RECOLLECTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS
OF
JAMES A. McNEILL WHISTLER
[Illustration]
RECOLLECTIONS AND
IMPRESSIONS
OF
JAMES A. MCNEILL WHISTLER
BY
ARTHUR JEROME EDDY
AUTHOR OF “DELIGHT: THE
SOUL OF ART,” ETC.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA _&_ LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
Published November, 1903
_Electrotyped and Printed by
J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U. S. A._
_To L. O. E._
_This Sixteenth Day of September
Nineteen Hundred and Three_
[Illustration]
FOREWORD
[Illustration: text decoration]
Most of what is contained herein has been collected from time to time
within the past ten years and jotted down for use in certain lectures on
Whistler and his art. The lectures were, as is this book, a tribute to
the great painter.
The reminiscences are mostly personal. Many of the anecdotes--though
perhaps equally familiar to others--were had from the artist’s own lips.
The views concerning his art, whether right or wrong, were formed while
watching him at work day after day, and after many interviews in which,
now and then, he would speak plainly concerning art. At the same time
not so much as a thought must be attributed to him unless expressly
quoted.
The biographical data--just sufficient to furnish a connecting thread
and aid in the appreciation--have been gathered from casual sources, and
are, no doubt, subject to incidental corrections.
Only when a duly authorized “life and letters” is published by those who
have access to the material that must exist will the great artist be
known by the world as he really was--a profoundly earnest, serious,
loving, and lovable man.
Meanwhile, those who believe in his art must--like the writer--speak
their convictions for what they are worth.
CONTENTS
[Illustration: text decoration]
I
PAGE
Why he never Returned to America--Tariff on Art--South
America--Valparaiso 15
II
A Family of Soldiers--Grandfather founded Chicago--Birth--St.
Petersburg--West Point--Coast Survey--His
Military Spirit 25
III
An American--The Puritan Element--Attitude of England
and France--Racial and Universal Qualities
in Art--Art-Loving Nations 47
IV
Early Days in Paris and Venice--Etchings, Lithographs,
and Water-Colors--“Propositions” and “Ten
o’Clock” 79
V
Chelsea--The Royal Academy--“Portrait of His
Mother”--“Carlyle”--Grosvenor Gallery--The
“Peacock Room”--Concerning Exhibitions 109
VI
The Ruskin Suit--His Attitude towards the World and
towards Art--“The Gentle Art of Making Enemies”--Critics
and Criticism 140
VII
Supreme as a Colorist--Color and Music--His Susceptibility
to Color--Ruskin and Color--Art and Nature 173
VIII
The Royal Society of British Artists--In Paris once
more--At Home and at Work 217
IX
Portrait-Painting--How he Differed from his Great
Predecessors--The “Likeness”--Composition of
Color--No Commercial Side--Baronet _vs._ Butterfly 244
X
The School of Carmen--In Search of Health--Chelsea
once more--The End 277
Index 289
ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration: text decoration]
PAGE
WHISTLER _Frontispiece._
From a sketch by Rajon
CREPUSCULE IN FLESH COLOR AND GREEN; VALPARAISO 22
HARMONY IN GRAY AND GREEN. PORTRAIT OF MISS
ALEXANDER 50
THE LANGE LEIZEN--OF THE SIX MARKS--PURPLE
AND ROSE 58
PLATE MADE WHILE IN THE EMPLOY OF THE GOVERNMENT
AT WASHINGTON, 1854-55 88
ARRANGEMENT IN GRAY AND BLACK. PORTRAIT OF
THE PAINTER’S MOTHER 114
ARRANGEMENT IN BLACK. LA DAME AU BRODEQUINE
JAUNE 120
ARRANGEMENT IN GRAY AND BLACK. PORTRAIT OF
THOMAS CARLYLE 122
NOCTURNE, BLACK AND GOLD. THE FALLING
ROCKET 140
BLUE AND SILVER; BLUE WAVE, BIARRITZ 174
LITTLE ROSE, LYME REGIS 274
SYMPHONY IN WHITE, NO. II. THE LITTLE WHITE
GIRL 282
“_This man, who took no joy in the ways of his brethren--who cared
not for conquest, and fretted in the field--this designer of quaint
patterns--this deviser of the beautiful--who perceived in Nature
about him curious curvings, as faces are seen in the fire--this
dreamer apart, was the first artist._”--WHISTLER’S “Ten o’Clock.”
RECOLLECTIONS AND IMPRESSIONS
OF
JAMES A. McNEILL WHISTLER
[Illustration]
_I_
_Why he never Returned to America--Tariff on Art--South
America--Valparaiso._
Now that the end has come and the master is no more, the scattered
sheaves of stories and anecdotes, of facts and fancies, of recollections
and impressions may be gathered together from the four quarters, and the
story of his work be told,--not in detail, not in sequence, for some one
will write his life, but in fragmentary fashion as the thoughts occur.
* * * * *
For the better part of his life Whistler fought the prejudices of all
Europe and of his own country.
