Whistler Stories written by Don C. Seitz
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Don C. Seitz >> Whistler Stories
* * * * *
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.
* * * * *
Frederick Wedmore, the patient cataloguer of Whistler's etchings, once
appeared in print as saying that he had "no wish to understand
Whistler's works." He wrote "understate," but the wretched compositor
undid him. Whistler's response to the explanation was: "Yes, the
mistake is indeed inexcusable, since not only I, but even the
compositor, might have known that with Mr. Wedmore and his like it is
always a question of understating and never of understanding
anything."
In his _Memories and Impressions_ Ford Madox Hueffer relates that
Madox Brown, going to a tea-party at the White House at Chelsea, was
met in the hall by Mrs. Whistler, who begged him to go to the
poulterer's and purchase a pound of butter. The bread was cut, but
there was nothing in the house to put upon it. There was no money in
the house, the poulterer had cut off his credit, and Mrs. Whistler
said she dared not send her husband, for he would certainly punch the
tradesman's head!
"To think of 'Arry [meaning Harry Quilter, the critic, with whom he
fiercely quarreled] living in the temple I erected!" he said. "He has
no use for it--doesn't know what to do with it. If he had any feeling
for the sympathy of things he would come to me and say: 'Here's your
house, Whistler; take it; you know its meaning, I don't. Take it and
live in it.' But no, he hasn't sense enough to see that. He
obstinately stays there in the way, while I am living in this absurd
fashion, next door to myself."
* * * * *
After the "secession" from the Royal Society, Whistler strolled into
the gallery one evening with some friends. A group of admirers were
gushing before a Leighton canvas.