One hundred years ago
In such a universe as this it is a great gain to lay hold of some one thing that has permanence — something that we can confidently count upon seeing reap- pear as the years come round, something to which to cling amid the whirl and con- fusion of continual change. In one par- ticular world we find this blessing in the dinner of the Royal Academy. Were we to judge only by the pictures which hang upon the walls, we might sometimes be tempted to despair of English Art. Ex- hibition after exhibition is unfolded before our eyes, and we look in vain for evidence of new genius coming to the front or of established genius holding its own. The younger men grow more man- nered; the older men show more plainly that when a man once enters the Academy he becomes too contented with himself to care to do anything that he has not done before. If we let the ear rather than the eye guide us, we shall feel no uneasiness on this score. The language of Art may vary; it may have been expressive yesterday and be com- monplace today. But the language of compliment never varies. As each May comes round, speaker after speaker rises to congratulate the President on the splendid works which look down on the guests as they sit at dinner; and long habit has taught even the Hanging Com- mittee to feign belief in the words they
hear. Spectator, 10 May 1884
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