Chapter 2
"I don't think they do," demurred Whistler; "I think they paint as well as they can."
Of Alma-Tadema's work he observed, "My only objection to Tadema's pictures is that they are unfinished."
Starr spoke approvingly of the promising work of some of the younger artists. "They are all tarred with the same brush," said Whistler. "They are of the schools!" Of one particular rising star Whistler remarked: "He's clever, but there's something common in everything he does. So what's the use of it?"
Starr indicated a distinguishing difference between the work of a certain R.A. and another. "Well," he replied, "it's a nasty difference."
* * * * *
M.H. Spielmann, the art-critic, spoke of "Ten o'Clock " as "smart but misleading." Whistler retorted, "If the lecture had not seemed misleading to him, it surely would not have been worth uttering at all!"
* * * * *
Walter Sickert, then a pupil of Whistler's, praised Lord Leighton's "Harvest Moon" in an article on the Manchester Art Treasure Exhibition. Whistler telegraphed him at Hampstead:
"The Harvest Moon rises at Hampstead and the cocks of Chelsea crow!"
* * * * *
Apropos of his spats with Sickert he remarked, "Yes, we are always forgiving Walter."
Another pupil, foreseeing the end of Whistler as president of the Royal Society of British Artists, resigned some months before the time. "The early rat," said Whistler, grimly, "the first to leave the sinking ship."
* * * * *
In the Fine Art Society's gallery one day he spoke to a knighted R.A. "Who was that?" Starr asked.
"Really, now, I forget," was the reply. "But whoever it was it's some one of no importance, you know, no importance whatever."
* * * * *
At an exhibition of Doré's pictures Whistler asked an attendant if a certain academician's large religious picture was not on view.
"No," said the man; "it's much lower down!"
"Impossible!" replied Whistler, gleefully.
Sidney Starr relates that Whistler was asked one year to "hang" the exhibits in the Walker Art Gallery at Liverpool. In the center of one wall he placed Luke Fildes's "Doctor," and surrounded it with all the pictures he could find of dying people, convalescents, still-life medicine bottles, and the like. This caused comment. "But," said Whistler, "I told them I wished to emphasize that particular school."
"And what did you put on the opposite wall?" Starr asked.
"Oh, Leighton's--I really forget what it was."
"But that is different, you know," said Starr.
"No," rejoined Whistler; "it's really the same thing!"
* * * * *
Having seen a picture of Starr's in Liverpool, which he amiably, termed "a picture among paint," he observed to him on the occasion of their first meeting: "Paint things exactly as they are. I always do. Young men think they should paint like this or that painter. Be quite simple; no fussy foolishness, you know; and don't try to be what they call 'strong.' When a picture 'smells of paint,'" he said slowly, "it's what they call 'strong.'"
* * * * *
Riding once with Starr to dine at the Café Royal, Whistler leaned forward in the hansom and looked at the green park in the dusk, fresh and sweet after the rain; at the long line of light reflected, shimmering, in the wet Piccadilly pavement, and said:
"Starr, I have not dined, as you know, so you need not think I say this in anything but a cold and careful spirit: it is better to live on bread and cheese and paint beautiful things than to live like Dives and paint pot-boilers. But a painter really should not have to worry about--'various,' you know. Poverty may induce industry, but it does not produce the fine flower of painting. The test is not poverty; it's money. Give a painter money and see what he'll do. If he does not paint, his work is well lost to the world. If I had had, say, three thousand pounds a year, what beautiful things I could have done!"
* * * * *
Before the portrait of little Miss Alexander went to the Grosvenor Gallery, Tom Taylor, the art-critic of the _Times_, called at the studio to see it. "Ah, yes--'um," he remarked, and added that an upright line in the paneling of the wall was wrong and that the picture would be better without it, adding, "Of course, it's a matter of taste."
To which Whistler rejoined: "I thought that perhaps for once you were going to get away without having said anything foolish; but remember, so you may not make the mistake again, it's not a matter of taste at all; it is a matter of knowledge. Good-by!"
* * * * *
To a critic who remarked, "Your picture is not up to your mark; it is not good this time," Whistler replied: "You shouldn't say it is not good. You should say you do not like it, and then, you know, you're perfectly safe. Now come and have something you do like--have some whiskey."
