubted,
so I reproduce on the opposite page in facsimile the graceful reply of
the authorities of our National Gallery:
The "Artistic Joke" was never intended as an attack on the Royal Academy
at all, as a clear-headed critic wrote:
"It would be more just to regard it as an attempt on Mr. Furniss's
part to show the Academicians the possibilities of real beauty, and
wonder, and pleasure that lie hidden in their work.... On the
whole, the Royal Academicians have never appeared under more
favourable conditions than in this pleasant gallery. Mr. Furniss
has shown that the one thing lacking in them is sense of humour,
and that, if they would not take themselves so seriously, they
might produce work that would be a joy, and not a weariness to the
world. Whether or not they will profit by the lessons it is
difficult to say, for dulness has become the basis of
respectability, and seriousness the only refuge of the shallow."
[Illustration: The Artistic Joke.]