The Gentle Art of Making Enemies
by James McNeill Whistler · English · Gutenberg #24650 · 336,797 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Gentle Art of Making Enemies
Author: James McNeill Whistler
Release date: February 19, 2008 [eBook #24650]
Most recently updated: January 3, 2021
Language: English
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Transcriber's notes:
Obvious printer's errors have been corrected. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's
spelling has been retained.
Page 170: The end punctuation of "What means this affectation of
_naïveté_." has been changed to "What means this affectation of
_naïveté_?".
All illustrations are sketches of (possibly) Butterflies.
THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES
by
JAMES ABBOTT MCNEILL WHISTLER
[Illustration]
THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENEMIES
[Illustration]
_Chelsea_
_AN EXTRAORDINARY PIRATICAL PLOT_
[Sidenote: _"American Register," Paris, March 8, 1890._]
_A most curiously well-concocted piratical scheme to publish, without
his knowledge or consent, a complete collection of Mr. Whistler's
writings, letters, pamphlets, lectures, &c., has been nipped in the
bud on the very eve of its accomplishment. It appears that the book
was actually in type and ready for issue, but the plan was to bring
out the work simultaneously in England and America. This caused delay,
the plates having to be shipped to New York, and the strain of secrecy
upon the conspirators during the interval would seem to have been too
great. In any case indications of surrounding mystery, quite
sufficient to arouse Mr. Whistler's attention, brought about his rapid
action. Messrs. Lewis and Lewis were instructed to take out immediate
injunction against the publication in both England and America, and
this information, at once cabled across, warning all publishers in the
United States, exploded the plot, effectually frustrating the
elaborate machinations of those engaged in it._
_SEIZURE OF MR WHISTLER'S PIRATED WRITINGS_
[Sidenote: _"New York Herald," London Edition, March 23,
1890._]
_This pirated collection of letters, writings, &c., to whose
frustrated publication in this country and America we have already
alluded, was seized in Antwerp, at the printers', on Friday last--the
very day of its contracted delivery. The persistent and really
desperate speculator in this volume of difficult birth, baffled in his
attempt to produce it in London and New York had been tracked to
Antwerp by Messrs. Lewis and Lewis; and he was finally brought down by
Maître Maeterlinck, the distinguished lawyer of that city._
_THE EXPLODED PLOT_
[Sidenote: _"Pall Mall Gazette," March 27, 1890._]
_With regard to this matter, to which we have already alluded on a
previous occasion, Messrs. Lewis and Lewis have received the following
letter from Messrs. Field and Tuer, of the Leadenhall Press, dated
March 25, 1890:--_
_"We have seen the paragraph in yesterday's 'Pall Mall Gazette'
relating to the publication of Mr. Whistler's letters. You may like to
know that we recently put into type for a certain person a series of
Mr. Whistlers letters and other matter, taking it for granted that Mr.
Whistler had given permission. Quite recently, however, and
fortunately in time to stop the work being printed, we were told that
Mr. Whistler objected to his letters being published. We then sent for
the person in question, and told him that until he obtained Mr.
Whistler's sanction we declined to proceed further with the work,
which, we may tell you, is finished and cast ready for printing, and
the type distributed. From the time of this interview we have not seen
or heard from the person in question, and there the matter rests."_
_MR. WHISTLER'S PAPER HUNT_
[Sidenote: _"Sunday Times," March 30, 1890._]
_The fruitless attempt to publish without his consent, or rather in
spite of his opposition, the collected writings of Mr. Whistler has
developed into a species of chase from press to press, and from
country to country. With an extraordinary fatality, the unfortunate
fugitive has been invariably allowed to reach the very verge of
achievement before he was surprised by the long arm of Messrs. Lewis
and Lewis. Each defeat has been consequently attended with infinite
loss of labour, material and money. Our readers have been told how the
London venture came to nought, and how it was frustrated in America.
The venue was then changed, and Belgium, as a neutral ground, was
supposed possible; but here again, on the very day of its delivery,
the edition of 2000 vols. was seized by M. le Procureur du Roi, and
under the nose of the astounded and discomfited speculator, the packed
and corded bales, of which he was about to take possession, were
carried off in the Government van! The upshot of the untiring efforts
of this persistent adventurer at length results in furnishing Mr.
Whistler with the first and only copy of this curious work, which was
certainly anything but the intention of its compiler, who clearly,
judging from its contents, had reserved for him an unpleasing if not
crushing surprise!_
_A GREAT LITERARY CURIOSITY_
[Sidenote: _"Pall Mall Gazette." March 1890._]
_I have to-day seen the printed book itself of the Collected Writings
of Mr. Whistler, whose publication has proved so comically impossible.
The style of the preface and accessory comments is in the worst style
of Western editorship; while the disastrous effect of Mr. Whistler's
literature upon the one who has burned his fingers with it, is
amusingly shown._
_In the index occur such well-known names as Mr. J. C. Horsley, R.A.,
Mr. Labouchere, Mr. Ruskin, Mr. Linley Sambourne, Mr. Swinburne, Tom
Taylor, Mr. Frith, and Rossetti. The famous catalogue of the "Second
Exhibition of Venice Etchings, February 19, 1883," in which Mr.
Whistler quotes the critics, is also given._
_A LAST EFFORT_
[Sidenote: _"Pall Mall Gazette," April 9, 1890._]
_We hear that a third attempt has been made to produce the pirated
copy of Mr. Whistler's collected writings. Messrs. Lewis and Lewis
have at once taken legal steps to stop the edition (printed in Paris)
at the Customs. A cablegram has been received by Mr. Whistler's
solicitors stating that Messrs. Stokes's name has been affixed to the
title-page of the pirated book without the sanction of those
publishers._
_THE GENTLE ART
OF
MAKING ENEMIES_
_AS PLEASINGLY EXEMPLIFIED
IN MANY INSTANCES, WHEREIN THE SERIOUS ONES
OF THIS EARTH, CAREFULLY EXASPERATED, HAVE
BEEN PRETTILY SPURRED ON TO UNSEEMLINESS
AND INDISCRETION, WHILE OVERCOME BY AN
UNDUE SENSE OF RIGHT_
[Illustration]
_A NEW EDITION_
_LONDON MDCCCXCII_
_WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_Rights of Translation and
Reproduction reserved._
[Illustration]
_To
The rare Few, who, early in Life,
have rid Themselves of the Friendship
of the Many, these pathetic Papers
are inscribed_
_"MESSIEURS LES ENNEMIS!"_
[Illustration]
_Prologue_
[Sidenote: Professor John Ruskin in _Fors Clavigera_,
July 2, 1877.]
"For Mr. Whistler's own sake, no less than for the protection of the
purchaser, Sir Coutts Lindsay ought not to have admitted works into
the gallery in which the ill-educated conceit of the artist so nearly
approached the aspect of wilful imposture. I have seen, and heard,
much of cockney impudence before now; but never expected to hear a
coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the
public's face."
JOHN RUSKIN.
_The Action_
[Sidenote: Lawsuit for Libel against Mr. Ruskin Nov. 15,
1878.]
In the Court of Exchequer Division on Monday, before Baron Huddleston
and a special jury, the case of Whistler _v._ Ruskin came on for
hearing. In this action the plaintiff claimed £1000 damages.
Mr. Serjeant Parry and Mr. Petheram appeared for the plaintiff; and
the Attorney-General and Mr. Bowen represented the defendant.
Mr. SERJEANT PARRY, in opening the case on behalf of the plaintiff,
said that Mr. Whistler had followed the profession of an artist for
many years, both in this and other countries. Mr. Ruskin, as would be
probably known to the gentlemen of the jury, held perhaps the highest
position in Europe and America as an art critic, and some of his works
were, he might say, destined to immortality. He was, in fact, a
gentleman of the highest reputation. In the July number of _Fors
Clavigera_ there appeared passages in which Mr. Ruskin criticised what
he called "the modern school," and then followed the paragraph of
which Mr. Whistler now complained, and which was: "For Mr. Whistler's
own sake, no less than for the protection of the purchaser, Sir Coutts
Lindsay ought not to have admitted works into the gallery in which the
ill-educated conceit of the artist so nearly approached the aspect of
wilful imposture. I have seen, and heard, much of cockney impudence
before now; but never expected to hear a coxcomb ask two hundred
guineas for flinging a pot of paint in the public's face." That
passage, no doubt, had been read by thousands, and so it had gone
forth to the world that Mr. Whistler was an ill-educated man, an
impostor, a cockney pretender, and an impudent coxcomb.
Mr. WHISTLER, cross-examined by the ATTORNEY-GENERAL, said: "I have
sent pictures to the Academy which have not been received. I believe
that is the experience of all artists.... The nocturne in black and
gold is a night piece, and represents the fireworks at Cremorne."
"Not a view of Cremorne?"
"If it were called a view of Cremorne, it would certainly bring about
nothing but disappointment on the part of the beholders. (_Laughter._)
It is an artistic arrangement. It was marked two hundred guineas."
"Is not that what we, who are not artists, would call a stiffish
price?"
"I think it very likely that that may be so."
"But artists always give good value for their money, don't they?"
"I am glad to hear that so well established. (_A laugh._) I do not
know Mr. Ruskin, or that he holds the view that a picture should only
be exhibited when it is finished, when nothing can be done to improve
it, but that is a correct view; the arrangement in black and gold was
a finished picture, I did not intend to do anything more to it."
"Now, Mr. Whistler. Can you tell me how long it took you to knock off
that nocturne?"
... "I beg your pardon?" (_Laughter._)
"Oh! I am afraid that I am using a term that applies rather perhaps to
my own work. I should have said, How long did you take to paint that
picture?"
"Oh, no! permit me, I am too greatly flattered to think that you
apply, to work of mine, any term that you are in the habit of using
with reference to your own. Let us say then how long did I take
to--'knock off,' I think that is it--to knock off that nocturne; well,
as well as I remember, about a day."
"Only a day?"
"Well, I won't be quite positive; I may have still put a few more
touches to it the next day if the painting were not dry. I had
better say then, that I was two days at work on it."
"Oh, two days! The labour of two days, then, is that for which you ask
two hundred guineas!"
"No;--I ask it for the knowledge of a lifetime." (_Applause._)
"You have been told that your pictures exhibit some eccentricities?"
"Yes; often." (_Laughter._)
"You send them to the galleries to incite the admiration of the
public?"
"That would be such vast absurdity on my part, that I don't think I
could." (_Laughter._)
"You know that many critics entirely disagree with your views as to
these pictures?"
"It would be beyond me to agree with the critics."
"You don't approve of criticism then?"
"I should not disapprove in any way of technical criticism by a man
whose whole life is passed in the practice of the science which he
criticises; but for the opinion of a man whose life is not so passed I
would have as little regard as you would, if he expressed an opinion
on law."
"You expect to be criticised?"
"Yes; certainly. And I do not expect to be affected by it, until
it becomes a case of this kind. It is not only when criticism is
inimical that I object to it, but also when it is incompetent. I hold
that none but an artist can be a competent critic."
"You put your pictures upon the garden wall, Mr. Whistler, or hang
them on the clothes line, don't you--to mellow?"
"I do not understand."
"Do you not put your paintings out into the garden?"
"Oh! I understand now. I thought, at first, that you were perhaps
again using a term that you are accustomed to yourself. Yes; I
certainly do put the canvases into the garden that they may dry in the
open air while I am painting, but I should be sorry to see them
'mellowed.'"
"Why do you call Mr. Irving 'an arrangement in black'?" (_Laughter._)
Mr. BARON HUDDLESTON: "It is the picture and not Mr. Irving that is
the arrangement."
A discussion ensued as to the inspection of the pictures, and
incidentally Baron Huddleston remarked that a critic must be competent
to form an opinion, and bold enough to express that opinion in strong
terms if necessary.
