Chapter 11

Certainly the funeral monument, to be worthy the Nation's sorrow buried beneath it, must first be a joy to the sculptor who designed it.

The Bard's reasoning is of the People. His Tragedy is _theirs_. As one of them, the _man_ may weep--yet will the artist rejoice--for to him is not "A thing of beauty a joy for ever"?

[Note 39: At what point of my "_O'clock_" does Mr. Swinburne find this last--his own inconsequence?

[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_

Before the marvels of centuries, silence, the only tribute of the outsider, is by him refused--and the dignity of ignorance lost in speech.

... The laughing Muse of the lecturer, "quam Jocus circumvolat," must have glanced round in expectation of the general appeal, "After that let us take breath." And having done so, they must have remembered that they were not in a serious world; that they were in the fairyland of fans, in the paradise of pipkins, in the limbo of blue china, screens, pots, plates, jars, joss-houses, and all the fortuitous frippery of Fusi-yama.

[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_

If an æsthete, the Bard is no collector!

It is a cruel but an inevitable Nemesis which reduces even a man of real genius, keen-witted and sharp-sighted, to the level of the critic Jobson, to the level of the _dotard and the dunce_, when paradox is discoloured by personality and merriment is distorted by malevolence.(!) No man who really knows the qualities of Mr. Whistler's best work will imagine that he really believes the highest expression of his art to be realized in reproduction of the grin and glare, the smirk and leer, of Japanese womanhood as represented in its professional types of beauty; but to all appearance he would fain persuade us that he does.

In the latter of the two portraits to which I have already referred there is an expression of living character.... This, however, is an exception to the general rule of Mr. Whistler's way of work: an exception, it may be alleged, which proves the rule. A single infraction of the moral code, a single breach of artistic law, suffices to vitiate the position of the preacher. And this is no slight escapade, or casual aberration; it is a full and frank defiance, a deliberate and elaborate denial, hurled right in the face of Japanese jocosity, flung straight in the teeth of the theory which condemns high art, under penalty of being considered intelligent, to remain eternally on the grin.

[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_

A keen commercial summing up--excused by the "Great Emperor!"

If it be objected that to treat this theorem gravely is "to consider too curiously" the tropes and the phrases of _a jester_ of genius, I have only to answer that it very probably may be so, but that the excuse for such error must be sought in the existence of the genius. A man of genius is scarcely at liberty to choose whether he shall or shall not be considered as a serious figure--one to be acknowledged and respected as an equal or a superior, not applauded and dismissed as _a tumbler or a clown_. And if the better part of Mr. Whistler's work as an artist is to be accepted as the work of a serious and intelligent creature, it would seem incongruous and preposterous to dismiss the more characteristic points of his theory as a lecturer with the chuckle or the shrug of mere amusement or amazement. Moreover, if considered as a joke, a mere joke, and nothing but a joke, this gospel of the grin has hardly matter or meaning enough in it to support so elaborate a structure of paradoxical rhetoric. It must be taken, therefore, as something serious in the main; and if so taken, and read by the light reflected from Mr. Whistler's more characteristically brilliant canvases, it may not improbably recall a certain phrase of Molière's which at once passed into a proverb--"Vous êtes orfèvre, M. Josse." That worthy tradesman, it will be remembered, was of opinion that nothing could be so well calculated to restore a drooping young lady to mental and physical health as the present of a handsome set of jewels. _Mr. Whistler's opinion that there is nothing like leather--of a jovial and Japanese design--savours somewhat of the Oriental cordwainer._

"_Et tu, Brute!_"

Why, O brother! did you not consult with me before printing, in the face of a ribald world, _that you also misunderstand_, and are capable of saying so, with vehemence and repetition.

Have I then left no man on his legs?--and have I shot down the singer in the far off, when I thought him safe at my side?

Cannot the man who wrote _Atalanta_--and the _Ballads_ beautiful,--can he not be content to spend his life with _his_ work, which should be his love,--and has for him no misleading doubt and darkness--that he should so stray about blindly in his brother's flowerbeds and bruise himself!