He once said, with a tinge of bitterness in his tone:
“The papers in America seem content to publish second-hand whatever they
find about me in English journals that is mean and vindictive or that
savors of ridicule. Aside from the hopeless want of originality
displayed in echoing the stupidities of others, what has become of that
boasted love of fair play? Even the phlegmatic Englishman takes the
part of a fellow-countryman against many--quite regardless; but the
American press--bully like--leans to the side of the bully and weakly
cries, bravo! whenever the snarling pack on this side snaps at the heels
of an American who mocks them at the doors of their own kennels.
“One would think the American people would back a countryman--right or
wrong--who is fighting against odds; but for thirty years they laughed
when the English laughed, sneered when they sneered, scoffed when they
scoffed, lied when they lied, until,--well, until it has been necessary
to reduce both nations to submission.”
For a time he worked without a word, then:
“But when France--in all things discerning--proclaimed the truth,
America--still blind--hastened to shout that she, too, saw the light,
and poured forth adulation _ad nauseam_.”
“But would you say that Americans are as dense as the English?”
“Heaven forbid that the Englishman’s one undeniable superiority be
challenged; but an Englishman is so honest in his stupidity that one
loves him for the--virtue; whereas the American is a ‘smart Aleck’ in
his ignorance, and therefore intolerable.”
But that was years ago, when the unconverted were more numerous on this
side,--there are still a number of stubborn dissenters, but in the
chorus of praise their voices are scarce more than a few discordant
notes.
Of late Whistler had but little cause to complain of lack of
appreciation on this side,--for, while an art so subtle as his is bound
to be more or less misunderstood, critics, amateurs, and a goodly
portion of the public have for a long time acknowledged his greatness as
an etcher, a lithographer, and a painter. In fact, for at least ten
years past his works have been gradually coming to this country--where
they belong. England and Scotland have been searched for prints and
paintings until the great collections--much greater than the public
know--of his works are here. Some day the American people will be made
more fully acquainted with the beautiful things he has done, many of
which have never been seen save by a few intimate friends.
The struggle for recognition was long and bitter,--so long and so bitter
that it developed in him the habits of controversy and whimsical
irritability by which he was for a generation more widely known than
through his art.
* * * * *
When it was once reported that he was going to America, he said, “It has
been suggested many times; but, you see, I find art so absolutely
irritating to the people that, really, I hesitate before exasperating
another nation.”
To another who asked him when he was coming, he answered, with emphasis,
“When the duty on art is removed.”
The duty on art was a source of constant irritation to Whistler,--for,
while the works of American artists residing abroad are admitted free,
the artist is compelled to make oaths, invoices, and take out consular
certificates, and pay the consular fees in line with the shipper of
olive oil and cheese.
There was even a time, under the present law, when the works of American
painters were not admitted free. The law reads, the works of American
artists “residing _temporarily_ abroad” shall be admitted free, etc.
Some department at Washington made an off-hand ruling that if an
American artist had resided more than five years abroad his works would
be subject to duty as those of a foreigner, thereby expatriating with a
stroke of the pen four-fifths of the Americans who are working like
dogs--but as artists--to make the world beautiful.
To Whistler, Sargent, and the many prosperous ones the ruling did not
greatly matter, but to the younger men who could not earn money enough
to get home it did matter, and for a time it looked as if American art
in Europe would be obliterated,--for American art in Europe depends for
its support and aggressiveness on the American artists over there. Drive
these men home, or expatriate them, so as to compel them to cast their
lots with France, or England, or Italy, and what would become of those
American sections in foreign exhibitions which for at least a dozen
years past have commanded the serious consideration of all thoughtful
observers as containing elements of strength, sobriety, and promise
found nowhere else in the entire world of art?
Happily an appeal to the Secretary of the Treasury--a man interested in
art--resulted in an immediate reversal of the ruling, and the works of
American artists come in free unless the artist declares his intention
of residing abroad permanently.
But while the ban on American painting is lifted, sculpture is in a bad
way. Under the law only sculpture “wrought by hand” from marble or metal
by the sculptor is to be classed as art. Inasmuch as the sculptor never
did work bronze by hand, and nowadays very rarely touches the marble,
there is no sculpture which comes within the law. The federal courts of
New York, high and low, have soberly held that unless it is shown that
bronzes are “wrought by hand” by the sculptor, instead of cast from
plaster, which in turn is made from the clay, they are commercial
products and classed with bronze cooking utensils at forty-five per
cent. duty. However, a federal judge in Chicago, somewhat more familiar
with art processes, has held that the New York decisions are arrant
nonsense, and original bronzes by Rodin, St. Gaudens, and other
sculptors, made in the only known way of producing bronzes, should be
classed as art. What other federal courts may hold--each, under our
wonderful system, having the right to its opinion until the Supreme
Court is called upon to finally end the differences--Heaven alone knows;
but for the present it behooves lovers of art to bring in their original
bronzes and marbles by way of Chicago.
These were some of the things Whistler--in common with many an ordinary
man--could not understand.
* * * * *
A few years ago an effort was made to have an exhibition of his pictures
in Boston. He was appealed to, but refused:
“God bless me, why should you hold an exhibition of pictures in America?
The people do not care for art.”
“How do you know? You have not been there for many years.”
“How do I know! Why, haven’t you a law to keep out pictures and statues?
Is it not in black and white that the works of the great masters must
not enter America, that they are not wanted----”
“But----”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it except the fool who butts his head against
the barrier you have erected. A people that tolerates such a law has no
love for art,--their protestation is mere pretence.”