The ATTORNEY-GENERAL complained that no answer was given to a
written application by the defendant's solicitors for leave to inspect
the pictures which the plaintiff had been called upon to produce at
the trial. The WITNESS replied that Mr. Arthur Severn had been to his
studio to inspect the paintings, on behalf of the defendant, for the
purpose of passing his final judgment upon them and settling that
question for ever.
Cross-examination continued: "What was the subject of the nocturne in
blue and silver belonging to Mr. Grahame?"
"A moonlight effect on the river near old Battersea Bridge."
"What has become of the nocturne in black and gold?"
"I believe it is before you." (_Laughter._)
The picture called the nocturne in blue and silver, was now produced
in Court.
"That is Mr. Grahame's picture. It represents Battersea Bridge by
moonlight."
BARON HUDDLESTON: "Which part of the picture is the bridge?"
(_Laughter._)
His Lordship earnestly rebuked those who laughed. And witness
explained to his Lordship the composition of the picture.
"Do you say that this is a correct representation of Battersea
Bridge?"
"I did not intend it to be a 'correct' portrait of the bridge. It is
only a moonlight scene and the pier in the centre of the picture may
not be like the piers at Battersea Bridge as you know them in broad
daylight. As to what the picture represents that depends upon who
looks at it. To some persons it may represent all that is intended; to
others it may represent nothing."
"The prevailing colour is blue?"
"Perhaps."
"Are those figures on the top of the bridge intended for people?"
"They are just what you like."
"Is that a barge beneath?"
"Yes. I am very much encouraged at your perceiving that. My whole
scheme was only to bring about a certain harmony of colour."
"What is that gold-coloured mark on the right of the picture like a
cascade?"
"The 'cascade of gold' is a firework."
A second nocturne in blue and silver was then produced.
WITNESS: "That represents another moonlight scene on the Thames
looking up Battersea Reach. I completed the mass of the picture in one
day."
The Court then adjourned. During the interval the jury visited the
Probate Court to view the pictures which had been collected in the
Westminster Palace Hotel.
After the Court had re-assembled the "Nocturne in Black and Gold" was
again produced, and Mr. WHISTLER was further cross-examined by the
ATTORNEY-GENERAL: "The picture represents a distant view of Cremorne
with a falling rocket and other fireworks. It occupied two days, and
is a finished picture. The black monogram on the frame was placed in
its position with reference to the proper decorative balance of the
whole."
"You have made the study of Art your study of a lifetime. Now, do you
think that anybody looking at that picture might fairly come to the
conclusion that it had no peculiar beauty?"
"I have strong evidence that Mr. Ruskin did come to that conclusion."
"Do you think it fair that Mr. Ruskin should come to that conclusion?"
"What might be fair to Mr. Ruskin I cannot answer."
"Then you mean, Mr. Whistler, that the initiated in technical matters
might have no difficulty in understanding your work. But do you think
now that you could make _me_ see the beauty of that picture?"
The witness then paused, and examining attentively the
Attorney-General's face and looking at the picture alternately, said,
after apparently giving the subject much thought, while the Court
waited in silence for his answer:
"No! Do you know I fear it would be as hopeless as for the musician to
pour his notes into the ear of a deaf man. (_Laughter._)
"I offer the picture, which I have conscientiously painted, as being
worth two hundred guineas. I have known unbiassed people express the
opinion that it represents fireworks in a night-scene. I would not
complain of any person who might simply take a different view."
The Court then adjourned.
The ATTORNEY-GENERAL, in resuming his address on behalf of the
defendant on Tuesday, said he hoped to convince the jury, before his
case closed, that Mr. Ruskin's criticism upon the plaintiff's pictures
was perfectly fair and _bonâ fide_;[1] and that, however severe it
might be, there was nothing that could reasonably be complained of....
Let them examine the nocturne in blue and silver, said to represent
Battersea Bridge. What was that structure in the middle? Was it a
telescope or a fire-escape? Was it like Battersea Bridge? What were
the figures at the top of the bridge? And if they were horses and
carts, how in the name of fortune were they to get off? Now, about
these pictures, if the plaintiff's argument was to avail, they must
not venture publicly to express an opinion, or they would have brought
against them an action for damages.
[Note 1: "Enter now the great room with the Veronese
at the end of it, for which the painter (_quite
rightly_) was summoned before the Inquisition of
State."--Prof. JOHN RUSKIN: _Guide to Principal
Pictures, Academy of Fine Arts, Venice_.]
After all, Critics had their uses.[2] He should like to know what
would become of Poetry, of Politics, of Painting, if Critics were to
be extinguished? Every Painter struggled to obtain fame.
[Note 2: "I have now given up ten years of my life
to the single purpose of enabling myself to judge
rightly of art ... earnestly desiring to ascertain, and
_to be able to teach_, the truth respecting art; also
knowing that this truth was _by time and labour_
definitely ascertainable."--Prof. RUSKIN: _Modern
Painters_, Vol. III.
"Thirdly, that TRUTHS OF COLOUR ARE THE LEAST IMPORTANT
OF ALL TRUTHS."--Mr. RUSKIN, Prof, of Art: _Modern
Painters_, Vol. I. Chap. V.
"And that colour is indeed a most unimportant
characteristic of objects, would be further evident on
the slightest consideration. The colour of plants is
constantly changing with the season ... but the nature
and essence of the thing are independent of these
changes. An oak is an oak, whether green with spring, or
red with winter; a dahlia is a dahlia, whether it be
yellow or crimson; and if some monster hunting florist
should ever frighten the flower blue, still it will be a
dahlia; but not so if the same arbitrary changes could
be effected in its form. Let the roughness of the bark
and the angles of the boughs be smoothed or diminished,
and the oak ceases to be an oak; but let it retain its
universal structure and outward form, and though its
leaves grow white, or pink, or blue, or tri-colour, it
would be a white oak, or a pink oak, or a republican
oak, but an oak still."--JOHN RUSKIN, Esq., M.A.,
Teacher and Slade Prof. of Fine Arts: _Modern
Painters_.]
No Artist could obtain fame, except through criticism.[3]
[Note 3: "Canaletto, had he been a great painter,
might have cast his reflections wherever he chose ...
but he is a little and a bad painter."--Mr. RUSKIN, Art
Critic.
"I repeat there is nothing but the work of Prout which
is true, living, or right in its general impression, and
nothing, therefore, so inexhaustively _agreeable_"
(sic).--J. RUSKIN, Art Professor: _Modern Painters_.]
... As to these pictures, they could only come to the conclusion that
they were strange fantastical conceits, not worthy to be called works
of Art.
... Coming to the libel, the Attorney-General said it had been
contended that Mr. Ruskin was not justified in interfering with a
man's livelihood. But why not? Then it was said, "Oh! you have
ridiculed Mr. Whistler's pictures." If Mr. Whistler disliked ridicule,
he should not have subjected himself to it by exhibiting publicly such
productions. If a man thought a picture was a daub[4] he had a right
to say so, without subjecting himself to a risk of an action.
[Note 4: "Now it is evident that in Rembrandt's
system, while the contrasts are not more right than with
Veronese, the colours are all wrong from beginning to
end."--JOHN RUSKIN, Art Authority.]
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
"In conduct and in conversation,
It did a sinner good to hear
Him deal in ratiocination!"
[Illustration]]
He would not be able to call Mr. Ruskin, as he was far too ill to
attend; but, if he had been able to appear, he would have given
his opinion of Mr. Whistler's work in the witness-box.
He had the highest appreciation for _completed pictures_;[5] and he
required from an Artist that he should possess something more than a
few flashes of genius![6]
[Note 5: "I was pleased by a little unpretending
modern German picture at Dusseldorf, by Bosch,
representing a boy carving a model of his sheep dog in
wood."--J. RUSKIN: _Modern Painters_.]
[Note 6: "I have just said that every class of rock,
earth and cloud must be known by the painter with
geologic and meteorologic accuracy."--Slade Prof.
RUSKIN: _Modern Painters_.]
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
"Be not righteous overmuch, neither make thyself
overwise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself!"
[Illustration]]
Mr. Ruskin entertaining those views, it was not wonderful that his
attention should be attracted to Mr. Whistler's pictures. He subjected
the pictures, if they chose,[7] to ridicule and contempt. Then Mr.
Ruskin spoke of "the ill-educated[8] conceit of the artist, so nearly
approaching the action of imposture." If his pictures were mere
extravagances, how could it redound to the credit of Mr. Whistler to
send them to the Grosvenor Gallery to be exhibited? Some artistic
gentleman from Manchester, Leeds, or Sheffield might perhaps be
induced to buy one of the pictures because it was a Whistler, and what
Mr. Ruskin meant was that he might better have remained in Manchester,
Sheffield, or Leeds, with his money in his pocket. It was said that
the term "ill-educated conceit" ought never to have been applied to
Mr. Whistler, who had devoted the whole of his life to educating
himself in Art;[9] but Mr. Ruskin's views[10] as to his success did
not accord with those of Mr. Whistler. The libel complained of said
also, "I never expected to hear a coxcomb ask two hundred guineas for
flinging a pot of paint in the public's face." What was a coxcomb?
He had looked the word up, and found that it came from the old idea of
the licensed jester who wore a cap and bells with a cock's comb in it,
who went about making jests for the amusement of his master and
family. If that were the true definition, then Mr. Whistler should not
complain, because his pictures had afforded a most amusing jest! _He
did not know when so much amusement had been afforded to the[11]
British Public as by Mr. Whistler's pictures._ He had now finished.
Mr. Ruskin had lived a long life without being attacked, and no one
had attempted to control his pen through the medium of a jury. Mr.
Ruskin said, through him, as his counsel, that he did not retract one
syllable of his criticism, believing it was right. Of course, if they
found a verdict against Mr. Ruskin, he would have to cease
writing,[12] but it would be an evil day for Art, in this country,
when Mr. Ruskin would be prevented from indulging in legitimate and
proper criticism, by pointing out what was beautiful and what was
not.[13]
[Note 7: "Vulgarity, dulness, or impiety will indeed
always express themselves through art, in brown and
gray, as in Rembrandt."--Prof. JOHN RUSKIN: _Modern
Painters_.]
[Note 8: "It is physically impossible, for instance,
rightly to draw certain forms of the upper clouds with a
brush; nothing will do it but the palette knife with
loaded white after the blue ground is prepared."--JOHN
RUSKIN, Prof. of Painting.]
[Note 9: "And thus we are guided, almost forced, by
the laws of nature, to do right in art. Had granite been
white and marble speckled (and why should this not have
been, but by the definite Divine appointment for the
good of man?), the huge figures of the Egyptian would
have been as oppressive to the sight as cliffs of snow,
and the Venus de Medicis would have looked like some
exquisitely graceful species of frog."--Slade Professor
JOHN RUSKIN.]
[Note 10: "The principal object in the foreground of
Turner's 'Building of Carthage' is a group of children
sailing toy boats. The exquisite choice of this incident
... is quite as appreciable when it is told, as when it
is seen--it has nothing to do with the technicalities of
painting; ... such a thought as this is something far
above all art."--JOHN RUSKIN, Art Professor: _Modern
Painters_.]
[Note 11: "It is especially to be remembered that
drawings of this simple character [Prout's and W.
Hunt's] were made for these same middle classes,
exclusively; and even for the second order of middle
classes, more accurately expressed by the term
'bourgeoisie.' They gave an unquestionable tone of
liberal-mindedness to a suburban villa, and were the
cheerfullest possible decorations for a moderate sized
breakfast parlour, opening on a nicely mown lawn."--JOHN
RUSKIN, Art Professor: _Notes on S. Prout and W. Hunt_.]
[Note 12: "It seems to me, and seemed always
probable, that I might have done much more good in some
other way."--Prof. JOHN RUSKIN, Art Teacher: _Modern
Painters_, Vol. V.]