* * * * *
Stopped at an exhibition by an attendant who wished to check his cane, Whistler laughed: "Oh, no, my little man; I keep this for the critics."
His troubles with the Royal Society of British Artists bred a round of biting remarks. When he and his following went out he said, consolingly: "Pish! It is very simple. The artists retired. The British remained!"
Another shot at the same subject:
"No longer can it be said that the right man is in the wrong place!"
* * * * *
When an adverse vote ended his leadership of the Royal Society, Whistler said, philosophically, "Now I understand the feelings of all those who, since the world began, have tried to save their fellow-men."
* * * * *
Commenting on B.R. Haydon's autobiography, Whistler said: "Yes; Haydon, it seems, went into his studio, locked the door, and before beginning to work prayed God to enable him to paint for the glory of England. Then, seizing a large brush full of bitumen, he attacked his huge canvas, and, of course--God fled."
* * * * *
Starr once asked Whistler if the southern exposure of the room in which he was working troubled him.
"Yes, it does," he answered. "But Ruskin lives in the North, you know, and a southern exposure troubled him, rather, eh?"
* * * * *
Much that was characteristic of the artist's wit and temper came out during the famous libel suit he brought against Ruskin. The most amusing feature of it was the exhibition in court of some of the "nocturnes" and "arrangements" which were the subject of the suit. The jury of respectable citizens, whose knowledge of art was probably limited, was expected to pass judgment on these paintings. Whistler's counsel held up one of the pictures.
"Here, gentlemen," he said, "is one of the works which have been maligned."
"Pardon me," interposed Mr. Ruskin's lawyer; "you have that picture upside down."
"No such thing!"
"Oh, but it is so!" continued Ruskin's counsel. "I remember it in the Grosvenor Gallery, where it was hung the other way about."
The altercation ended in the correctness of view of Ruskin's lawyer being sustained. This error of counsel helped to produce the celebrated farthing verdict. Ever after Whistler wore the farthing on his watch-chain.
* * * * *
The suit had its origin in Ruskin's comment upon the "Nocturne in Black and Gold," described as "a distant view of Cremorne Garden, with a falling rocket and other fireworks." The picture is now the property of Mrs. Samuel Untermyer, of New York. On the opening of the Grosvenor Gallery, in 1877, Ruskin wrote in _Fors Clavigera_: "The ill-educated conceit of the artist nearly approached the aspect of wilful imposture. I have seen and heard much of cockney impudence before now, but never expected to have a coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the public's face."
When Whistler was being examined during the trial, Sir John Holker, the Attorney-General, asked, "How long did it take you to knock off that 'Nocturne'?"
"I beg your pardon?" said the witness.
Sir John apologized for his flippancy, and Whistler replied: "About a day. I may have put a few touches to it the next day."
"For two days' labor you ask two hundred guineas?"
"No, I ask it for the knowledge of a lifetime!"
Then the "Nocturne in Blue and Silver," a moonlight view of Battersea Bridge, was submitted to the jury. Baron Huddleston, the presiding justice, asked Mr. Whistler to explain it.
"Which part of the picture is the bridge?" he queried. "Do you say this is a correct representation?"
"I did not intend it to be a correct portrait of the bridge."
"Are the figures on the top intended for people?"
"They are just what you like."
"Is that a barge beneath?"
"Yes," replied the witness, sarcastically. "I am much encouraged at your perceiving that! My whole scheme was only to bring out a certain harmony of color."
"What is that gold-colored mark on the side, like a cascade?"
"That is a firework."
"Do you think now," said the Attorney-General, insinuatingly, "you could make me see the beauty of that picture?"
"No," said Whistler, after closely scrutinizing his questioner's face. "Do you know, I fear it would be as hopeless as for the musician to pour his notes into a deaf man's ear."
"What is that structure in the middle?" asked the irritated attorney. "Is it a telescope or a fire-escape? Is it like Battersea Bridge? What are the figures at the top? If they are horses and carts, how in the name of fortune are they to get off?"