That a great nation should deliberately discourage the importation of
beautiful things, should wallow in the mire of ugliness and refuse to be
cleansed by art, was to him a mystery,--for what difference does it make
whether painting, poetry, and music come out of the East or out of the
West, so long as they add to the happiness of a people? And why should
painting and sculpture find the gate closed when poetry and music are
admitted?
He did not know the petty commercial considerations which control
certain of the painters and sculptors and some of the institutions
supposed to be devoted to art.
For is not art the most “infant” of all the “infant industries” of this
great commercial nation? And should not the brush-worker at home be
given his meed of protection against the pauper brush-workers of
Europe--even against Rembrandt and Velasquez and all the glorious
Italians?
Beethoven and Mendelssohn and Mozart, Shakespeare and Milton,--their
works, even their original manuscripts, if in existence, though costly
beyond many paintings, come in without let or hinderance; but the work
of the painter, the original manuscript of the poet in line, of the
composer of harmonies in color, may not cross the border without
tribute.
A symphony in sound is welcomed; a symphony in color is rejected. Why
this discrimination in favor of the ear and against the eye?
There is no reason, but an inordinate amount of selfishness, in it all.
The wire-pulling painter at home, backed up by the commercially-managed
art institution, makes himself felt in the chambers at Washington where
tariffs are arranged, and painting and sculpture are removed from the
free list and placed among the pots and kettles of commerce.
Where is the poet and where is the musician in this distribution of
advantages? Why should American poetry and American music be left to
compete with the whole world while American painting and American
sculpture are suitably encouraged by a tariff of twenty per cent.?--a
figure fixed, no doubt, as is the plea, to make good the difference in
wages,--pauper labor of Europe,--pauper artists. Alas! too true; shut
the vagabonds out that their aristocratic American confrères residing at
home may maintain their “standard of living.”
* * * * *
Of all the peoples on the face of the globe, high and low, civilized and
savage, there is just one that discourages the importation of the
beautiful, and that one happens to be the youngest and the richest of
all--the one most in need of what it wilfully excludes.
* * * * *
Notwithstanding all these reasons for not coming, he had a great desire
to visit this country, and in letters to friends on this side he would
again and again express his firm intention to come the following summer
or winter, as the season might be. The death of Mrs. Whistler, some six
years ago, and his own ill health prevented,--but there was no lack of
desire.
Strangely enough, he did take a sailing-ship for South America, away
back in the sixties, and while there painted the “Crepuscule in Flesh
Color and Green; Valparaiso” and the “Nocturne Blue and Gold;
Valparaiso.”
Speaking of the voyage, he said:
“I went out in a slow sailing-ship, the only passenger. During the
voyage I made quite a number of sketches and painted one or two
sea-views,--pretty good things I thought at the time. Arriving in
port, I gave them to the purser to
[Illustration]
take back to England for me. On my return, some time later, I did
not find the package, and made inquiries for the purser. He had
changed ships and disappeared entirely. Many years passed, when one
day a friend, visiting my studio, said:
“‘By the way, I saw some marines by you in the oddest place you can
imagine.’
“‘Where?’ I asked, amazed.
“‘I happened in the room of an old fellow who had once been a
purser on a South American ship, and while talking with him saw
tacked up on the wall several sketches which I recognized as yours.
I looked at them closely, and asked the fellow where he got them.
“‘“Oh, these things,” he said; “why, a chap who went out with us
once painted them on board, off-hand like, and gave them to me.
Don’t amount to much, do they?”
“‘“Why, man, they are by Whistler.”
“‘“Whistler,” he said, blankly. “Who’s Whistler?”
“‘“Why, Whistler the artist,--the great painter.”
“‘“Whistler, Whistler. I believe that was his name. But that chap
warn’t no painter. He was just a swell who went out with the
captain; he thought he could paint some, and gave me those things
when we got to Valparaiso. No, I don’t care to let them go,--for,
somehow or other, they look more like the sea than real
pictures.”’”
Whistler made several attempts to find these sketches, but without
success.
As illustrating his facility of execution when time pressed, he painted
the “Crepuscule in Flesh Color and Green,” which is a large canvas and
one of his best things, at a single sitting, having prepared his colors
in advance of the chosen hour.
He could paint with the greatest rapidity when out-of-doors and it was
important to catch certain effects of light and color.
In 1894 he exhibited in Paris three small marines which were marvels of
clearness, force, and precision; he had painted them in a few hours
while in a small boat, which the boatman steadied against the waves as
best he could. He placed the canvas against the seat in front of him and
worked away direct from nature.
_II_
_A Family of Soldiers--Grandfather founded Chicago--Birth--St.
Petersburg--West Point--Coast Survey--His Military Spirit._
He came of a race of fighters. The family is found towards the end of
the fifteenth century in Oxfordshire, at Goring and Whitechurch on the
Thames; one branch was connected with the Websters of Battle-Abbey, and
descendants still live in the vicinity; another branch is in Essex, and
from this sprang Dr. Daniel Whistler, President of the College of
Physicians in London in the time of Charles the Second, and described as
“a quaint gentleman of rare humor,” and frequently mentioned in “Pepys’s
Diary.”
