The Confessions of a Caricaturist, Vol 2 | Page 5

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