Is life then so long with him, and _his_ art so short, that he shall dawdle by the way and wander from his path, reducing his giant intellect--garrulous upon matters to him unknown, that the scoffer may rejoice and the Philistine be appeased while he takes up the parable of the mob and proclaims himself their spokesman and fellow-sufferer? O Brother! where is thy sting! O Poet! where is thy victory!

How have I offended! and how shall you in the midst of your poisoned page hurl with impunity the boomerang rebuke? "Paradox is discoloured by personality, and merriment is distorted by malevolence."

Who are you, deserting your Muse, that you should insult my Goddess with familiarity, and the manners of approach common to the reasoners in the marketplace. "Hearken to me," you cry, "and I will point out how this man, who has passed his life in her worship, is a tumbler and a clown of the booths--how he who has produced that which I fain must acknowledge--is a jester in the ring!"

Do we not speak the same language? Are we strangers, then, or, in our Father's house are there so many mansions that you lose your way, my brother, and cannot recognize your kin?

Shall I be brought to the bar by my own blood, and be borne false witness against before the plebeian people? Shall I be made to stultify myself by what I never said--and shall the strength of your testimony turn upon me? "If"--"If Japanese Art is right in confining itself to what can be broidered upon the fan" ... and again ... "that he really believes the highest expression of his art to be realized in reproduction of the grin and glare, the smirk and leer" ... and further ... "the theory which condemns high art, under the penalty of being considered intelligent, to remain eternally on the grin" ... and much more!

"Amateur writer!" Well should I deserve the reproach, had I ventured ever beyond the precincts of my own science--and fatal would have been the exposure, as you, with heedless boldness, have unwittingly proven.

Art tainted with philanthropy--that better Art result!--Poet and Peabody!

You have been misled--you have mistaken the pale demeanour and joined hands for an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual earnestness. For you, these are the serious ones, and, for them, you others are the serious matter. Their joke is their work. For me--why should I refuse myself the grim joy of this grotesque tragedy--and, with them now, you all are my joke!

_Freeing a Last Friend_

Bravo! Bard! and exquisitely written, I suppose, as becomes your state.

[Sidenote: _The World_, June 3, 1888. Letter to Mr. Swinburne.]

The scientific irrelevancies and solemn popularities, less elaborately embodied, I seem to have met with before--in papers signed by more than one serious and unqualified sage, whose mind also was not narrowed by knowledge.

I have been "personal," you say; and, faith! you prove it!

Thank you, my dear! I have lost a _confrère_; but, then, I have gained an acquaintance--one Algernon Swinburne--"outsider"--Putney.

_An Editor's Anxiety_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, April 26, 1889.]

It is reported that Mr. Whistler, having received word that a drawing of his had been rejected by the Committee of the Universal Exhibition, arrived yesterday in Paris and withdrew all his remaining works, including an oil painting and six drawings. The French consider that he has been guilty of a breach of good manners. The _Paris_, for instance, points out that, after sending his works to the jury, he should have accepted their judgment, and appealed to the public by other methods.

_Rassurez vous!_

_TO THE EDITOR:_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, April 27, 1889.]

Sir--You are badly informed--a risk you constantly run in your haste for pleasing news.

I have not "withdrawn" my works "from the forthcoming Paris Exhibition."

I transported my pictures from the American department to the British section of the "Exposition Internationale," where I prefer to be represented.

"The French" have nothing, so far, to do with English or American exhibits.

A little paragraph is a dangerous thing.

And I am, Sir,

Chelsea.

_Whistler's Grievance_

_AN ENTRAPPED INTERVIEW._

[Sidenote: _New York Herald_, Paris Edition, Oct. 3, 1889.]

The _Herald_ correspondent saw Mr. Whistler at the Hôtel Suisse, and asked the artist about his affairs with the American Art Jury of the Exhibition.