From the Oxfordshire branch, one Ralph, a son of Hugh Whistler of
Goring, went to Ireland and founded the Irish branch from which sprang
Major John Whistler, the first representative of the family in America,
and grandfather of the painter.
Major Whistler was a British soldier under Burgoyne, and was taken
prisoner at the battle of Saratoga. At the close of the war he returned
to England and made a runaway match with the daughter of a Sir Edward
Bishop.
Returning to this country with his wife, he settled at Hagerstown,
Maryland, and soon after enlisted in the American army.
“He was made a sergeant-major in a regiment that was called ‘the
infantry regiment.’ Afterwards he was adjutant of Garther’s regiment of
the levies of 1791, which brought him into General St. Glair’s command.
He was severely wounded November 4, 1791, in a battle with the Indians
on the Miami River. In 1792 ‘the regiment of infantry’ was, by Act of
Congress, designated as the ‘First Regiment,’ and to this John Whistler
was assigned as first lieutenant. In November, 1796, he was promoted to
the adjutancy, and in July, 1797, he was commissioned a captain.”
While captain of the “First Regiment,” then stationed at Detroit, he
was, in 1803, ordered to proceed to the present site of the city of
Chicago and construct Fort Dearborn.
He and his command arrived on August 17, at two o’clock in the
afternoon, and at once staked out the ground and began the erection of
palisades for protection against the Indians.
The captain had with him at the time one son, William, who was a
lieutenant in the army, and who was commander of Fort Dearborn in 1833,
when the fort was finally abandoned as a military post. Another son,
John, remained in the East.
On the completion of the fort the captain brought out the remaining
members of his family,--his wife, five daughters, and his third son,
George, then but three years old, and afterwards the father of the
artist.
“The daughters were Sarah, who married James Abbott, of Detroit,--the
ceremony took place in the fort, shortly after the family came; the
wedding-trip was made to Detroit on horseback, over an Indian trail and
the old territorial road; they had two nights of camping out; their
effects were carried on pack-horses,--Ann, married Major Marsh, of the
army; Catherine, married Major Hamilton, of the army; Harriet, married
Captain Phelan, also of the army; Caroline--eight months old when her
father built Fort Dearborn--was married in Detroit, in 1840, to William
R. Wood, of Sandwich, Georgia.”
When the army was reduced in June, 1815, Major Whistler was retired, and
in 1818 appointed military storekeeper at Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis.
He died at Bellefontaine, Missouri, in 1827. “He was a brave officer and
became the progenitor of a line of brave and efficient soldiers.”
To a visitor from Chicago the artist once said:
“Chicago, dear me, what a wonderful place! I really ought to visit it
some day,--for, you know, my grandfather founded the city and my uncle
was the last commander of Fort Dearborn.”
* * * * *
George Washington Whistler, the father of the painter, became an
engineer of great reputation, rose to the rank of major, and in 1842
accepted the invitation of Czar Nicholas to superintend the construction
of the St. Petersburg and Moscow Railroad, and it is said that, with
the exception of John Quincy Adams, no American in Russia was held in
such high estimation.
Major Whistler has been described as a very handsome man; he had rather
long curling hair which framed a most agreeable face. “He might have
been taken for an artist, rather than for a military engineer. Yet he
was, in every sense, a manly man, with most attractive expression and
ways.”
Whistler’s mother--his father’s second wife--was Anna Mathilda McNeill,
a daughter of Dr. C. D. McNeill, of Wilmington, North Carolina.
So much for the stock from which Whistler sprang, a line of able men and
good fighters. In a roundabout way he must have inherited some of the
traits of that “quaint gentleman of rare humor” so frequently mentioned
by garrulous Samuel Pepys, who says in one place, “Dr. Whistler told a
pretty story.... Their discourse was very fine; and if I should be put
out of my office, I do take great content in the liberty I shall be at
of frequenting these gentlemen’s company.”
* * * * *
It is reported that Whistler once stated he was born in St. Petersburg,
and he certainly seemed to take delight in mystifying people as to the
date and place of his birth,--part of his habitual indifference to the
sober requirements of those solemn meta-physical entities Time and
Space.
One friend has insisted in print upon Baltimore as his birthplace,
another upon Stonington, Connecticut.
His model once asked him:
“Where were you born?”
“I never was born, my child; I came from on high.”
Quite unabashed, the model retorted:
“Now, that shows how easily we deceive ourselves in this world, for I
should say you came from below.”
The Salon catalogue of 1882 referred to him as “McNeill Whistler, born
in the United States.”
His aversion to discussing dates, the lapse of years, the time it would
take to paint a portrait, or do anything else, amounted to a
superstition.
For him time did not exist. He did not carry a watch, and no obtrusive
clock was to be seen or heard anywhere about him. He did not believe in
mechanical devices for nagging and prompting much-goaded humanity. If he
were invited to dinner, it was always the better part of wisdom to order
the dinner at least a half-hour later than the moment named in the
invitation.
He once had an engagement to dine with some distinguished people in a
distant part of London. A friend who wished to be on time was waiting
for him in the studio. It was growing late, but Whistler kept on
painting, more and more absorbed.
“My dear fellow,” his friend urged at last, “it is frightfully late, and
you have to dine with Lady ----. Don’t you think you’d better stop?”