[Note 13: "Give thorough examination to the
wonderful painting, _as such_, in the great Veronese ...
and then, for contrast with its reckless power, and for
final image to be remembered of sweet Italian art in its
earnestness ... the Beata Catherine Vigri's St. Ursula,
... I will only say in closing, as I said of the Vicar's
picture in beginning, that it would be well if any of us
could do such things nowadays--and more especially if
our vicars and young ladies could."--JOHN RUSKIN, Prof.
of Fine Art: _Guide to Principal Pictures_, _Academy of
Fine Arts_, _Venice_.]
Evidence was then called on behalf of the defendant. Witnesses for the
defendant, Messrs. Edward Burne-Jones, Frith, and Tom Taylor.
Mr. EDWARD BURNE-JONES called.
Mr. BOWEN, by way of presenting him properly to the consideration
of the Court, proceeded to read extracts of eulogistic appreciation of
this artist from the defendant's own writings.
[Sidenote: "Of the estimate which shall be formed of Mr.
Jones's own work....
"His work, first, is simply the only art-work at present
produced in England which will be received by the future
as 'classic' in its kind--the best that has been or
could be."--Prof. RUSKIN: _Fors Clavigera_, July 2,
1877.]
The examination of witness then commenced; and in answer to Mr. BOWEN,
Mr. JONES said: "I am a painter, and have devoted about twenty years
to the study. I have painted various works, including the 'Days of
Creation' and 'Venus's Mirror,' both of which were exhibited at the
Grosvenor Gallery in 1877. I have also exhibited 'Deferentia,'
'Fides,' 'St. George,' and 'Sybil.' I have one work, 'Merlin and
Vivian,' now being exhibited in Paris. In my opinion complete finish
ought to be the object of all artists. A picture ought not to fall
short of what has been for ages considered complete finish."
Mr. BOWEN: "Do you see any art quality in that nocturne, Mr. Jones?"
Mr. JONES: "Yes ... I must speak the truth, you know".... (_Emotion._)
Mr. BOWEN: ... "Yes. Well, Mr. Jones, what quality do you see in it?"
Mr. JONES: "Colour. It has fine colour, and atmosphere."
Mr. BOWEN: "Ah. Well, do you consider detail and composition essential
to a work of Art?"
Mr. JONES: "Most certainly I do."
Mr. BOWEN: "Then what detail and composition do you find in this
nocturne?"
Mr. JONES: "Absolutely none."[14]
[Note 14: _REFLECTION:_
There is a cunning condition of mind that _requires to
know_. On the Stock Exchange this insures safe
investment. In the painting trade this would induce
certain picture-makers to cross the river at noon, in a
boat, before negotiating a Nocturne, in order to make
sure of detail on the bank, that honestly the purchaser
might exact, and out of which he might have been tricked
by the Night!
[Illustration]]
Mr. BOWEN: "Do you think two hundred guineas a large price for that
picture?"
Mr. JONES: "Yes. When you think of the amount of earnest work done for
a smaller sum."
Examination continued: "Does it show the finish of a complete work of
art?"
[Sidenote: "The action of imagination of the highest
power in Burne Jones, under the conditions of
scholarship, of social beauty, and of social distress,
which necessarily aid, thwart, and colour it in the
nineteenth century, are alone in art,--unrivalled in
their kind; and I _know_ that these will be immortal, as
the best things the mid-nineteenth century in England
could do, in such true relations as it had, through all
confusion, retained with the paternal and everlasting
Art of the world."--JOHN RUSKIN, LL.D.: _Fors
Clavigera_, July 2, 1877.]
"Not in any sense whatever. The picture representing a night scene on
Battersea Bridge, is good in colour, but bewildering in form; and it
has no composition and detail. A day or a day and a half seems a
reasonable time within which to paint it. It shows no finish--it is
simply a sketch. The nocturne in black and gold has not the merit of
the other two pictures, and it would be impossible to call it a
serious work of art. Mr. Whistler's picture is only one of the
thousand failures to paint night. The picture is not worth two hundred
guineas."
Mr. BOWEN here proposed to ask the witness to look at a picture of
Titian,[15] in order to show what finish was.[16]
[Note 15: "I believe the world may see another
Titian, and another Raffaelle, before it sees another
Rubens."--Mr. RUSKIN.]
[Note 16: ... "The Butcher's Dog, in the corner of
Mr. Mulready's 'Butt,' displays, perhaps, the most
wonderful, because the most dignified, finish ... and
assuredly the most perfect unity of drawing and colour
which the entire range of ancient and modern art can
exhibit. Albert Durer is, indeed, the only rival who
might be suggested."--JOHN RUSKIN Slade Professor of
Art: _Modern Painters_.]
Mr. SERJEANT PARRY objected.
Mr. BARON HUDDLESTON: "You will have to prove that it is a Titian."
Mr. BOWEN: "I shall be able to do that."
Mr. BARON HUDDLESTON: "That can only be by repute. I do not want
to raise a laugh, but there is a well-known case of 'an undoubted'
Titian being purchased with a view to enabling students and others to
find out how to produce his wonderful colours. With that object the
picture was rubbed down, and they found a red surface, beneath which
they thought was the secret, but on continuing the rubbing they
discovered a full length portrait of George III. in uniform!"
The witness was then asked to look at the picture, and he said: "It is
a portrait of Doge Andrea Gritti, and I believe it is a real Titian.
It shows finish. It is a very perfect sample of the highest finish of
ancient art.[17] The flesh is perfect, the modelling of the face is
round and good. That is an 'arrangement in flesh and blood!'"
[Note 17: ... "I feel entitled to point out that the
picture by Titian, produced in the case of Whistler _v._
Ruskin, is an early specimen of that master, and does
not represent adequately the style and qualities which
have obtained for him his great reputation--one obvious
point of difference between this and his more mature
work being the far greater amount of finish--I do not
say completeness--exhibited in it ... and as the picture
was brought forward with a view to inform the jury as to
the nature of the work of the greatest painter, and more
especially as to the high finish introduced in it, it is
evident that it was calculated to produce an erroneous
impression on their minds, if indeed any one present at
the inquiry can hold that those gentlemen were in any
way fitted to understand the issues raised therein.--I
am, Sir, your obedient servant,
A. MOORE.
"Nov. 28."
Extract of a letter to the Editor of the _Echo_.]
The witness having pointed out the excellences of that portrait, said:
"I think Mr. Whistler had great powers at first, which he has not
since justified. He has evaded the difficulties of his art, because
the difficulty of an artist increases every day of his professional
life."
Cross-examined: "What is the value of this picture of Titian?"--"That
is a mere accident of the saleroom."
"Is it worth one thousand guineas?"--"It would be worth many
thousands to me."
[Sidenote: "It was just a toss up whether I became an
Artist or an Auctioneer."--W. P. FRITH, R.A.
_REFLECTION:_
He must have tossed up.
[Illustration]]
Mr. FRITH was then examined: "I am an R.A.; and have devoted my life
to painting. I am a member of the Academies of various countries. I am
the author of the 'Railway Station,' 'Derby Day,' and 'Rake's
Progress.' I have seen Mr. Whistler's pictures, and in my opinion they
are not serious works of art. The nocturne in black and gold is not a
serious work to me. I cannot see anything of the true representation
of water and atmosphere in the painting of 'Battersea Bridge.' There
is a pretty colour which pleases the eye, but there is nothing more.
To my thinking, the description of moonlight is not true. The picture
is not worth two hundred guineas. Composition and detail are most
important matters in a picture. In our profession men of equal merit
differ as to the character of a picture. One may blame, while another
praises, a work. I have not exhibited at the Grosvenor Gallery. I have
read Mr. Ruskin's works."
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
A decidedly honest man--I have not heard of him since.
[Illustration]]
Mr. Frith here got down.
Mr. TOM TAYLOR--Poor Law Commissioner, Editor of _Punch_, and so
forth--and so forth:--"I am an art critic of long standing. I have
been engaged in this capacity by the _Times_, and other journals, for
the last twenty years. I edited the 'Life of Reynolds,' and 'Haydon.'
I have _always_ studied art. I have seen these pictures of Mr.
Whistler's when they were exhibited at the Dudley and the Grosvenor
Galleries. The 'Nocturne' in black and gold I do not think a serious
work of art." The witness here took from the pockets of his overcoat
copies of the _Times_, and with the permission of the Court, read
again with unction his own criticism, to every word of which he said
he still adhered. "All Mr. Whistler's work is unfinished. It is
sketchy. He, no doubt, possesses artistic qualities, and he has got
appreciation of qualities of tone, but he is not complete, and all his
works are in the nature of sketching. I have expressed, and still
adhere to the opinion, that these pictures only come 'one step nearer
pictures than a delicately tinted wall-paper.'"
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
To perceive in Ruskin's army Tom Taylor, his
champion--whose opinion he prizes--Mr. Frith, his
ideal--was gratifying. But to sit and look at Mr. Burne
Jones, in common cause with Tom Taylor--whom he esteems,
and Mr. Frith--whom he respects--conscientiously
appraising the work of a _confrère_--was a privilege!!
[Illustration]]
This ended the case for the defendant.
Verdict for plaintiff. Damages one farthing.
[Illustration]
_Professor Ruskin's Group_
My dear Sambourne--I know I shall be only charmed, as I always am, by
your work, and if I am myself its subject, I shall only be flattered
in addition.
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 11, 1878.]
[Sidenote: A pleasant _résumé_ of the situation--in
reply to Mr. Sambourne's expressed hope that his
historical cartoon in _Punch_ might not offend.]
_Punch_ in person sat upon me in the box; why should not the most
subtle of his staff have a shot? Moreover, whatever delicacy and
refinement Tom Taylor may still have left in his pocket (from which,
in Court, he drew his ammunition) I doubt not he will urge you to use,
that it may not be wasted. Meanwhile you must not throw away sentiment
upon what you call "this trying time."
To have brought about an "Arrangement in Frith, Jones, _Punch_ and
Ruskin, with a touch of Titian," is a joy! and in itself sufficient to
satisfy even my craving for curious "combinations."--Ever yours,
[Illustration]
_Whistler v. Ruskin_
_ART & ART CRITICS_
[Illustration]
_Chelsea, Dec. 1878._
[Illustration]
_Dedicated to_
_ALBERT MOORE_
_Whistler v. Ruskin: Art and Art Critics_
The _fin mot_ and spirit of this matter seems to have been utterly
missed, or perhaps willingly winked at, by the journals in their
comments. Their correspondents have persistently, and not unnaturally
as writers, seen nothing beyond the immediate case in law--viz., the
difference between Mr. Ruskin and myself, culminating in the libel
with a verdict for the plaintiff.
Now the war, of which the opening skirmish was fought the other day in
Westminster, is really one between the brush and the pen; and involves
literally, as the Attorney-General himself hinted, the absolute
"raison d'être" of the critic. The cry, on their part, of "Il faut
vivre," I most certainly meet, in this case, with the appropriate
answer, "Je n'en vois pas la nécessité."
Far from me, at that stage of things, to go further into this
discussion than I did, when, cross-examined by Sir John Holker,
I contented myself with the general answer, "that one might admit
criticism when emanating from a man who had passed his whole life in
the science which he attacks." The position of Mr. Ruskin as an art
authority we left quite unassailed during the trial. To have said that
Mr. Ruskin's pose among intelligent men, as other than a _littérateur_
is false and ridiculous, would have been an invitation to the stake;
and to be burnt alive, or stoned before the verdict, was not what I
came into court for.
Over and over again did the Attorney-General cry out aloud, in the
agony of his cause, "What is to become of painting if the critics
withhold their lash?"
As well might he ask what is to become of mathematics under similar
circumstances, were they possible. I maintain that two and two the
mathematician would continue to make four, in spite of the whine of
the amateur for three, or the cry of the critic for five. We are told
that Mr. Ruskin has devoted his long life to art, and as a result--is
"Slade Professor" at Oxford. In the same sentence, we have thus his
position and its worth. It suffices not, Messieurs! a life passed
among pictures makes not a painter--else the policeman in the National
Gallery might assert himself. As well allege that he who lives in a
library must needs die a poet. Let not Mr. Ruskin flatter himself
that more education makes the difference between himself and the
policeman when both stand gazing in the Gallery.