* * * * *
A friend who was in court when the farthing damages verdict was brought in relates that Whistler looked puzzled for a moment; then his face cleared. "That's a verdict for me, is it not?" he asked; and when his counsel said, "Yes, nominally," Whistler replied, "Well, I suppose a verdict is a verdict." Then he said, "It's a great triumph; tell everybody it's a great triumph." When the listener dissented, he condensed all his concentrated scorn of Philistine view into a sentence: "My dear S., you are just fit to serve on a British jury."
* * * * *
"Whistler _vs._ Ruskin" cost the latter so much more than the farthing verdict that his friends sent out a circular soliciting funds in these terms:
"Whistler _vs._ Ruskin. Mr. Ruskin's costs.
"A considerable opinion prevailing that a lifelong, honest endeavor on the part of Mr. Ruskin to further the cause of Art should not be crowned by his being cast in costs to the amount of several hundreds of pounds, the Fine Art Society has agreed to set on foot a subscription to defray his expenses arising out of the late action of Whistler _vs._ Ruskin.
"Persons willing to co-operate will oblige by communicating with the Society, 148, New Bond Street, London."
Mr. Whistler received scant sympathy, the tone of the comment being well noted by this excerpt from the London _Standard_ of November 30th, 1878:
"Of course, Mr. Whistler has costs to pay too, and the amount he is to receive from Mr. Ruskin (one farthing), even if economically expended, will hardly go far to satisfy the claims of his legal advisers. But he has only to paint, or, as we believe he expresses it, 'knock off,' three or four 'symphonies' or 'harmonies'--or perhaps he might try his hand at a Set of Quadrilles in Peacock Blue?--and a week's labor will set all square."
Arthur Lumley, a New York illustrator, met Whistler once at a costume ball at George H. Boughton's house in London. The artist appeared as Hamlet, but in anything but a melancholy mood. Next morning's papers related that the sheriff had sold the effects in the White House the day of the ball to satisfy the claims of his creditors!
* * * * *
Isaac N. Ford, when correspondent of the New York _Tribune_ in London, went with Frederick MacMonnies, the sculptor, to visit Whistler, who brought out a number of portraits for show. One was that of a woman, full figure.
"What do you think of her?" he asked.
The sculptor gave "a side glance and looked down."
"Since you force me to speak,", he finally blurted out, "I must tell you that one leg is longer than the other."
Instead of the expected outburst, Whistler scrutinized the portrait from several points, and then observed quietly:
"You are quite right. I had not observed the fault, and I shall correct it in the morning."
"What an eye for a line a sculptor has!" he said to Ford later.
* * * * *
He quarreled regularly with his brother-in-law, Sir F. Seymour Haden, the famous etcher.
"A brother-in-law is not a connection calling for sentiment," he once remarked.
Haden came into a gallery on one occasion and, seeing Whistler, who was there in company with Justice Day, left abruptly.
"I see! Dropped in for his morning bitters," observed Whistler, cheerfully.
* * * * *
Once in conversation Whistler said: "Yes, I have many friends, and am grateful to them; but those whom I most love are my enemies--not in a Biblical sense, oh, no, but because they keep one always busy, always up to the mark, either fighting them or proving them idiots."
* * * * *
Whistler was very particular about the spelling of his rather long and complicated group of names. Careless people made the "Mc" "Mac," and others left the extra "l" off "McNeill." To one of the latter offenders he wrote:
"McNeill, by the way, should have two l's.' I use them both, and in the midst of things cannot well do without them!"
* * * * *
When Tom Taylor, the critic, died, a friend asked Whistler why he looked so glum.
"Me?" said Whistler. "Who else has such cause to mourn? Tommy's dead. I'm lonesome. They are all dying. I have hardly a warm personal enemy left!"
* * * * *
While a draughtsman in the Coast Survey from November, 1854, to February, 1855, he boarded at the northeast corner of E and 12th Streets, Washington. He is remembered as being usually late for breakfast and always making sketches on the walls. To the remonstrating landlord he replied:
"Now, now, never mind! I'll not charge you anything for the decorations."