“Stop?” fairly shrieked Whistler. “Stop, when everything is going so
beautifully? Go and stuff myself with food when I can paint like this?
Never! Never! Besides, they won’t do anything until I get there,--they
never do!”
An official connected with an international art exhibition was about to
visit Paris to consult with the artists. To save time, he sent notes
ahead making appointments at his hotel with the different men at
different hours. To Whistler he sent a note fixing a day at “4.30
precisely,” whereupon Whistler regretfully replied:
“DEAR SIR: I have received your letter announcing that you will
arrive in Paris on the--th. I congratulate you. I never have been
able, and never shall be able, to be anywhere at ‘4.30 precisely.’
“Yours most faithfully,
“J. MCN. WHISTLER.”
To the stereotyped inquiry of the sitter:
“About how many sittings do you require, Mr. Whistler?”
“Dear me, how can I tell? Perhaps one, perhaps--more.”
“But--can’t you give me some idea, so I can arrange----”
“Bless me, but you must not permit the doing of so trivial a thing as a
portrait to interfere with the important affairs of life. We will just
paint in those odd moments when you have nothing better to do.”
“Suppose I am compelled to leave the city before it is finished?”
“You will return next summer, and we will resume where we left off, as
the continued-story-teller says.”
And no amount of persuasion could get him to say when he expected to
finish a work.
He would frequently say:
“We will just go ahead as if there were one long holiday before us,
without thinking of the end, and some day, when we least expect it, the
picture is finished; but if we keep thinking of the hours instead of the
work, it may never come to an end.”
This indifference to time kept him young--to the very last. He
persistently refused to note the flight of years.
There was once a very old Indian, how old no one knew, in Northern
Michigan who, when asked his age by the pertinaciously curious, always
replied, “I do not count the years; white people do--and die.”
* * * * *
His father went to Lowell, Massachusetts, in 1834 to take charge of the
construction of the canals and locks. He resided in a house on Worthen
Street, and there Whistler was born on July 10.
In a history of Lowell it is stated that Whistler was probably born in
what was known as the Paul Moody house, a fine old house which stood on
the site of the present city hall; but quite possibly the family
occupied a house owned by the proprietors of the locks and canals,
which still stands and is pointed out as the “Locks and Canal house.”
The old parish book of St. Anne’s Episcopal Church contains the
following entry under 1834:
“Nov. 9, Baptized James Abbott, infant son of George Washington and Anna
Mathilda Whistler. Sponsors, the parents. T. Edson.”
Rev. Theodore Edson was the rector of the church.
The adoption of his mother’s maiden name, McNeill, as part of his own
was apparently an afterthought.
He had two brothers, William and Kirke, a half-brother, George, and a
half-sister, Deborah, who married Seymour Haden, the well-known
physician and etcher, who figures in “Gentle Art” as the
“Surgeon-etcher.” Of the brothers, Kirke died young, George remained in
this country, William became a well-known physician in London, dying a
few years ago.
* * * * *
The family afterwards spent a short time in Stonington, where Major
Whistler had charge of the construction of the railroad to Providence.
They used to drive to church in Westerly in a chaise fitted with railway
wheels, so as to travel on the tracks. There were no Sunday trains in
those days, so the track was clear. An ingenious device enabled the
horse to cross the culverts.
A locomotive named “Whistler” after the distinguished engineer--a
felicitous name--was in use until comparatively few years ago.
In the spring of 1840 Major Whistler was appointed consulting engineer
for the Western Railroad, running from Springfield to Albany, and the
family moved to Springfield and lived in what “is now known as Ethan
Chapin homestead, on Chestnut Street, north of Edwards Street.”
Old residents of the vicinity claim to remember “well the curly locks
and bright, animated countenance of the boy,” and that the three boys
“were always full of mischief,”--not an uncommon trait in youngsters,
probably still less uncommon in Whistlers.
Shortly after the railroad to Albany was opened a wreck occurred, and a
niece of Major Whistler, who was on her way to visit him, was badly
injured. She was taken to his house, and it was a long time before she
recovered.
The accident made a strong impression on Whistler, and possibly accounts
for some of the dislike he often showed towards travelling alone. It was
only in crossing crowded streets and in the confusion and bustle of
travel that he showed what might be called nervousness.
With characteristic gallantry he would offer a lady his arm to aid her
in crossing the Strand or the Boulevard, but he made sure of the places
of refuge and took no chances; if in a hurry, she would better cross
alone.
Once, not many years ago, he was at Dieppe, and wrote a friend in Paris
almost daily that he would be in the city to see him. A week passed, and
the friend, fearing he would be obliged to leave without seeing
Whistler, wrote him he would come to Dieppe and see the work he was
doing there, to which suggestion Whistler replied most cordially by
wire.
The friend packed and went, expecting to stay a night or two at least;
but, lo! Whistler, bag in hand, met him in the village to take the next
train back; whereupon the friend, much surprised, said:
“If you intended going to Paris to-day, why under the sun did you let me
ride half a day to get here?”
“Well, you see, I don’t like to travel alone; happy thought yours to
come down after me.”