There they might remain till the end of time; the one decently silent,
the other saying, in good English, many high-sounding empty things,
like the cracking of thorns under a pot--undismayed by the presence of
the Masters with whose names he is sacrilegiously familiar; whose
intentions he interprets, whose vices he discovers with the facility
of the incapable, and whose virtues he descants upon with a verbosity
and flow of language that would, could he hear it, give Titian the
same shock of surprise that was Balaam's, when the first great critic
proffered his opinion.
This one instance apart, where collapse was immediate, the creature
Critic is of comparatively modern growth--and certainly, in perfect
condition, of recent date. To his completeness go qualities evolved
from the latest lightnesses of to-day--indeed, the _fine fleur_ of his
type is brought forth in Paris, and beside him the Englishman is but
rough-hewn and blundering after all; though not unkindly should one
say it, as reproaching him with inferiority resulting from chances
neglected.
The truth is, as compared with his brother of the Boulevards, the
Briton was badly begun by nature.
To take himself seriously is the fate of the humbug at home, and
destruction to the jaunty career of the art critic, whose essence of
success lies in his strong sense of his ephemeral existence, and his
consequent horror of _ennuyer_ing his world--in short, to perceive the
joke of life is rarely given to our people, whilst it forms the
mainspring of the Parisian's _savoir plaire_. The finesse of the
Frenchman, acquired in long loafing and clever _café_ cackle--the glib
go and easy assurance of the _petit crevé_, combined with the _chic_
of great habit--the brilliant _blague_ of the ateliers--the aptitude
of their _argot_--the fling of the _Figaro_, and the knack of short
paragraphs, which allows him to print of a picture "C'est bien écrit!"
and of a subject, "C'est bien dit!"--these are elements of an
_ensemble_ impossible in this island.
Still, we are "various" in our specimens, and a sense of progress is
noticeable when we look about among them.
Indications of their period are perceptible, and curiously enough a
similarity is suggested, by their work, between themselves and the
vehicles we might fancy carrying them about to their livelihood.
Tough old Tom, the busy City 'Bus, with its heavy jolting and many
halts; its steady, sturdy, stodgy continuance on the same old much
worn way, every turning known, and freshness unhoped for; its patient
dreary dulness of daily duty to its cheap company--struggling on to
its end, nevertheless, and pulling up at the Bank! with a flourish
from the driver, and a joke from the cad at the door.
Then the contributors to the daily papers: so many hansoms bowling
along that the moment may not be lost, and the _à propos_ gone for
ever. The one or two broughams solemnly rolling for reviews, while the
lighter bicycle zigzags irresponsibly in among them for the happy
Halfpennies.
What a commerce it all is, to be sure!
No sham in it either!--no "bigod nonsense!" they are all "doing
good"--yes, they all do good to Art. Poor Art! what a sad state the
slut is in, an these gentlemen shall help her. The artist alone, by
the way, is to no purpose, and remains unconsulted; his work is
explained and rectified without him, by the one who was never in
it--but upon whom God, always good, though sometimes careless, has
thrown away the knowledge refused to the author--poor devil!
The Attorney-General said, "There are some people who would do away
with critics altogether."
I agree with him, and am of the irrationals he points at--but let
me be clearly understood--the _art_ critic alone would I extinguish.
That writers should destroy writings to the benefit of writing is
reasonable. Who but they shall insist upon beauties of literature, and
discard the demerits of their brother _littérateurs_? In their turn
they will be destroyed by other writers, and the merry game goes on
till truth prevail. Shall the painter then--I foresee the
question--decide upon painting? Shall _he_ be the critic and sole
authority? Aggressive as is this supposition, I fear that, in the
length of time, his assertion alone has established what even the
gentlemen of the quill accept as the canons of art, and recognise as
the masterpieces of work.
Let work, then, be received in silence, as it was in the days to which
the penmen still point as an era when art was at its apogee. And here
we come upon the oft-repeated apology of the critic for existing at
all, and find how complete is his stultification. He brands himself as
the necessary blister for the health of the painter, and writes that
he may do good to his art. In the same ink he bemoans the decadence
about him, and declares that the best work was done when he was not
there to help it. No! let there be no critics! they are not a
"necessary evil," but an evil quite unnecessary, though an evil
certainly.
Harm they do, and not good.
Furnished as they are with the means of furthering their foolishness,
they spread prejudice abroad; and through the papers, at their
service, thousands are warned against the work they have yet to look
upon.
And here one is tempted to go further, and show the crass idiocy and
impertinence of those whose dicta are printed as law.
How he of the _Times_[18] has found Velasquez "slovenly in execution,
poor in colour--being little but a combination of neutral greys and
ugly in its forms"--how he grovelled in happiness over a Turner--that
was no Turner at all, as Mr. Ruskin wrote to show--Ruskin! whom he has
since defended. Ah! Messieurs, what our neighbours call "la malice des
choses" was unthought of, and the sarcasm of fate was against you. How
Gerard Dow's broom was an example for the young; and Canaletti and
Paul Veronese are to be swept aside--doubtless with it. How Rembrandt
is coarse, and Carlo Dolci noble--with more of this kind. But what
does it matter?
[Note 18: June 6, 1874]
"What does anything matter!" The farce will go on, and its solemnity
adds to the fun.
Mediocrity flattered at acknowledging mediocrity, and mistaking
mystification for mastery, enters the fog of dilettantism, and,
graduating connoisseur, ends its days in a bewilderment of bric-à-brac
and Brummagem!
"Taste" has long been confounded with capacity, and accepted as
sufficient qualification for the utterance of judgment in music,
poetry, and painting. Art is joyously received as a matter of opinion;
and that it should be based upon laws as rigid and defined as those of
the known sciences, is a supposition no longer to be tolerated by
modern cultivation. For whereas no polished member of society is at
all affected at admitting himself neither engineer, mathematician, nor
astronomer, and therefore remains willingly discreet and taciturn upon
these subjects, still would he be highly offended were he supposed to
have no voice in what is clearly to him a matter of "Taste"; and so he
becomes of necessity the backer of the critic--the cause and result of
his own ignorance and vanity! The fascination of this pose is too much
for him, and he hails with delight its justification. Modesty and good
sense are revolted at nothing, and the millennium of "Taste" sets in.
The whole scheme is simple: the galleries are to be thrown open on
Sundays, and the public, dragged from their beer to the British
Museum, are to delight in the Elgin Marbles, and appreciate what
the early Italians have done to elevate their thirsty souls! An inroad
into the laboratory would be looked upon as an intrusion; but before
the triumphs of Art, the expounder is at his ease, and points out the
doctrine that Raphael's results are within the reach of any beholder,
provided he enrol himself with Ruskin or hearken to Colvin in the
provinces. The people are to be educated upon the broad basis of
"Taste," forsooth, and it matters but little what "gentleman and
scholar" undertake the task.
Eloquence alone shall guide them--and the readiest writer or wordiest
talker is perforce their professor.
The Observatory at Greenwich under the direction of an Apothecary! The
College of Physicians with Tennyson as President! and we know that
madness is about. But a school of art with an accomplished
_littérateur_ at its head disturbs no one! and is actually what the
world receives as rational, while Ruskin writes for pupils, and Colvin
holds forth at Cambridge.
Still, quite alone stands Ruskin, whose writing is art, and whose art
is unworthy his writing. To him and his example do we owe the outrage
of proffered assistance from the unscientific--the meddling of the
immodest--the intrusion of the garrulous. Art, that for ages has hewn
its own history in marble, and written its own comments on canvas,
shall it suddenly stand still, and stammer, and wait for wisdom from
the passer-by?--for guidance from the hand that holds neither brush
nor chisel? Out upon the shallow conceit! What greater sarcasm can Mr.
Ruskin pass upon himself than that he preaches to young men what he
cannot perform! Why, unsatisfied with his own conscious power, should
he choose to become the type of incompetence by talking for forty
years of what he has never done!
Let him resign his present professorship, to fill the chair of Ethics
at the university. As master of English literature, he has a right to
his laurels, while, as the populariser of pictures he remains the
Peter Parley of painting.
[Illustration]
_The Art Critic of the "Times"_
[Sidenote: Mr. Tom Taylor's acknowledgment of
presentation copy of Mr. Whistler's "Art and Art
Critics," with "Sans rancune" inscribed upon fly-leaf by
the author.]
"Sans rancune," by all means, my dear Whistler; but you should not
have quoted from my article, of June 6th, 1874, on Velasquez, in such
a way as to give exactly the opposite impression to that which the
article, taken as a whole, conveys.
[Sidenote: _The World_, Jan. 15, 1879.]
I appreciate and admire Velasquez as entirely, and allow me to say, as
intelligently, as yourself. I have probably seen and studied more of
his work than you have. And I maintain that the article you have
garbled in your quotation gives a fair and adequate account of the
picture it deals with--"_Las Meninas_"--and one which any artist who
knows the picture would, in essentials, subscribe to.
God help the artists if ever the criticism of pictures falls into the
hands of painters! It would be a case of vivisection all round.
Your pamphlet is a very natural result of your late disagreeable
legal experiences, though not a very wise one.
If the critics are not better qualified to deal with the painters than
the painter in your pamphlet shows himself qualified to deal with the
critics, it will be a bad day for art when the hands that have been
trained to the brush lay it aside for the pen.[19]
[Note 19:!?]
If you had read my article on Velasquez, I cannot but say that you
have made an unfair use of it, in quoting a detached sentence, which,
read with the context, bears exactly the opposite sense from that you
have quoted it as bearing.
This is a bad "throw-off" in the critical line; whether it affect "_le
premier littérateur venu_" or yours always,
TOM TAYLOR.
P.S.--_As your attack on my article is public, I reserve to myself the
right of giving equal publicity to this letter._
LAVENDER SWEEP,
Jan, 6, 1879.
_The Position_
Dead for a ducat, dead! my dear Tom: and the rattle has reached me by
post.
[Sidenote: _The World_, Jan. 15, 1879.]
"_Sans rancune_," say you? Bah! you scream unkind threats and die
badly.
Why squabble over your little article? You _did_ print what I quote,
you know, Tom; and it is surely unimportant what more you may have
written of the Master. That you should have written anything at all is
your crime.
No; shrive your naughty soul, and give up Velasquez, and pass your
last days properly in the Home Office.
Set your house in order with the Government for arrears of time and
paper, and leave vengeance to the Lord, who will forgive my "garbling"
Tom Taylor's writing.
THE WHITE HOUSE,
Jan. 8, 1879.
[Illustration]
_Serious Sarcasm_
Pardon me, my dear Whistler, for having taken you _au sérieux_ even
for a moment.
I ought to have remembered that your penning, like your painting,
belongs to the region of "chaff." I will not forget it again; and
meantime remain yours always,
TOM TAYLOR.
LAVENDER SWEEP,
Jan. 9, 1879.
_Final_
Why, my dear old Tom, I never _was_ serious with you, even when you
were among us. Indeed, I killed you quite, as who should say, without
seriousness, "A rat! A rat!" you know, rather cursorily.
[Sidenote: _The World_, Jan. 15, 1879]
Chaff, Tom, as in your present state you are beginning to perceive,
was your fate here, and doubtless will be throughout the eternity
before you. With ages at your disposal, this truth will dimly dawn
upon you; and as you look back upon this life, perchance many
situations that you took _au sérieux_ (art-critic, who knows?
expounder of Velasquez, and what not) will explain themselves
sadly--chaff! Go back!
THE WHITE HOUSE,
Jan. 10, 1879.
[Illustration]
_"Balaam's Ass"_
[Sidenote: _Vanity Fair_, Jan 11, 1879.]
Mr. Whistler has written a discord in black and white. It is a strong
saying, excellent in diction, broadly and boldly set down in slashing
words....