"I believe the _Herald_ made the statement," said Mr. Whistler, "that I had withdrawn all my etchings and a full-length portrait from the American section. It all came about in this way: In the first place, before the pictures were sent in, I received a note from the American Art Department asking me to contribute some of my work. It was at that time difficult for me to collect many of my works; but I borrowed what I could from different people, and sent in twenty-seven etchings and the portrait."

"You can imagine that a few etchings do not have any effect at all; so I sent what I could get together. Shortly afterwards I received a note saying: 'Sir--Ten of your exhibits have not received the approval of the jury. Will you kindly remove them?'"

"At the bottom of this note was the name 'Hawkins'--General Hawkins, I believe--a cavalry officer, who had charge of the American Art Department of the Exhibition.

"Well! the next day I went to Paris and called at the American headquarters of the Exhibition. I was ushered into the presence of this gentleman, Hawkins, to whom I said:--'I am Mr. Whistler, and I believe this note is from you. I have come to remove my etchings'; but I did not mention that my work was to be transferred to the English Art Section."

"'Ah!' said the gentleman--the officer--'we were very sorry not to have had space enough for all your etchings, but we are glad to have seventeen and the portrait."

"'You are too kind' I said, 'but really I will not trouble you.'"

"Mr. Hawkins was quite embarrassed, and urged me to reconsider my determination, but I withdrew every one of the etchings, and they are now well hung in the English Department."

"I did not mind the fact that my works were criticized, but it was the discourteous manner in which it was done. If the request to me had been made in proper language, and they had simply said:--'Mr. Whistler, we have not space enough for twenty-seven etchings. Will you kindly select those which you prefer, and we shall be glad to have them,' I would have given them the privilege of placing them in the American Section."...

"_Whacking Whistler_"

[Sidenote: _New York Herald_, Paris Edition, Oct. 4. 1889.]

In an interview in yesterday's _Herald_ the eccentric artist, Mr. J. McNeill Whistler, "jumped" in a most emphatic manner upon General Hawkins, Commissioner of the American Art Department at the Exhibition. He objects to the General for being a cavalry officer; refers to him sarcastically as "Hawkins," and declares him ignorant of the most elementary principles alike of art and politeness--all this because he, Whistler, was requested by the Commissioner to remove from the Exhibition premises some ten of his rejected etchings.

In a spirit of fair play a correspondent called upon General Hawkins, giving him an opportunity, if he felt so disposed, of "jumping," in his turn, on his excitable opponent. The General did feel "so disposed," and proceeded, in popular parlance, to "see" Mr. J. McNeill Whistler and "go him one better." In this species of linguistic gymnastics, by the way, the military Commissioner asks no odds of any one. He began by gently remarking that Mr. Whistler, in his published remarks, had soared far out of the domain of strict veracity. This was not bad for a "starter," and was ably supported by the following detailed statement:--

"Mr. Whistler says he received a note from me. That is a mistake. I have never in my life written a line to Mr. Whistler.[40] What he did receive was a circular with my name printed at the bottom. These circulars were sent to all the artists who had pictures refused by the jury, and contained a simple request that such pictures be removed.

[Note 40: The official memory:

"DEAR SIR--I wish by return mail you would send description for oils; and if you desire to have titles to etchings printed, you will have to furnish the necessary material for copy.--Yours faithfully, RUSH C. HAWKINS,

Commissariat General, Paris, March 29, 1889. (_Autograph._)

To Mr. Whistler."]

"Our way of doing business was not, it seems, up to Mr. Whistler's standard of politeness, so he got angry and took away, not only the ten rejected etchings, but seventeen others which had been accepted. It is a little singular that among about one hundred and fifty artists who received this circular, Mr. Whistler should have been the only one to discover its latent discourtesy. How great must be Mr. Whistler's capacity for detecting a snub where none exists!"