And back they went, after a delightful luncheon in that little old
restaurant near the cathedral, where there is an ancient stone trough
filled with water for cooling and cleaning vegetables. The luncheon, the
way it was ordered, and the running fire of comment and directions by
Whistler to the stout old woman who did it all, were worth the journey
to Dieppe.
Whistler will be mourned more by these lowly people who used to serve
him with pleasure, because he took such a vital interest in what they
did, than by many who own his works.
* * * * *
A diary kept by the artist’s mother contains this entry, under date of
July 10, 1844:
“A poem selected by my darling Jamie, and put under my plate at the
breakfast-table, as a surprise on his tenth birthday.”
The little poem of twelve lines was addressed “To My Mother,” and
subscribed “Your Little James.”
When the boy was eleven years old, Sir William Allen, a Scotch painter,
visited the family. Mrs. Whistler’s diary contains the following entry:
“The chat then turned upon the subject of Sir William Allen’s
painting of Peter the Great teaching the majiks to make ships. This
made Jimmie’s eyes express so much interest that his love for the
art was discovered, and Sir William must needs see his attempts.
When my boys had said good-night, the great artist remarked to me,
‘Your little boy has uncommon genius, but do not urge him beyond
his inclination.’ I told him his gift had only been cultivated as
an amusement, and that I was obliged to interfere, or his
application would confine him more than we approved.”
The diary records the same year a visit to the old palace at Peterhoff,
where “our Jimmie was so saucy as to laugh” at Peter’s own paintings.
* * * * *
When Major Whistler first went to Russia he left “Jamie” for a time in
Stonington with his aunt, and the two older children, George and
Deborah, in England.
After the death of Major Whistler, in St. Petersburg, in 1849, the wife
and children returned to this country, and lived for a time in
Connecticut.
Whistler wished to enter West Point, and he persuaded his half-brother
to write Daniel Webster, to enlist his sympathy. The letter was dated
February 19, 1851. It referred to the father’s career and services and
asked that James be appointed to the Academy.
He was appointed by President Fillmore, and entered July 1, 1851,
registering from Pomfret, Windham County, Connecticut, where his mother
was then living.
Whistler was so small in stature and physique that it is surprising he
was received; the military record of his family was no doubt the
controlling consideration.
He possessed all the pugnacity and courage required for a soldier, and
the military spirit was strong in him, yet such was his bent towards art
that his career at the Academy was not one of glory; but he became very
popular with his comrades and probably led in all their mischievous
pranks.
The official records show that at the end of the first year, in 1852, he
stood forty-one in a class of fifty-two,--his standing in the different
studies being as follows: Mathematics 47, English studies 51, French 9.
At the end of his second year he stood number one in drawing, but was
not examined in other studies, being absent with leave on account of ill
health. In 1854 his standing was as follows: Philosophy 39, Drawing 1,
Chemistry deficient. For his deficiency in chemistry he was discharged
from the Academy on June 16, 1854.
A lady once asked him why he left the Academy, and he replied:
“If silicon had been a gas, madame, I should have been a soldier.”
On leaving West Point he took it into his head that Fate had intended
him for a sailor, and he tried to enter the Naval Academy at Annapolis,
but he could not get the appointment.
Through an old friend of the family, Captain Benham, of the Coast and
Geodetic Survey, he was employed as draughtsman in that department in
Washington from November 7, 1854, to February 12, 1855, at one dollar
and a half a day. In these days he signed himself James A. Whistler. His
lodgings were in an old house still standing on the northeast corner of
E and Twelfth Streets. He was always late to breakfast, and scribbled
pictures on the unpapered walls. When the landlord objected, he said:
“Now, now, never mind; I’ll not charge you anything for the decoration.”
Neither time nor the rules of the department had any terrors for him.
Even in those early days he was a law unto himself. In one instance the
following entry appears against his name:
“Two days absent and two days deducted from monthly pay for time lost by
coming late to office.”
To correct these dilatory habits Captain Benham conceived the brilliant
idea of having a fellow-clerk of punctual habits call each morning for
Whistler and bring him to the office on time. The captain believed that
the example and influence of a more methodical companion would reform
the erring one and get him to the office at nine o’clock; but it turned
out quite otherwise, for Whistler proved so charming a host each morning
that both were late.
At the end of a week the mentor reported that his efforts were wasted
and unless relieved he, too, would acquire the obnoxious habit, for each
morning Whistler managed to so interest him in the mysteries of
coffee-making and the advantages of late breakfasts that it was
impossible to get away.
Of him and his habits in those days a fellow-draughtsman,[1] who is
still in the service, says:
“He was about one year younger than myself, and therefore about
twenty years old at that time. He stayed but a little over three
months, and I have not met him since, but retain a more vivid
recollection of his sojourn than of that of many other draughtsmen
who succeeded him and remained much longer. This may be partly for
the reason that Captain Benham, who was then in charge of the
office, told me that Whistler’s father had been a star graduate of
West Point and a distinguished engineer, and requested me to be
attentive to the new appointee; it may also be for the reason that
there was something peculiar about Whistler’s person and actions
quite at variance with the ordinary run of my experience.