The point Mr. Whistler raises and enforces is that criticism of
painting other than by painters is monstrous, and not to be
tolerated.... Mr. Ruskin's "high sounding empty things" would, he
says, "give Titian the same shock of surprise that was Balaam's when
the first great critic proffered his opinion." ... The inference ...
is that all the world, competent and incompetent together, must
receive the painter's work in silence, under pain of being classed
with Balaam's ass....
If, finding himself ill received or ill understood, he has to say,
"You cannot understand me," he must also say, "I did not understand
myself and you, to whom I speak, sufficiently well to make you
understand me."
There could be no better illustration of all this than that
Mr. Whistler has suggested of Balaam's ass. _For the Ass was right_,
although, nay, because he was an ass. "What have I done unto thee,"
said he, "that thou hast smitten me these three times?" "Because thou
hast mocked me," replies Balaam--Whistler; whereupon the Angel of the
Lord rebukes him and says, "_The ass saw me_," so that Balaam is
constrained to bow his head and fall flat on his face. And thus indeed
it is. The ass sees the Angel of the Lord there where the wise prophet
sees nothing, and, by her seeing, saves the life of the very master
who, for reward, smites her grievously and wishes he had a sword that
he might kill her.
Let Balaam not forget that after all he rides upon the ass, that she
has served him well ever since she was his until this day, and that
even now he is on his way with her to be promoted unto very great
honour by the Princes of Balak. And let him remember that whatever can
speak may at any moment have a word to say to him which it were best
he should hear.
RASPER.
_The Point acknowledged_
[Sidenote: _Vanity Fair_, Jan. 18, 1879.]
Well hit! my dear _Vanity_, and I find, on searching again, that
historically you are right.
The fact, doubtless, explains the conviction of the race in their
mission, but I fancy you will admit that this is the _only Ass on
record_ who ever _did_ "see the Angel of the Lord!" and that we are
past the age of miracles.
Yours always,
THE WHITE HOUSE,
Jan. 11, 1879.
[Illustration]
_Critic's Analysis_
[Sidenote: _The Saturday Review_, June 1, 1867. P. G.
Hamerton.]
In the "Symphony in White No. III." by Mr. Whistler there are many
dainty varieties of tint, but it is not precisely a symphony in white.
One lady has a yellowish dress and brown hair and a bit of blue
ribbon, the other has a red fan, and there are flowers and green
leaves. There is a girl in white on a white sofa, but even this girl
has reddish hair; and of course there is the flesh colour of the
complexions.
_The Critic's Mind Considered_
How pleasing that such profound prattle should inevitably find its
place in print! "Not precisely a symphony in white ... for there is a
yellowish dress ... brown hair, etc.... another with reddish hair ...
and of course there is the flesh colour of the complexions."
_Bon Dieu!_ did this wise person expect white hair and chalked faces?
And does he then, in his astounding consequence, believe that a
symphony in F contains no other note, but shall be a continued
repetition of F, F, F.?... Fool!
Chelsea,
June 1867.
[Illustration]
_A Troubled One_
[Sidenote: _The World_, July 3, 1878.]
The "Season Number" of _Vanity Fair_ contains ... Mr. Whistler's
etching of "St. James's Street" is sadly disappointing.
_Full Absolution_
[Sidenote: _The World_, July 10, 1878.]
Dear _World_--Atlas, overburdened with the world and its sins, may
well be relieved from the weight of one wee error--a sort of last
straw that bothers his back. The impression in _Vanity Fair_ that
disappoints him is not an etching at all, but a reproduction for that
paper by some transfer process.
Atlas has the wisdom of ages, and need not grieve himself with mere
matters of art. "Il n'est pas nécessaire que vous sachiez ces
choses-là, mon révérend père!"
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_"Confidences" with an Editor_
_TO THE EDITOR OF THE "HOUR."_
Sir,--I have read the intelligent remarks of your critic upon my
pictures, and am happy to be able to remove, I think, the "melancholy"
impression left upon his mind by the supposition that "the best works
are not of recent date." Permit me to reassure him, for the paintings
he speaks of in glowing terms--notably "the full-length portrait of a
young girl," which he overwhelms me by comparing to Velasquez, as well
as the two life-size portraits in black, "in which there is an almost
entire negation of colour" (though I, who am, he says, a colourist,
did not know it)--are my latest works, and but just completed.
May I still farther correct a misconception? The etchings and
dry-points in the gallery do not form a complete set. There are only
fifty exhibited, making about half the number I have executed.
Again, it was from no feeling that "my works were not seen to
advantage when placed in juxtaposition with those of an essentially
different kind," that I "determined to have an exhibition of my own,
where no discordant elements should distract the spectator's
attention." It is true that occasionally it has been borne in upon my
mind that those whose "works are of an essentially different kind,"
are unwilling to place mine in juxtaposition with their own.
My wish has been, though, to prove that the place in which works of
art are shown may be made as free from "discordant elements which
distract the spectators' attention" as the works themselves.
Marvelling greatly that the "principle" that has led me (in his eyes
at least) to paint so that he speaks of me in the same breath with
Velasquez, should be "founded on fallacy,"--I remain, sir, your
obedient servant,
June 10, 1874.
[Illustration]
_Critics "Copy"_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 8, 1880.]
At the Gallery of the Fine Art Society in New Bond Street, an
exhibition has been opened of the etchings of Venice, executed by Mr.
Whistler. Exhibitions are sometimes of slender constitution nowadays.
Mr. Whistler's etchings are twelve in number, of unimportant
dimensions, and of the slightest workmanship. They convey a certain
sense of distance and atmosphere, otherwise it cannot be said that
they are of particular value or originality. They rather resemble
vague first intentions, or memoranda for future use, than designs
completely carried out. Probably every artist coming from Venice
brings with him some such outlines as these in his sketch-books.
Apparently, so far as his twelve etchings are to be considered as
evidence in the matter, Venice has not deeply stirred either Mr.
Whistler or his art.
_A Proposal_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 29, 1880.]
Atlas, _mon bon, méfiez-vous de vos gens!_ Your art gentleman says
that Mr. Whistler exhibits twelve etchings, "slight in execution and
unimportant in size." Now the private assassin you keep, for us, need
not be hampered by mere connoisseurship in the perpetration of his
duty--therefore, _passe_, for the execution--but he should not
compromise his master's reputation for brilliancy, and print things
that he who runs may scoff at.
Seriously, then, my Atlas, an etching does not depend, for its
importance, upon its size. "I am not arguing with you--I am telling
you." As well speak of one of your own charming _mots_ as unimportant
in length!
Look to it, Atlas. Be severe with your man. Tell him his "job" should
be "neatly done." I could cut my own throat better; and if need be, in
case of his dismissal, I offer my services.
Meanwhile, yours joyously,
[Illustration]
_The Painter-Etcher Papers_
[Sidenote: "A Storm in an Æsthetic Teapot."
_The Cuckoo_, April 11, 1881.]
The exhibition of etchings at the Hanover Gallery has been the
occasion of one of those squabbles which amuse everybody--perhaps,
even including the quarrellers themselves. Some etchings, exceedingly
like Mr. Whistler's in manner, but signed "Frank Duveneck," were sent
to the Painter-Etchers' Exhibition from Venice. The Painter-Etchers
appear to have suspected for a moment that the works were really Mr.
Whistler's; and, not desiring to be the victims of an easy hoax on the
part of that gentleman, three of their members--Dr. Seymour Haden, Dr.
Hamilton, and Mr. Legros--went to the Fine Art Society's Gallery, in
New Bond Street, and asked one of the assistants there to show them
some of Mr. Whistler's Venetian plates. From this assistant they
learned that Mr. Whistler was under an arrangement to exhibit and sell
his Venetian etchings only at the Fine Art Society's Gallery; but, even
if these Painter-Etchers really believed that "Frank Duveneck"
was only another name for James Whistler, this information about the
Fine Art Society's arrangement with him need not have shaken that
belief, for the _nom de plume_ might easily have been adopted with the
concurrence of the society's leading spirits. Nor is it altogether
certain that the Painter-Etchers did anything more than compare, for
their own satisfaction as connoisseurs, the works of Mr. Whistler and
"Frank Duveneck." The motive of their doing so may have been
misunderstood by the Fine Art Society's assistant with whom they
conferred.
Be that as it may, this assistant thought fit to repeat to Mr.
Whistler what had passed, and also his own impressions as to the
motive of the comparison and the inquiries which the Painter-Etchers
had instituted. Whereupon Mr. Whistler has addressed a letter to Mr.
Seymour Haden (who is, by the way, _his brother-in-law_), of which all
that need be here said, is that it is extremely characteristic of Mr.
Whistler.
_Later_
[Sidenote: _The Cuckoo_, April 30, 1881.]
Some time ago I referred to a storm in an "æsthetic tea-pot" that was
brewed and had burst in the Fine Art Society's Gallery, in Bond
Street, in _re_ Mr. Whistler's Venice Etchings. It seems to me that
Mr. Seymour Haden, Mr. Legros, and Mr. Hamilton stumbled on an
artistic mare's nest, that they rashly suggested that Mr. Whistler had
been guilty of gross misfeasance in publishing etchings in an assumed
name, and that they are now trying to get out of the scrape as best
they may. This is, however, simply an opinion formed on perusal of the
following documents, which I here present to my readers to judge of:
The following paragraph was some time ago sent to me with this
letter:--
"If the Editor of the '_Cuckoo_' should see his way to the
publication of the accompanying paragraph as it stands, twenty
copies may be sent, for circulation among the Council of the
Society of Painter-Etchers, to Mr. Piker, newsvendor, Shepherd's
Market."
"MR. WHISTLER AND THE PAINTER-ETCHERS.--Our explanation of this
'Storm in a Tea-pot' turns out to have been in the main correct.
It appears that not only were the three gentlemen who went to the
Fine Art Society's Gallery to look at Mr. Whistler's etchings
guiltless of offence, but that the object of their going there
was actually less to show that Mr. Whistler _was_ than that he
was _not_ the author of the etchings which for a moment had
puzzled them.
"For this, indeed, they seem to have given each other--in the
presence of the blundering assistant, of course--three very
distinct reasons.
"Firstly, that, as already stated, Mr. Seymour Haden had quite
seriously written to Mr. Duveneck to buy the etchings.
"Secondly, that they at once accepted as satisfactory and
sufficient the explanation given them of Mr. Whistler's
obligations to the Fine Art Society; and, thirdly, though this
count appears to have somehow slipped altogether out of the
indictment--they were one and all of opinion that, taken all
round, the Duveneck etchings were the _best of the two (sic)_!!!
"It is a pity a clever man like Mr. Whistler is yet not clever
enough to see that while habitual public attacks on a _near
relative_ cannot fail to be, to the majority of people,
unpalatable, they are likely to be, when directed against a
brother etcher, even _suspecte_."
I did not at the time "see my way" to publishing the paragraph "as it
stands," but, having subsequently received the following
correspondence, I think it only right to give Mr. Piker's paragraph
publicity, along with the letters subjoined:--
"THE FINE ART SOCIETY,"
148 NEW BOND STREET.
March 18, 1881.
[Sidenote: Letter from Mr. Huish to Mr. Haden.]
"To Seymour Haden, Esq.--My dear Sir,--Mr. Whistler has called upon me
respecting your visit here yesterday with Mr. Legros and Dr. Hamilton,
the purport of which had been communicated to him by Mr. Brown."
"He is naturally indignant that, knowing, as you apparently did, that
he was under an engagement not to publish for a certain time any
etchings of Venice except those issued by us, you should suggest that
they were his work, and had been sent in by him under a _nom de
plume_."
"He considers that it is damaging to his reputation in connection with
us, and he requests me to write and ask you whether you adhere to your
opinion or retract it."
"Believe me to remain, yours faithfully,
"MARCUS B. HUISH."
"38 HERTFORD STREET, MAYFAIR, W.
March 21, 1881.
[Sidenote: Letter from Mr. Haden to Mr. Huish.]