* * * * *
Among those with whom Whistler quarreled most joyously were the two Moores, the illustrious George and his less famous brother, Augustus. Both took Sir William Eden's side in the celebrated "Baronet _vs_. Butterfly" case, where Whistler was nonsuited in a French court of law. Augustus edited a sprightly but none too reputable weekly in London, called the _Hawk_, a series of unpalatable references in which so aroused Whistler that, meeting Moore in the Drury Lane Theater on the first night of "A Million of Money," he struck the editor across the face with his cane. A scrimmage followed, which contemporary history closed with the artist on the floor. Whistler's own account of the unseemly fracas was thuswise:
"I started out to cane the fellow with as little emotion as I would prepare to kill a rat. I did cane him to the satisfaction of my many friends and his many enemies, and that was the end of it."
Moore wrote: "I am sorry, but I have had to slap Mr. Whistler. My Irish blood got the better of me, and before I knew it the shriveled-up little monkey was knocked over and kicking about the floor."
Whistler vigorously controverted this version as a "barefaced falsehood." He added: "I am sure he never touched me. I don't know why, for he is a much bigger man than I. My idea is that he was thoroughly cowed by the moral force of my attack. I had to turn him round in order to get at him. Then I cut him again and again as hard as I could, hissing out 'Hawk!' with each stroke. Oh, you can take my word for it, everything was done in the cleanest and most correct fashion possible. I always like to do things cleanly."
* * * * *
The clash with George Moore came to a head with the challenge to fight a duel. In his own version of the event given in the London _Chronicle_ of March 29th, 1895, Mr. Moore laid his troubles to his efforts to aid the artist. Learning that Sir William Eden wished his wife's portrait painted, he "undertook a journey to Paris in the depth of winter, had two shocking passages across the Channel, and spent twenty-five pounds on Mr. Whistler's business." It was arranged, he thought, that Whistler was to receive one hundred pounds for a "small sketch." When the "sketch" materialized it was "small" indeed. The Baronet and Mr. Moore expected a little more area of canvas. "The picture in question," remarked Mr. Moore, "is only twelve inches long by six high. The figure of Lady Eden is represented sitting on a sofa; the face is about half an inch in length, about the size of a sixpence, and the features are barely indicated."
But to the duel: In Paris, after the controversy arose, Mr. Moore told an interviewer he did not think the sketch was worth more than one hundred pounds. To this Whistler made a furious reply in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, alleging that Moore had "acquired a spurious reputation as an art-critic" by praising his pictures. Moore's reply in the journal produced this response, sent from the Hotel Chatham under date of March 12th, 1895:
"Mr. Whistler begs to acknowledge Mr. Moore's letter of March 11.
"If, in it, the literary incarnation of the 'eccentric' person, on the curbstone, is supposed to represent Mr. Moore at the present moment, Mr. Whistler thinks the likeness exaggerated--as it is absurd to suppose that Mr. Moore can really imagine that any one admires him in his late role before Interviewer, or in that of the Expert in the Council Chamber.
"If, however, Mr. Moore means in his parable to indicate Mr. Whistler, the latter is willing to accept Mr. Moore's circuitous and coarse attempt to convey a gross insult--and, upon the whole, will perhaps think the better of him for an intention to make himself at last responsible.
"In such case Mr. Whistler will ask a friend to meet any gentleman Mr. Moore may appoint to represent him; and, awaiting a reply, has the honor to remain Mr. Moore's," etc.
To which Mr. Moore replied:
"Mr. Moore begs to acknowledge the receipt of Mr. Whistler's letter of the 12th inst. In Mr. Moore's opinion Mr. Whistler's conduct grows daily more absurd."
"I hoped," explained Mr. Moore, "that Mr. Whistler's friends would intervene and persuade him of the strangeness of his action and the interpretation it would receive in England. But four days later I was flattered by the following communication:
"PARIS, _le 15 Mars, 1895._
"MONSIEUR:
"A la réception de votre lettre (lettre d'ailleurs rendue publique dans la _Pall Mall Gazette_), M. Whistler nous a prié de vous demander soit une rétractation, soit une réparation par les armes.
"Nous vous prions donc de vouloir bien nous mettre en rapport avec deux de vos amis.
FRANCIS VIELÉ-GRIFFIN,
122 Rue de la Pompe. OCTAVE MIRBEAU, Carrière-sous-Passy, Seine-et-Oise."
Mr. Moore's interlocutor asked him if there was any fear of losing his interesting personality on account of Mr. Whistler's challenge.