"In any case, there is not the slightest reason for Mr. Whistler's venting his ire upon me. I had no more to do with either accepting or rejecting his pictures than I had with painting them. What he sent us was judged on its merits by a competent and impartial jury of his peers. If there were ten etchings rejected it only shows that there were ten etchings not worthy of acceptance. A few days after the affair a trio of journalists--not all men either--came to me, demanding that I reverse this 'iniquitous decision,' as they styled it. I told these three prying scribblers in a polite way that if they would kindly attend to their own affairs I would try to attend to mine. In this connection, I may remark that there are in Paris a number of correspondents who ought not to be allowed within gun-shot of a newspaper office."

"The next mis-statement in Mr. Whistler's interview is in regard to the ultimate disposal of his important etchings. His words are:--'Mr. Hawkins was quite embarrassed, and urged me to reconsider my determination, but I withdrew every one of the etchings, and they are now well hung in the English department.'"

"Now, I leave it to any fair-minded person if the plain inference from this statement is not that the whole twenty-seven etchings were accepted by the English department. If not, what in heaven's name is he crowing about? But the truth is that while we rejected only _ten_ of his etchings, the English department rejected _eighteen_ of them, and of the nine accepted only hung two on the line. Had Mr. Whistler been the possessor of a more even temper and a little more common sense, he would have had five or six of his works on the line in the American department, and nearly twice as many on exhibition than is actually the case. Really, I fail to see what he gained by the exchange, unless it was a valuable experience. He says I was embarrassed when I saw him; I fancy he will be embarrassed when he sees these facts in 'cold type.'"

"_Whistler's Grievance_"

_TO THE EDITOR:_

[Sidenote: _New York Herald._]

Sir--I beg that you will kindly print immediately these, my regrets, that General Rush Hawkins should have been spurred into unwonted and unbecoming expression by what I myself read with considerable bewilderment in the _New York Herald_, October 3, under the head of "Whistler's Grievance."

I can assure the gallant soldier that I have no grievance.

Had I known that, when--over what takes the place of wine and walnuts in Holland--I remembered lightly the military methods of the jury, I was being "interviewed," I should have adopted as serious a tone as the original farce would admit of; or I might have even refused to be a party at all to the infliction upon your readers of so old and threadbare a story as that of the raid upon the works of art in the American section of the Universal Exhibition.

Your correspondent, I fancy, felt much more warmly, than did I, wrongs that--who knows?--are doubtless rights in the army; and my sympathies, I confess, are completely with the General, who did only, as he complains, his duty in that state of life in which it had pleased God, and the War Department, to call him, when, according to order, he signed that naïvely authoritative note, circular, warrant, or what not--for he did irretrievably fasten his name to it, whether with pen or print, thereby hopelessly making the letter his own. Thus have we responsibility, like greatness, sometimes thrust upon us.

On receipt of the document I came--I saw the commanding officer, who, until now, I fondly trusted, would ever remember me as pleasantly as I do himself--and, knowing despatch in all military matters to be of great importance, I then and there relieved him of the troublesome etchings, and carried off the painting.

It is a sad shock to me to find that the good General speaks of me without affection, and that he evinces even joy when he says with a view to my entire discomfiture:--"While we rejected only ten of his etchings, the English department rejected eighteen of them, and of the nine accepted, only hung two on the line."

Now, he is wrong!--the General is wrong.

The etchings now hanging in the English section--and perfect is their hanging, notwithstanding General Hawkins's flattering anxiety--are the only ones I sent there.

In the haste and enthusiasm of your interviewer, I have, on this point, been misunderstood.

There was moreover here no question of submitting them to a "competent and impartial jury of his peers"--one of whom, by the way, I am informed upon undoubted authority, had never before come upon an "etching" in his hitherto happy and unchequered Western career.

We all knew that the space allotted to the English department was exceedingly limited, and each one refrained from abusing it. Here I would point out again, hoping this time to be clearly understood, that, had the methods employed in the American camp been more civil, if less military, all further difficulties might have been avoided. Had I been properly advised that the room was less than the demand for place, I would, of course, have instantly begged the gentlemen of the jury to choose, from among the number, what etchings they pleased. So the matter would have ended, and you, Sir, would have been without this charming communication!