"To M. Huish, Esq.--Dear Sir,--I am in receipt of a letter from you,
dated the 18th inst., in which you first impute to me an opinion which
I have never held, and then call me to account for that opinion.
To a peremptory letter so framed, I shall not be misunderstood if I
simply decline to plead."
"Meanwhile, that I was _not_ of opinion that the etchings in our hands
were by Mr. Whistler is conclusively proved by the fact that on the
day after their reception I had written to Mr. Duveneck to arrange for
their purchase!"
"Be this, however, as it may, I can have no hesitation on the part
both of myself and of the gentlemen engaged with me in a necessary
duty, in expressing our sincere regret if, by a mistaken
representation of our proceedings, Mr. Whistler has been led to
believe that we had said or implied anything which could give him pain
or reflect in any way on his reputation either with you or your
directors."
"Faithfully yours,
"F. SEYMOUR HADEN."
"ARTS CLUB,"
HANOVER SQUARE.
[Sidenote: Letter from J. M'N. Whistler to Mr. Haden.
March 29, 1881.]
"To Seymour Haden, Esq.--Sir--Mr. Huish handed me your letter of the
21st inst., since when I have waited in vain for the true version
that, I doubted not, would follow the 'mistaken representation' you
regret I should have received."
"Now I must ask that you will, if possible, without further delay,
give me a thorough explanation of your visit to the Fine Art Society's
Gallery on Friday evening, the 17th inst.,--involving, as it did, a
discussion of my private affairs."
"Did you, accompanied by M. Legros and Dr. Hamilton, call at the Fine
Art Society's rooms on that date, and ask to see Mr. Whistler's
etchings?"
"Did you there proceed to make a careful and minute examination of
these, and then ask Mr. Brown if Mr. Whistler had done other etchings
of Venice?"
"Upon his answer in the affirmative, did you ask Mr. Brown if any of
the other plates were large ones, and, notably, whether Mr. Whistler
had done any other plate of the subject called 'The Riva'?"
"Did you ask to see the early states of Mr. Whistler's etchings?"
"Did you say to Mr. Brown, 'Now, is not Mr. Whistler under an
engagement with the Fine Art Society to publish no Venice etchings for
a year?' or words to that effect? and upon Mr. Brown's assurance that
such was the case, did you request him to go with you to the Hanover
Gallery?"
"Did you there produce for his inspection three large Venice etchings,
and among them the 'Riva' subject?"
"Did you then incite Mr. Brown to detect, in these works, the hand
of Mr. Whistler?"
"Did you point out details of execution which, in your opinion,
betrayed Mr. Whistler's manner?"
"Did you say, 'You see these etchings are signed "Frank Duveneck," and
I have written to that name and address for their purchase, but I
don't believe in the existence of such a person,' or words to that
effect?"
"If this be not so,
"Why did you take Mr. Brown over to the Hanover Gallery?"
"Why did you show him Mr. Duveneck's Venice etchings?"
"Why did you question him about my engagement with the Fine Art
Society?"
"Is it officially, as the Painter-Etchers' President, that you pry
about the town?"
"Does the Committee sanction your suggestions? and have you permitted
yourself these 'proceedings' with the full knowledge and approval of
the 'dozen or more distinguished men seated in serious council,' as
described by yourself in the _Pall Mall Gazette_?"
"Of what nature, pray, is the 'necessary duty' that has led two
medical men and a Slade Professor to fail as connoisseurs, and blunder
as detectives?"
"'Vat shall de honest man do in my closet? Dere is no honest man
dat shall come in my closet!'"
[Illustration]
"Copies of this correspondence will be sent to members of your
Committee."
To this last letter, Mr. Seymour Haden has not as yet sent any answer,
and here the matter rests. As requested, we have sent Mr. Piker the
copies he requires for distribution.
THE EDITOR OF THE "CUCKOO."
_La Suite_
"ARTS CLUB,"
May 10, 1881.
To the Committee of the Painter-Etchers' Society:
[Sidenote: Letter to the Committee of "Painter-Etchers'
Society."]
Gentlemen,--I have hitherto, in vain, written to Sir William Drake, as
secretary of the Painter-Etchers' Society, and feeling convinced that
his elaborate silence cannot possibly be the expression of any
intended discourtesy on the part of the Committee, as a body, but that
it would rather indicate that they had not been consulted in the
matter at all, I now address myself to you, and beg that you will
kindly inform me whether the Committee, as represented by their
officers, endorse the late acts of their President, or whether they
intend taking any steps towards refusing to share the shame and
ridicule that have accrued from certain "proceedings" described by Mr.
Haden as a "necessary duty," in the exercise of which he was
officially engaged in conjunction with Dr. Hamilton and M. Legros.
That you may clearly see how current the matter has become, I have the
honour, Gentlemen, to send you herewith, for your serious
consideration, extracts from the daily press, and thus, as you will
read, carry out myself the first intention of a certain speculative
Piker, newsvendor, Shepherd's Market, who had purposed circulating
among you "twenty copies" of the enclosed literary venture--curtailed,
it is true, to the original "Piker paragraph," and unaccompanied by
the Piker twenty-penny prospect; the printing of which may--who
knows?--have caused a wavering on the part of Piker, and have left you
deprived of his labour after all.
Piker offers matter with authority--and here I would point out the
_close proximity of Shepherd's Market to Hertford Street,
Mayfair_!--most suggestive is such contiguity. The newsvendor's stall
and the doctor's office within hail of each other!
Surely I may, without indiscretion, congratulate the President upon
Piker's English and also upon the Pecksniffian whine about the
"brother-in-law"--rather telling in its way--but shallow! shallow!--for
after all, Gentlemen, a brother-in-law is _not_ a connection calling
for sentiment--in the abstract, rather an intruder than "a near
relation"--indeed, "near relation" is mere swagger!
Meanwhile, the insinuation of jealousy of the "brother-etcher" is, as
Piker puts it, "_suspecte_"--very!--and modest!--and transparent!
To the last paper I have added the cutting from the former _Cuckoo_
(Piker's earlier effort) so that you have the occasion of perceiving
how the progressive Piker party have gained in courage--until, in
direct contradiction to their first anxiety and hesitation, we reach
the final _overwhelming certainty_ of the three representative
gentlemen, whose visit to the Fine Art Society's rooms, it would _now_
appear, was absolutely to prove to the "blundering assistant" that
some etchings he had never seen, and, consequently never had
questioned;--of the very existence of which, in short, he was utterly
unconscious,--were by a Mr. Duveneck, of whom he had never heard, and
_not_ by Mr. Whistler!--a fact that in his whole life he had never
been in a position to dispute--and of which _the three Painter-Etchers
themselves were the only people_ who had ever had any doubt!
Really, they either doubted Duveneck, or they didn't doubt Duveneck!--Now,
if the Piker party didn't doubt Duveneck, who the devil did the Piker
party doubt? And why, may I ask, does Mr. Haden, _two days after_
the disastrous blunder in Bond Street, _volunteer_ the following note
of explanation to Mr. Brown, the assistant?--
(COPY.)
"38 HERTFORD STREET, MAYFAIR, W.
March 19, 1881.
"To Ernest Brown, Esq.--Dear Sir,--We know all about Mr. Frank
Duveneck, and are delighted to have his etchings.--Yours
faithfully,"
"F. SEYMOUR HADEN."
It will be remembered that the little expedition to the Fine Art
Society's Gallery took place on _Thursday evening, the 17th_ of March.
On Friday, the 18th, Mr. Huish wrote to Mr. Haden demanding an
explanation; and on _Saturday, the 19th_, this over-diplomatic and
criminating note was sent to Mr. Brown,--altogether unasked for, and
curiously difficult to excuse!--"Methinks, he doth protest too much!"
Further comment I believe to be unnecessary.
I refer you, Gentlemen, to my letter of March 29th, which Mr. Haden
has never been able to answer--and merely point out that, the
"blundering assistant" was the only one who did not blunder at
all--since he alone, refrained from folly, and, notwithstanding all
exhortation, steadily refused, in the presence of cunning
connoisseurs, to mistake the work of one man for that of another.
I have, Gentlemen, the honour to be,
Your obedient servant,
J. MCNEILL WHISTLER.
May 18, 1881.
TO THE COMMITTEE OF
THE PAINTER-ETCHERS' SOCIETY.
May I, without impertinence, ask what really does constitute the
"Painter-Etcher" "all round," as Piker has it?--for, of these three
gentlemen who have so markedly distinguished themselves in that
character, two certainly are not painters--and one doesn't etch!
[Illustration]
_A Correction_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Nov. 14, 1883.]
A supposititious conversation in _Punch_ brought about the following
interchange of telegrams:--
From Oscar Wilde, Exeter, to J. McNeill Whistler, Tite Street.--_Punch_
too ridiculous--when you and I are together we never talk about
anything except ourselves.
From Whistler, Tite Street, to Oscar Wilde, Exeter.--No, no, Oscar,
you forget--when you and I are together, we never talk about anything
except me.
[Illustration]
_A Warning_
[Sidenote: _The World_, June 1, 1881.]
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
"A foolish man's foot is soon in his neighbour's house;
but a man of experience is ashamed of him."
[Illustration]]
My dear James,--I see from a weekly paper that your late residence,
the White House, in Tite Street, is now occupied by Mr. Harry Quilter,
"the excellent art critic and writer on art," or words to that effect.
This is the great man who has succeeded Mr. Tom Taylor on the _Times_,
and whose vagaries in art criticism you and I, my dear James, have
previously noticed....
ATLAS.
_Naïf Enfant_
[Sidenote: _The Times_, May 2, 1881.]
Close to this is another portrait of extreme interest, and, though of
another kind, it is not inappropriately near Mr. Hunt's work. This is
Mr. John Ruskin, painted by Mr. Herkomer. It is difficult to
dissociate this picture, as regards the merit of its painting, from
the interest which attaches to it as being the first oil portrait we
have ever seen of our great art critic.... The picture remains a
singularly fine one, and is, in our opinion, Mr. Herkomer's best
portrait.
_A Straight Tip_
[Sidenote: _The World_, May 18, 1881.]
"Ne pas confondre intelligence avec gendarmes"--but surely, dear
Atlas, when the art critic of the _Times_, suffering possibly from
chronic catarrh, is wafted in at the Grosvenor without guide or
compass, and cannot by mere sense of smell distinguish between oil and
water colour, he ought, like Mark Twain, "to inquire."
Had he asked the guardian or the fireman in the gallery, either might
have told him not to say that one of the chief interests of Mr.
Herkomer's large water-colour drawing of Mr. Ruskin "attaches to it as
being _the first oil portrait_ we have ever seen of our great art
critic"! Adieu.
[Illustration]
_An Eager Authority_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 9, 1881.]
Mr. Whistler knows how to defend himself so perkily that it is a
pleasure to attack him. I hasten, therefore, with joy, to submit to
you, dear Atlas, who are growing so very clever at your languages, the
following crotchets and quavers--shall I call them? for Mr. Whistler
is just now full of "notes"--in American-Italian; they are from his
delightful brown-paper catalogue. To begin with, "Santa Margharita" is
wrong; it must be either Margarita or Margherita; the other is
impossible Italian. Then who or what is "San Giovanni _Apostolo et
Evangelistæ_"? Does the sprightly and shrill McNeill mean this for
Latin? And is the "Café Orientale" intended to be French or Italian?
It has an _e_ too many for French, and an _f_ too few for Italian.
"Piazetta," furthermore, does duty for "Piazzetta." Finally I give up
"Campo Sta. Martin." I don't know what that can be. The Italian
Calendar has a San Martino and a Santa Martina, but Sta. Martin is
very curious. The catalogue is exceedingly short, but a few of the
names are right.
_An Admission_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 16, 1881]
Touché!--and my compliments to your "Correspondent," Atlas,
_chéri_--far from me to justify spelling of my own! But who could
possibly have supposed an orthographer loose! Evidently too "ung
vieulx qui a moult roulé en Palestine et aultres lieux!"
