An Interview With an ex-President
The adverse vote by which the Royal Society of British Artists transferred its oath of allegiance from Mr. Whistler is for the time Pall Mall Gazette, June 11, 1888. the chief topic of conversation in artistic circles.... We instructed our representative to visit Mr. Whistler to obtain his explanation of the affair.
“The state of affairs?” said Mr. Whistler, in his light and airy way, raising his eyebrows and twinkling his eyes, as if it were all the best possible fun in the world; “why, my dear sir, there’s positively no state of affairs at all. Contrary to public declaration, there’s actually nothing chaotic in the whole business; on the contrary, everything is in order, and just as it should be. The survival of the fittest as regards the presidency, don’t you see, and, well—Suffolk Street is itself again! A new government has come in, and, as I told the members the other night, I congratulate the Society on the result of their vote, for no longer can it be said that the right man is in the wrong place. No doubt their pristine sense of undisturbed somnolence will again settle upon them after the exasperated mental condition arising from the unnatural strain recently put upon the old ship. Eh? what? Ha! ha!”
“You do not then consider the Society as out of date? You do not think, as is sometimes said, that the establishment of the Grosvenor took away the raison d’être and original intention of the Society—that of being a foil to the Royal Academy?”
“I can hardly say what was originally intended, but I do know that it was originally full of hope, and even determination; shown in a manner by their getting a Royal Charter—the only art society in London, I believe, that has one.
“But by degrees it lapsed into a condition of incapacity—a sort of secondary state,—do you see, till it acknowledged itself a species of crêche for the Royal Academy. Certain it is that when I came into it the prevalent feeling among all the men was that their best work should go to ‘another place.’
“I felt that this sense of inferiority was fatal to the well-being of the place.
“For that reason I attempted to bring about a sense of esprit de corps and ambition, which culminated in what might be called ’my first offence’—by my proposition that members belonging to other societies should hold no official position in ours. I wanted to make it an art centre,” continued Mr. Whistler, with a sudden vigour and an earnestness for which the public would hardly give credit to this Master of Badinage and Apostle of Persiflage; “they wanted it to remain a shop, although I said to them, ‘Gentlemen, don’t you perceive that as shopmen you have already failed, don’t you see, eh?’ But they were under the impression that the sales decreased under my methods and my régime, and ignored the fact that sales had declined all over the country from all sorts of causes, commercial, and so on.
Their only chance lay in the art tone of the place, for the old-fashioned pictures had ceased to become saleable wares—buyers simply wouldn’t buy them. But members’ work I couldn’t, by the rules, eliminate—only the bad outsiders were choked off.”
“Then how do you explain the bitterness of all the opposition?”
“A question of ‘pull devil, pull baker,’ and the devil has gone and the bakers remain in Suffolk Street! Ha! ha! Here is a list of the fiendish party who protested against the thrusting forth of their president in such an unceremonious way:—
“Alfred Stevens, Theodore Roussel, Nelson Maclean, Macnab, Waldo Story, A. Ludovici, jun., Sidney Starr, Francis James, W. A. Rixon, Aubrey Hunt, Moffatt P. Lindner, E. G. Girardot, Ludby, Arthur Hill, Llewellyn, W. Christian Symons, C. Wyllie, A. F. Grace, J. E. Grace, J. D. Watson, Jacomb Hood, Thornley, J. J. Shannon, and Charles Keen. Why, the very flower of the Society! and whom have they left—bon Dieu! whom have they left?”
“It was a hard fight then?”
“My dear sir, they brought up the maimed, the halt, the lame, and the blind—literally—like in Hogarth’s ‘Election;’ they brought up everything but corpses, don’t you know!—very well!”
“But all this hardly explains the bitterness of the feud and personal enmity to you.”
“What? Don’t you see? My presidential career had in a manner been a busy one. When I took charge of the ship I found her more or less water-logged. Well, I put the men to the pumps, and thoroughly shook up the old vessel; had her re-rigged re-cleaned, and painted—and finally I was graciously permitted to run up the Royal Standard to the masthead, and brought her fully to the fore, ready for action—as became a Royal flagship! And as a natural result mutiny at once set in!
“Don’t you see,” he continued, with one of his strident laughs, “what might be considered, by the thoughtless, as benefits, were resented, by the older and wiser of the crew, as innovations and intrusions of an impertinent and offensive nature. But the immediate result was that interest in the Society was undeniably developed, not only at home, but certainly abroad. Notably in Paris all the art circle was keenly alive to what was taking place in Suffolk Street; and, although their interest in other institutions in this country had previously flagged, there was the strong willingness to take part in its exhibitions.
For example, there was Alfred Stevens, who showed his own sympathy with the progressive efforts by becoming a member. And look at the throngs of people that crowded our private views—eh? ha! ha! what! But what will you!—the question is, after all, purely a parochial one—and here I would stop to wonder, if I do not seem pathetic and out of character, why the Artist is naturally an object of vituperation to the Vestryman?—Why am I—who, of course, as you know, am charming—why am I the pariah of my parish?
“Why should these people do other than delight in me?—Why should they perish rather than forgive the one who had thrust upon them honour and success?”
“And the moral of it all?”
Mr. Whistler became impressive—almost imposing—as he stroked his moustache, and tried to hide a smile behind his hand.
“The organisation of this ‘Royal Society of British Artists’ as shown by its very name, tended perforce to this final convulsion, resulting in the separation of the elements of which it was composed. They could not remain together, and so you see the ‘Artists’ have come out, and the ‘British’ remain—and peace and sweet obscurity are restored to Suffolk Street!—Eh? What? Ha! ha!”