The pretty embarrassment of General Hawkins on the occasion of my visit, I myself liked, thinking it seemly, and part of the good form of a West Point man, who is taught that a drum-head court martial--and what else in the experience of this finished officer should so fit him for sitting in judgment upon pictures?--should be presided at with grave and softened demeanour.

If I mistook the General's manner, it is another illusion the less.

And I have, Sir, the honour to be, Your obedient servant,

Amsterdam, Oct. 6.

_The Art-Critic's Friend_

[Sidenote: _The Scots Observer_, April 5, 1890.]

Mr. Whistler has many things to answer for, and not the least of them is the education of the British Art-Critic. That, at any rate, is the impression left by a little book made up--apparently against the writer's will--of certain of the master's letters and _mots_.... It is useful and pleasant reading; for not only does it prove the painter to have a certain literary talent--of aptness, unexpectedness, above all impertinence--but also it proves him never to have feared the face of art-critical man.... To him the art-critic is nothing if not a person to be educated, with or against the grain; and when he encounters him in the ways of error, he leaps upon him joyously, scalps him in print before the eyes of men, kicks him gaily back into the paths of truth and soberness, and resumes his avocation with that peculiar zest an act of virtue does undoubtedly impart. Indeed, Mr. Whistler, so far from being the critic's enemy, is on the contrary the best friend that tradesman has ever had. For his function is to make him ridiculous....

... Yes, Mr. Whistler is often "rowdy" and unpleasant; in his last combat with Mr. Oscar Wilde--("Oscar, you have been down the area again")--he comes off a palpable second; his treatment of 'Arry dead and "neglected by the parish" goes far to prove that his sense of smell is not so delicate nor so perfectly trained as his sense of sight....

_A Question_

_TO THE EDITOR:_

[Sidenote: _The Scots Observer_, April 19, 1890.]

Sir--It is, I suppose, to your pleasant satisfaction in "The Critic's Friend" that I owe the early copy of the _Scots Observer_, pointed with proud mark, in the blue pencil of office, whereby the impatient author hastened to indicate the pithy personal paragraphs, that no time should be wasted upon other matter with which the periodical is ballasted.

Exhilarated by the belief that I had been remembered--for vanity's sake let me fancy that you have bestowed upon me your own thought and hand--I plunged forthwith into the underlined article, and read with much amusement your excellent appreciation.

Having forgotten none of your professional manner as art arbiter, may I say that I can picture to myself easily the sad earnestness with which you now point the thick thumb of your editorial refinement in deprecation of my choicer "rowdyism"? And knowing your analytical conscientiousness, I can even understand the humble comfort you take in Oscar's meek superiority; but, for the life of me, I cannot follow your literary intention when you say that my care of "''Arry,' dead and neglected by the parish," goes far to prove that my "sense of smell is not so delicate nor so perfectly trained as" my "sense of sight."

Do you mean that my discovery of the body is the result of a cold in the head? and that, with a finer scent, I should have missed it altogether? or were you only unconsciously remembering and dreamily dipping your pen into the ink of my former description of "'Arry's" chronic catarrh? In any case, I am charmed with what I have just read, and only regret that the ridiculous "Romeike" has not hitherto sent me your agreeable literature.--Also I am, dear Sir, your obedient servant,

_The End of the Piece_

Sir--I beg to draw your attention to the contents of your letter to the _Scots Observer_, dated April 12th, in which you state that you "regret the ridiculous Romeike has not hitherto sent me your agreeable literature."

This statement, had it been true, was spiteful and injurious, but being untrue (entirely) it becomes malicious, and I must ask you at once to apologise.

And at the same time to draw your attention to the fact that we have supplied you with 807 cuttings.

We have written to the _Scots Observer_ for an ample apology, or the matter will be placed in our solicitor's hands, and we demand the same of you.