“His style of dress indicated an indifference to fashion which,
under circumstances, might be changed into emancipation when
fashion, for instance, went into extremes and exacted personal
discomforts. I certainly cannot remember Whistler with a
high-standing collar and silk hat, which was then the universal
custom. Classical models seemed to be his preference, a short
circular cloak and broad-brimmed felt hat gave him a finish which
reminded one of some of Rembrandt’s celebrated portraits. His
_tout ensemble_ had a strong tinge of Bohemianism which suggested
that his tastes and habits had been acquired in Paris, or, more
concisely speaking, in the Quartier Latin; indeed, he always spoke
of Paris with enthusiasm. His manners were those of an easy
self-reliance which conveyed the impression that he was a man who
minded his own business, but that it would not be exactly safe to
cross his paths.
“At the time of his engagement as draughtsman at the office not the
slightest doubt was entertained of his skill and ability to fill
his post, and it was the principal concern of Captain Benham to get
him sufficiently interested in his work to engage his serious
attention. It was, however, soon apparent that he considered
topographical drawing as a tiresome drudgery, and when he was put
on etching views on copper plate, this occupation, although more
congenial to his tastes, was yet too monotonous and mechanical and
did not afford sufficient scope to his peculiar talent for
sketching off-hand figures and to make him feel contented. Any odd
moment he could snatch from his work he was busy in throwing off
his impromptu compositions on the margins of his drawings or plate;
odd characters, such as monks, knights, beggars, seemed to be his
favorites. He was equally skilful with pen and ink, pencil, brush
and sepia after the Spanish style, or dry point in the English, and
often I was struck by the facility and rapidity with which he
evolved his inventions, there never was the shadow of a dilemma or
even hesitancy.
“From the very start he never was punctual in attendance, and as
time wore on he would absent himself for days and weeks without
tendering any excuse. As far as I remember, nobody, except Captain
Benham, cared to speak to Whistler about his irregularity, for the
reason that it was certain that no thanks would be earned and that
it would not have made the slightest difference in his habits.
Howsoever that may have been, Colonel Porterfield, the clerk, was a
strict accountant, and his monthly reports told the whole story.
Thus in one month two days were deducted from Whistler’s pay for
time lost in coming late to office, and in January, 1855, he was
credited with but six and one-half days’ work, which reduced his
scant pay to a mere pittance.
“Under these circumstances three months were quite sufficient
length of time for Whistler and the office to realize that the
employment of Whistler as a draughtsman was an experiment destined
to be a failure, and I do not think that a trace of ill feeling was
retained when it was concluded by both parties to effect a
separation and let each one go his own way.”
At that time Edward de Stoeckl was charge d’affaires of the Russian
embassy. He had known Major Whistler in St. Petersburg, and he took a
great fancy to his son.
One day Whistler invited him to dinner, and this is the account of what
happened:
“Whistler engaged a carriage and called for his distinguished
friend. As they drove on, Whistler turned to the diplomat and asked
him if he would object to their stopping at several places on the
way. M. de Stoeckl, amused at the unconventionality of the request,
assented, and his young host then directed the coachman to a
greengrocer’s, a confectioner’s, a tobacconist’s, and to several
other tradesmen.
“After visiting each of these he would reappear with his arms
filled with packages, which he deposited on the vacant seat of the
carriage. At last the two brought up at Whistler’s lodgings. After
a climb up many stairs the representative of the Czar of all the
Russias found himself in Whistler’s attic.
“Quite out of breath, he was obliged to sit down, too exhausted to
speak, during which time Whistler flitted hither and thither,
snipping a lettuce into shape for the salad, drying the oysters,
browning the biscuit, preparing the cheese, and in an incredibly
short time setting a sumptuous repast before his astonished guest,
who was delighted with the unique hospitality of the host.”
A comrade in office describes Whistler’s appearance in those days:
“He was very handsome, graceful, dressed in good taste, with a
leaning towards the style of the artist in the selection of his
clothing. His hair was a blue-black and worn very long, and the
bushy appearance seemed to give one the impression that each
separate hair was curled. Always at this time he wore a large
slouch hat and a loose coat, generally unbuttoned, and thrown back
so that the waistcoat was plainly seen.”
He never changed very much from that description, save that his hair
became slightly gray, and one lock directly over the forehead turned
completely white very prematurely. To this white lock Whistler took a
great fancy, and it is visible in the portraits and drawings he made of
himself. His hair was naturally very curly,--an inheritance from his
father,--and out of the mass of black curls the white lock would spring
with almost uncanny effect.
To the very end he was extremely fastidious in his dress. In the days
when threadbare coats were a luxury he wore them spotlessly clean, and
carried old and worn garments in such a manner that they appeared as if
made for the occasion.
In his studio and while at work he was never mussy or untidy; he had
more than a woman’s notion of neatness.
He was not only very careful of his clothes, but they must be buttoned
and adjusted just so before he would make his appearance. On him a frock
coat was never stiff and ungraceful, and somehow he managed to dissipate
the dreary formality of evening dress. It was always a pleasure to see
him enter a room; while on the street he was, in his earlier London
days, exceedingly picturesque.
He was very particular concerning his hats. In the latter Paris days he
always wore a most carefully-brushed silk hat with flat brim,--the
Quartier-Latin type. This, with his monocle--for on the street he wore a
monocle--and his long overcoat, made him an exceedingly striking figure.