What it is to be prepared, though! Atlas, _mon pauvre ami_, you know
the story of the witness who, when asked how far he stood from the
spot where the deed was done, answered unhesitatingly--"Sixty-three
feet seven inches!" "How, sir," cried the prosecuting lawyer--"how can
you possibly pretend to such accuracy?" "Well," returned the man in
the box, "you see I thought some d----d fool would be sure to ask me,
and so I measured."
[Illustration]
_'Arry in the Grosvenor_
Atlas--In spite of the Kyrle Society, I don't appeal to the middle
classes; for I read in the _Times_ that 'Arry won't have me. I am
ranked with the _caviare_ of his betters, and add not to the relish of
his winkles and tea.
Also, why troubles he about many things?
[Sidenote: _The World_, May 17, 1882.]
But, alas! as is aptly remarked in one of the weekly papers, "'Arry
has taken to going to the Grosvenor;" and "ce n'est pas tout que
d'être honnête," he says, lightly paraphrasing Alfred de Musset, "il
faut être joli garçon!"
And so he blooms into an æsthete of his own order. To have seen him, O
my wise Atlas, was my privilege and my misery; for he stood under one
of my own "harmonies"--already with difficulty gasping its gentle
breath--himself an amazing "arrangement" in strong mustard-and-cress,
with bird's-eye belcher of Reckitt's blue; and then and
there destroyed absolutely, unintentionally, and once for all, my
year's work!
Atlas, shall these things be?
[Illustration]
_Encouragement_
_TO OSCAR ON HIS "TOUR."_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 15, 1882.]
Oscar--We, of Tite Street and Beaufort Gardens, joy in your triumphs
and delight in your success; but we are of opinion that, with the
exception of your epigrams, you talk like "S---- C---- in the
provinces"; and that, with the exception of your knee-breeches, you
dress like 'Arry Quilter.
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_A Remonstrance_
Atlas, how could you!
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 22, 1882.]
I know you carry the _World_ on your back, and am not surprised that
my note to Oscar, on its way, should have fallen from your shoulders
into your dainty fingers; but why present it in the state of puzzle?
Besides, your caution is one-sided and unfair; for if you print S----
C----, why not A---- Q----? Why not X Y Z at once?
And how unlike me! Instead of the frank recklessness which has
unfortunately become a characteristic, I am, for the first time,
disguised in careful timidity, and discharge my insinuating initials
from the ambush of innuendo.
My dear Atlas, if I may not always call a spade a spade, may I not
call a Slade Professor, Sidney Colvin?
[Illustration]
_Propositions_
[Sidenote: With compliments to the Committee of the
"Hoboken" Etching Club upon the occasion of receiving an
invitation to compete in an etching tourney whose first
condition was that the plate should be at least two feet
by three.
[Illustration]]
I. That in Art, it is criminal to go beyond the means used in its
exercise.
II. That the space to be covered should always be in proper relation
to the means used for covering it.
III. That in etching, the means used, or instrument employed, being
the finest possible point, the space to be covered should be small in
proportion.
IV. That all attempts to overstep the limits insisted upon by such
proportion, are inartistic thoroughly, and tend to reveal the paucity
of the means used, instead of concealing the same, as required by Art
in its refinement.
V. That the huge plate, therefore, is an offence--its undertaking an
unbecoming display of determination and ignorance--its accomplishment
a triumph of unthinking earnestness and uncontrolled energy--endowments
of the "duffer."
VI. That the custom of "Remarque" emanates from the amateur, and
reflects his foolish facility beyond the border of his picture, thus
testifying to his unscientific sense of its dignity.
VII. That it is odious.
VIII. That, indeed, there should be no margin on the proof to receive
such "Remarque."
IX. That the habit of margin, again, dates from the outsider, and
continues with the collector in his unreasoning connoisseurship--taking
curious pleasure in the quantity of paper.
X. That the picture ending where the frame begins, and, in the case of
the etching, the white mount, being inevitably, because of its colour,
the frame, the picture thus extends itself irrelevantly through the
margin to the mount.
XI. That wit of this kind would leave six inches of raw canvas between
the painting and its gold frame, to delight the purchaser with the
quality of the cloth.
[Illustration]
_An Unanswered Letter_
PRÉ CHARMOY, AUTUN,
SAÔNE ET LOIRE, FRANCE,
Sept. 13, 1867.
Sir--I am at present engaged upon a book on etching and should be glad
to give a full account of what you have done, but find a difficulty,
which is that, although I have seen many of your etchings, I have not
fully and fairly studied them. I wonder whether you would object to
lend me a set of proofs for a few weeks. As the book is already
advanced, I should be glad of an early reply. My opinion of your work
is, _on the whole, so favourable that your reputation could only gain_
by your affording me the opportunity of speaking of your work at
length.
I remain, Sir,
Your obedient servant,
P. G. HAMERTON.
JAMES WHISTLER, Esq.
_Inconsequences_
[Sidenote: The "book on etching."]
James Whistler is of American extraction, and studied painting in
France. As a student he was capricious and irregular, and did not
leave the impression amongst his fellow-pupils that his future would
be in any way distinguished ... his artistic education seems to have
been mainly acquired by private and independent study....
Mr. Whistler seems to be aware that etchings are usually sought as
much for their rarity as their excellence, and to have determined that
his own plates shall be rare already.
I have been told that, if application is made by letter to Mr.
Whistler for a set of his etchings, he may, perhaps, if he chooses to
answer the letter, do the applicant the favour to let him have a copy
for about the price of a good horse....
Whistler's etchings are not generally remarkable for poetical
feeling....
P. G. HAMERTON,[20]
_Etching and Etchers_.
[Note 20: "If beauty were the only province of art,
neither painters nor etchers would find anything to
occupy them in the foul stream that washes the London
wharfs"--P. G. HAMERTON, _Etching and Etchers_.]
_Uncovered Opinions_
Mr. Whistler's famous "Woman in White" is amongst the rejected
pictures.... The hangers must have thought her particularly ugly, for
they have given her a sort of place of honour, before an opening
through which all pass, so that nobody misses her.
I watched several parties, to see the impression the "Woman in White"
made on them. They all stopped instantly, struck with amazement. This
for two or three seconds; then they always looked at each other and
laughed.
Here, for once, I have the happiness to be quite of the popular way of
thinking.
[21]P. G. HAMERTON,
_Fine Arts Quarterly_.
[Note 21: "Corot is one of the most celebrated
landscape painters in France. The first impression of an
Englishman, on looking at his works, is that they are
the sketches of an amateur; it is difficult at first
sight to consider them the serious performances of an
artist.... I _understand Corot now_, and think his
reputation, if not well deserved, at least easily
accounted for.... Corot must be an early riser."--P. G.
HAMERTON, _Fine Arts Quarterly_.]
[Note 21: "Doré (Gustave Paul).... He is a great and
marvellous genius--a poet such as a nation produces once
in a thousand years. He is the most imaginative, the
profoundest, the most productive poet that has ever
sprung from the French race."--P. G. HAMERTON, _Fine
Arts Quarterly_.]
[Note 21: "Daubigny (Charles François).--If
landscape can be satisfactorily painted without either
drawing or colour--Daubigny is the man to do it."--P. G.
HAMERTON, _Fine Arts Quarterly_.]
[Note 21: "M. Courbet is looked upon as the
representative of Realism in France. The truth is that
Edouard Frère, the Bonheurs, and many others are to the
full as realistic as Courbet but they produce beautiful
pictures.... It is difficult to speak of Courbet,
without losing patience. Everything he touches becomes
unpleasant."--P. G. HAMERTON, _Fine Arts Quarterly_.]
_The Fate of an Anecdote_
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _New York Tribune_, Sept. 12, 1880]
Sir--In _Scribner's Magazine_ for this month there appears an article
on Mr. Seymour Haden, the eminent surgeon etcher, by a Mr. Hamerton,
and in this article I have stumbled upon a curious statement
concerning, strangely enough, my own affairs, offered pleasantly in
the disguise of an anecdote habitually "narrated" by the Doctor
himself, and printed effectively in inverted commas, as here shown:
... "A parallel anecdote is narrated by Mr. Haden: 'The most exquisite
series of plates which Whistler ever did--his sixteen Thames
subjects--were originally printed by a steel-plate printer, and so
badly that the owner thought the plates were worn out, and sold them
for a small sum in comparison to their real worth. The purchaser took
them to Goulding, the best printer of etchings in England, and it was
found that they were not only perfect, but that they produced
impressions which had never before been approached even by
Delatre.'"
Putting gently aside the question of these plates being superior to
all previous or subsequent work, and dealing merely with facts, I have
to say that they were _not_ "originally printed by a steel-plate
printer"; that the impressions were _not_ so bad that the owner
thought the plates worn out; and, flattering as is the supposition
that they were sold for a small sum in comparison to their real worth,
I am obliged to reject even this palatable assertion, as I received
for the plates the price that I asked, knowing full well their exact
condition.
Instead of the "steel-plate printer," Delatre, then at his prime, had
himself printed these etchings--a fact which, amusingly enough, Mr.
Haden admits further on, in direct contradiction to his first broad
statement. Moreover, I had myself pulled proofs of them all; indeed,
one in the set of sixteen plates, a drypoint, called "The Forge" (for
by the way they were not all of the Thames), I alone printed. When the
plates left my hands they were _not_ "taken to Goulding," who at that
moment had, I fancy, barely begun his career as "the best printer of
etchings in England" (and a capital printer he certainly is); and it
was _not_ "found that they produced impressions never before approached
even by Delatre"--here we have the contradiction alluded to--no!
this theatrical denouement I must also put aside with sorrow.
The plates were brought out by Messrs. Ellis, who had them printed by
some one in London, whose work was certainly not to be compared to
that of Delatre, whom I should undoubtedly have recommended; so that
_it was only long after the sale had been completed and the plates had
ceased to be in my possession_, that inferior impressions were
produced.
The understanding on my part with those publishers was that the plates
were to be destroyed after one hundred impressions had been taken, but
very recently they reappeared, and were sold to their present
possessors, who _did_ take them to Mr. Goulding. And here I am obliged
to explain away the last element of astonishment, for Mr. Goulding
naturally found the etchings in their original perfect condition
simply because I had had them steeled in their full bloom when I had
satisfied myself by my own proofs.
Goulding's impressions of these plates are very excellent, but to say
they were quite unapproached by Delatre is not only needless
exaggeration, but an unkindness to Mr. Goulding.
Surely there must be some misunderstanding between Mr. Haden and his
biographer--a misdeal of data--an accident with the anecdotes--because
no one was more keenly alive to all relating to these plates and
their various states than Mr. Haden himself, whose strong sense of the
importance of printing was acquired while watching the progress of
these same plates, and the previous French set, as they were proved by
me and printed by Delatre, to whom I introduced him.
Far from me to spoil a good story; but for the life of me I cannot see
what any sympathizing _raconteur_ will regret in the destruction of
this mere jumble of statistics that Mr. Hamerton calls "Mr. Haden's
anecdote."
VENICE, Aug. 16, 1880.
[Illustration]
_In Excelsis_
Mr. Hamerton presents his compliments to Mr. Whistler, and begs to
inform him that he has read Mr. Whistler's very unbecoming and
improper letter in the _New York Tribune_.
Mr. Hamerton in his article in _Scribner's Monthly_ simply quoted a
passage from one of Mr. Haden's lectures on Etching, published in
Cassell's _Magazine of Art_; consequently Mr. Hamerton did not offer
matter to his readers under any disguise whatever. Mr. Hamerton has
answered Mr. Whistler's letter in the same journal in which it
appeared.
PRÉ CHARMOY, AUTUN, SAÔNE ET LOIRE,
Sept. 28, 1880.
_A Suspicion_
It is possibly too much to expect--upon the principle of "trumps not
turning up twice"--but Mr. Whistler does hope that Mr. Hamerton's
letter to the _New York Tribune_ will be as funny as his note to Mr.