To this Mr. Moore said:
"There are three most excellent reasons why I should not fight a duel with Mr. Whistler, as Mr. Whistler well knows. First, only under the very gravest circumstances, if under any at all, would an Englishman accept a challenge to a duel. The duel has been relegated to the realms of comic opera. As for inviting me to proceed to Belgium for the purpose of fighting him, he might as well ask me to strip myself naked and paint my face and stick feathers in my hair--dress myself as a Redskin, in fact, and walk down St. James's Street flourishing a tomahawk. Second, supposing I were a Frenchman, Mr. Whistler is sixty-five years of age, and it is against the custom of dueling for any one to accept a challenge from so old a gentleman. Moreover, Mr. Whistler is, unhappily, very short-sighted, and would be unable to see me at twenty paces. Third, the grounds of the quarrel are so infinitely trivial that, were we both Frenchmen, it is doubtful if any seconds would take upon themselves the responsibility of an armed encounter.
"I have praised Mr. Whistler's pictures that he painted five-and-twenty years ago as much as it is possible to praise works of art. I hold the same opinions about them still. I only wish Mr. Whistler would apply himself to his art instead of wasting his time in quarreling with his friends."
The outcome of the Eden suit kept Whistler in ill-humor for a long time, while Moore continued to be a special object of aversion. The two avoided each other. But, as some philosopher has said, if you remain long in Paris you will meet all your friends and all your enemies. So it fell out that the two foregathered at the same atelier one Sunday afternoon. They nearly collided in entering, but Moore was the first inside. The hostess heard sounds from the hall something between china-breaking and the stamping of hoofs. She went out, to find James in a mighty rage.
"Dear me!" said the lady, "what is the matter, dear master?"
"Whistler won't come in! Whistler won't stay under the same roof with that wild Irishman!"
Moore, in the inside, remarked in his sweetly modulated voice:
"Why drag in Whistler?"
This play on his best _mot_, "Why drag in Velasquez?" was too much, and in screaming wrath the painter fled, leaving Moore in full possession.
* * * * *
An American millionaire, to whom wealth had come rather quickly from Western mines, called at the Paris studio with the idea of capturing something for his gallery. He glanced casually at the paintings on the walls, and then queried:
"How much for the lot?"
"Four millions," said Whistler.
"What?"
"My posthumous prices! Good morning!"
* * * * *
Dante Gabriel Rossetti once showed Whistler a sketch and asked his opinion of its merits.
"It has good points, Rossetti," said Whistler. "Go ahead with it by all means."
Later he inquired how it was getting along. "All right," answered Rossetti, cheerfully. "I've ordered a stunning frame for it."
In due time the canvas appeared at Rossetti's house in Cheyne Walk, beautifully framed.
"You've done nothing to it since I saw it, have you?" said Whistler.
"No-o," replied Rossetti, "but I've written a sonnet on the subject, if you'd like to hear it."
He recited some lines of peculiar tenderness.
"Rossetti," said Whistler, as the recitation ended, "take out the picture and frame the sonnet."
* * * * *
The Scotch once raised a fund by subscription to buy the portrait of Carlyle, at a price of five hundred guineas, fixed by the painter. When the sum was nearly complete, he learned that the subscription paper contained a clause disclaiming any indorsement of his theory of art. He telegraphed to the committee:
"The price of 'Carlyle' has advanced to one thousand guineas. Dinna ye hear the bagpipes?"
* * * * *
A dilettante collector in London, after much angling, induced Whistler to view his variegated collection. As the several objects passed in review they provoked only a sober "H'm, h'm," that might have meant anything or nothing. When there was no more to see, the host paused for an aggregate opinion and got this:
"My dear sir, there's really no excuse for it, no excuse for it at all!"
To a lady who complained that the frequent sittings commanded for painting her portrait compelled her to sacrifice much personal convenience, Whistler replied: "But, my dear lady, that is nothing in comparison with the sacrifice I have to make on your account. Just look: since I have been painting your portrait I have not had time to attend to my correspondence."
There was a mountain of unopened letters on his desk.