One day he was in a shop, trying on a hat, when a dissatisfied customer
rushed in, and, mistaking him for some one in charge, said:
“I say, this ’at doesn’t fit.”
Eyeing him critically a moment, Whistler said:
“Neither does your coat.”
* * * * *
Whistler was thoroughly imbued with the military spirit; and if he had
not been a great artist he would have made a good officer. He was born
to command, and possessed physical courage of a high order.
In stature and physique he was short and very slight,--could not have
weighed more than one hundred and thirty pounds; but he was so perfectly
proportioned that one did not notice his size except when in sharp
contrast with others. Notwithstanding his inferiority in size and
strength, he never in his life had the slightest hesitation in striking
a man--even at the risk of annihilation--if he deemed the occasion
required it.
A good many years ago the editor of a gossipy sheet in London, called
the _Hawk_, printed some items of a personal nature which Whistler
resented. Not knowing the editor by sight, Whistler took a friend to
point him out in the foyer of one of the London theatres. Although the
man was a giant compared with Whistler, the latter, without a moment’s
hesitation, went up to him and struck him across the face with a cane,
saying with each blow, “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk.”
The editor afterwards boasted that he immediately knocked Whistler down.
Whistler claimed he slipped and fell; but, he said:
“What difference does it make whether he knocked me down or whether
I slipped? The fact is he was publicly caned, and what happened
afterwards could not offset the publicity and nature of this
chastisement. A gentleman lightly strikes another in the face with
a glove; the bully thinks the insult is wiped out if he knocks some
one down--the ethics of the prize ring; but according to the older
notions the gentleman knows that the soft touch of the glove cannot
be effaced by a blow of the fist,--for if it could, superiority in
weight would render the cad and the bully immune. The historical
fact is that I publicly drew my cane across his face; no one cares
anything about his subsequent ragings, or whether I slipped and
fell, or whether he trampled upon me.”
Again, when an artist went up to him in the Hogarth Club in London and
called him a liar and a coward, Whistler promptly slapped his face.
So far as controversies with opponents were concerned, he was courageous
to the point of indifference; but, as already noted, in crossing busy
streets and making his way through the hurly-burly of city life he was
as careful, not to say timid, as a woman; he had many superstitions
which influenced his actions.
One afternoon he said to a sitter:
“To-morrow, you know, we won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, it’s Friday; and last Friday, you remember, what a bad
time we had,--accomplished nothing. An unlucky day anyway. We’ll take a
holiday to-morrow.”
* * * * *
The military spirit clung to him through life, and he was ever in the
habit of referring to his experience at West Point as if it were the one
entirely satisfactory episode in his career. He called himself a
“West-Pointer,” and insisted that the Academy was the one institution in
the country the superiority of which to everything of its kind in the
world was universally admitted.
“Why, you know, West Point _is_ America.”
Though living in Paris at the time and the sympathy of all France was
with Spain, he lost no opportunity for upholding the United States in
the war. He could see no flaw in the attitude or the diplomacy of this
country, and was especially eloquent over the treatment of Admiral
Cervera after his defeat.
On the other hand, such was his ingrained dislike for England that he
lost no opportunity for declaiming against her war in South Africa. He
delighted in berating the English and in prodding any English
sympathizer who happened in his way.
One day a friend from this side, of Irish birth, but who sided with
England, was in his studio, and the discussion waxed warm until the
visitor said:
“I’ll be dashed if I’ll talk with you, Whistler. What do you know about
the matter? Nothing at all.”
After a short silence, Whistler said:
“But, I say, C----, do you remember how the Boers whipped the Dublin
Fusileers?”
Whereupon the air became sulphurous.
The friend afterwards remarked:
“There was nothing in the malicious innuendo anyway, for, you know,
those regiments are recruited from all quarters, and there may not have
been a single Irishman in the Fusileers at the time of the fight.”
* * * * *
Whistler held some extraordinary opinions concerning the Dreyfus case,
the outcome of his strong military bias.
It did not matter to him whether the accused was guilty or not, the
prestige of the army must be maintained, even at the sacrifice of the
innocent,--the view which led the military section of France to such
violent extremes against Dreyfus,--and Whistler resented the assaults
upon the army as treachery to the most sacred institution of the state.
To the civilian this military bias which leads men in all countries to
such extremes in judgments and actions is incomprehensible. The attitude
of the military mind towards the ordinary problems of life, towards the
faults and failings of men, towards petty transgressions and
disobediences, towards rank, routine, and discipline, towards the
courtesies and sympathies and affections which are the leavening
influences of life, cannot be understood by the lay mind. The soldier’s
training and occupation are such that he does not think, feel, and act
as an ordinary man; his standards, convictions, and ethics are
fundamentally different; so different that he requires his own
territory, his own laws, and his own tribunals. With the soldier the
maxim of ordinary justice that it is better that ten guilty should go
free than one innocent be condemned is reversed.
* * * * *
By birth, by tradition, by association, Whistler was thoroughly
saturated with this spirit; and it affected his conduct and his attitude
towards people throughout his life. It accounts for much of the
impatience, the arrogance, the intolerance, the combativeness, the
indifference to the feelings of others with which he is charged, or
rather overcharged, for much of what is said is exaggeration.