Whistler, which has just been forwarded from London.
VENICE, Oct. 7.
CAFÉ FLORIAN, PLACE SAN MARC.
Pardon! Is Mr. Whistler right in supposing, from the droll little
irritation shown in Mr. Hamerton's note, that Mr. Hamerton is
perhaps--another "Art Critic"?
[Illustration]
_Conviction_
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _New York Tribune_, Oct. 11, 1880.]
Sir--A friend in America has sent me the letter from Mr. Whistler
which refers to my article in _Scribner_ on Mr. Haden's etchings. The
letter begins as follows:
In _Scribner's Magazine_ for this month there appears an article on
Mr. Seymour Haden, the eminent surgeon etcher by a Mr. Hamerton, and
in this article I have stumbled upon a curious statement
concerning--strangely enough--my own affairs, offered pleasantly in
the disguise of an anecdote habitually 'narrated' by the Doctor
himself, and printed effectively in inverted commas, as here shown.
Here Mr. Whistler accuses me of disguising something which I chose to
tell, as if it came from Mr. Haden, by printing it in inverted commas.
The statement is "offered pleasantly in the disguise of an anecdote,"
and "printed effectively in inverted commas." I used inverted
commas because it is the custom to do so when making a quotation. I
quoted Mr. Haden's own words from one of his lectures on etching, and
they will be found printed, as I quoted them, in Cassell's _Magazine
of Art_. I beg to be permitted to observe that a writer who quotes a
passage, as I did, in perfect good faith, ought not to be accused of
offering matter in disguise. There was no disguise about it. Mr.
Haden's words may be compared with my quotation. Again, to prevent any
possible inaccuracy, a proof of the article in _Scribner_ was sent to
Mr. Haden before it was published.[22] It is scarcely necessary that I
should allude to Mr. Whistler's studied discourtesy in calling me "a
Mr. Hamerton." It does me no harm, but it is a breach of ordinary good
manners in speaking of a well-known writer!
[Note 22: _REFLECTION:_
Queen's evidence.]
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
Q. E. D.
[Illustration]]
Yours obediently,
P. G. HAMERTON.
AUTUN, Sept. 29, 1880.
_MR. WHISTLER
AND
HIS CRITICS_
_A CATALOGUE_
[Illustration]
"Out of their own mouths shall ye judge them."
"Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?"
[Illustration]
_Etchings and Dry-points_
"His pictures form a dangerous precedent."
* * * * *
VENICE.
"Another crop of Mr. Whistler's little jokes."
_Truth._
1.--MURANO--GLASS FURNACE.
"Criticism is powerless here."--_Knowledge._
2.--DOORWAY AND VINE.
"He must not attempt to palm off his deficiencies upon us as
manifestations of power."
_Daily Telegraph._
3.--WHEELWRIGHT.
"Their charm depends not at all upon the technical qualities so
striking in his earlier work."
_St. James's Gazette._
4.--SAN BIAGIO.
"So far removed from any accepted canons of art as to be beyond the
understanding of an ordinary mortal."--_Observer._
5.--BEAD STRINGERS.
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
"Et voilà comme on écrit l'histoire."
[Illustration]]
"'Impressionistes,' _and of these the various schools are represented
by_ Mr. Whistler, Mr. Spencer Stanhope, Mr. Walter Crane, and Mr.
Strudwick."
6.--FISH SHOP.
"Those who feel painfully the absence in these works of any feeling
for the past glories of Venice."
_'Arry in the Spectator._
"Whistler is eminently vulgar."--_Glasgow Herald._
7.--TURKEYS.
"They say very little to the mind."--_F. Wedmore._
"It is the artist's pleasure to have them there, and we can't help
it."--_Edinburgh Courant._
8.--NOCTURNE RIVA.
"The Nocturne is intended to convey an impression of night."--_P. G.
Hamerton._
"The subject did not admit of any drawing."
_P. G. Hamerton._
"We have seen a great many representations of Venetian skies, but
never saw one before consisting of brown smoke with clots of ink in
diagonal lines."
9.--FRUIT STALL.
"The historical or poetical associations of cities have little charm
for Mr. Whistler and no place in his art."
10.--SAN GIORGIO.
"An artist of incomplete performance."
_F. Wedmore._
11.--THE DYER.
"By having as little to do as possible with tone and light and shade,
Mr. Whistler evades great difficulties."--_P. G. Hamerton._
"All those theoretical principles of the art, of which we have heard
so much from Messrs. Haden, Hamerton(?)[23] and Lalauze, are
abandoned."
_St. James's Gazette._
[Note 23: "Calling me 'a Mr. Hamerton' does me no
harm--but it is a breach of ordinary good manners in
speaking of a well-known writer."
Yours obediently, P. G. HAMERTON.
Sept. 29, 1880. To the Editor of the _New York
Tribune_.]
12.--NOCTURNE PALACES.
"Pictures in darkness are contradictions in terms."
_Literary World._
13.--THE DOORWAY.
"There is seldom in his Etchings any large arrangement of light and
shade."--_P. G. Hamerton._
"Short, scratchy lines."--_St. James's Gazette._
"The architectural ornaments and the interlacing bars of the gratings
are suggested rather than drawn."
_St. James's Gazette._
"Amateur prodige."--_Saturday Review._
14.--LONG LAGOON.
"We think that London fogs and the muddy old Thames supply Mr.
Whistler's needle with subjects more congenial than do the Venetian
palaces and lagoons."--_Daily News._
15.--TEMPLE.
"The work does not feel much."--_Times._
16.--LITTLE SALUTE.--(DRY-POINT.)
"As for the lucubrations of Mr. Whistler, they come like shadows and
will so depart, _and it is unnecessary to disquiet one's self about
them_."
17.--THE BRIDGE.
"These works have been done with a swiftness and dash that precludes
anything like care and finish."
"These Etchings of Mr. Whistler's are nothing like so satisfactory as
his earlier Chelsea ones; they neither convey the idea of space nor
have they the delicacy of handling and treatment which we see in
those."
"He looked at Venice never in detail."
_F. Wedmore._
18.--WOOL CARDERS.
"They have a merit of their own, and I do not wish to understand
it."[24]--_F. Wedmore._
[Note 24: Mr. Wedmore is the lucky discoverer of the
following:--
"Vigour and exquisiteness are denied--are they
not?--even to a Velasquez"!]
19.--UPRIGHT VENICE.
"Little to recommend them save the eccentricity of their titles."
20.--LITTLE VENICE.
"The Little Venice is one of the slightest of the series."--_St.
James's Gazette._
"In the Little Venice and the Little Lagoon Mr. Whistler has attempted
to convey impressions by lines far too few for his purposes."--_Daily
News._
"Our river is naturally full of effects in _black and white and
bistre_. Venetian skies and marbles have colour you cannot suggest
with a point and some printer's ink."--_Daily News._
"It is not the Venice of a maiden's fancies."--_'Arry._
21.--LITTLE COURT.
"Merely technical triumphs."--_Standard._
22.--REGENT'S QUADRANT.
"There may be a few who find genius in insanity."
23.--LOBSTER POTS.
"So little in them."[25]--_P. G. Hamerton._
[Note 25: The same Critic holds:
"The Thames is beautiful from Maidenhead to Kew, but not
from Battersea to Sheerness."]
24.--RIVA No. 2.
"In all his former Etchings he was careful to give a strong foundation
of firm drawing. In these plates, however, he has cast aside this
painstaking method."
_St. James's Gazette._
25.--ISLANDS.
"An artist who has never mastered the subtleties of accurate
form."[26]--_F. Wedmore._
[Note 26: Elsewhere Mr. Wedmore is inspired to say--
"The true collector must _gradually_ and _painfully_
acquire the eye to judge of the impression."]
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
_This_ is possibly the process through which the
preacher is passing.
[Illustration]]
26.--THE LITTLE LAGOON.
"Well, little new came of it, in etching; nothing new that was
beautiful."--_F. Wedmore._
27.--NOCTURNE SHIPPING.
[Sidenote: "Amazing!"
[Illustration]]
"This Archimago of the iconographic aoraton, or graphiology of the
Hidden."--_Daily Telegraph._
"Popularity is the only insult that has not yet been offered to Mr.
Whistler."--_Oscar Wilde._
28.--TWO DOORWAYS.
"It is trying to any sketch without tone to be hung upon a wall as
these have been."--_P. G. Hamerton._
29.--OLD WOMEN.
"He is never literary."--_P. G. Hamerton._
30.--RIVA.
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
Like Eno's Fruit Salt or the "Anti-mal-de-Mer."
[Illustration]]
"He took from London to Venice his happy fashion of suggesting lapping
water."--_F. Wedmore._
"Even such a well-worn subject as the Riva degli Schiavoni is made
original (?) by being taken from a high point of view, and looked at
lengthwise, instead of from the canal."
31.--DRURY LANE.
"In Mr. Whistler's productions one might safely say that there is no
culture."--_Athenæum._
32.--THE BALCONY.
"His colour is subversive."--_Russian Press._
33.--ALDERNEY STREET.
"The best art may be produced with trouble."
_F. Wedmore._[27]
[Note 27: "I am not a Mede nor a Persian."--F.
WEDMORE.]
34.--THE SMITHY.
"They produce a disappointing impression."
"His Etchings seem weak when framed."[28]
_P. G. Hamerton._
[Note 28: Mr. Hamerton does also say:
"Indifference to beauty is however compatible with
splendid success in etching, as the career of Rembrandt
proved."--_Etching and Etchers._]
35.--STABLES.
"An unpleasing thing, and framed in Mr. Whistler's odd
fashion."--_City Press._
36.--THE MAST.
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
At the service of critics of unequal sizes.
[Illustration]]
"The Mast and the Little Mast are dependent for much of their
interest, on the drawing of festoons of cord hanging from unequal
heights."
_P. G. Hamerton._
37.--TRAGHETTO.
"The artist's present principles seem to deny him any effective
chiaroscuro."--_P. G. Hamerton._
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
"Sometimes generally always."
[Illustration]]
"Mr. Whistler's figure drawings, generally defective and always
incomplete."
38.--FISHING BOAT.
"Subjects unimportant in themselves."
_P. G. Hamerton._
39.--PONTE PIOVAN.
"Want of variety in the handling."
_St. James's Gazette._
40.--GARDEN.
"An art which is happier in the gloom of a doorway than in the glow of
the sunshine, and turns with a pleasant blindness from whatsoever in
Nature or Man is of perfect beauty or noble thought."--_'Arry._
41.--THE RIALTO.
"Mr. Whistler has etched too much for his reputation."--_F. Wedmore._
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
This critic, true, is a Slade Professor.
[Illustration]]
"Scampering caprice."--_S. Colvin._
"Mr. Whistler's drawing, which is sometimes that of a very slovenly
master."
42.--LONG VENICE.
"After all, there are certain accepted canons about what constitutes
good drawing, good colour, and good painting; and when an artist
deliberately sets himself to ignore or violate all of these, it is
desirable that his work should not be classed with that of ordinary
artists."--_'Arry._
43.--NOCTURNE SALUTE.
"The utter absence, as far as my eye[29] may be trusted, of
gradation."--_F. Wedmore._
[Note 29:?
[Illustration]]
"There are many things in a painter's art which even a photographer
cannot understand."
_Laudatory notice in Provincial Press._
44.--FURNACE NOCTURNE.
"There is no moral element in his chiaroscuro."
_Richmond Eagle._
45.--PIAZETTA.
"Whistler does not take much pains with his work."
_New York Paper._
"A sort of transatlantic impudence in his cleverness."
"His pictures do not claim to be accurate."
46.--THE LITTLE MAST.
"Form and line are of little account to him."
47.--QUIET CANAL.
"Herr Whistler stellt ganz wunderbare Productionen aus, die auf
Gesetze der Form und der Farbe gegründet scheinen, die dem
Uneingeweihten unverständlich sind."--_Wiener Presse._
"This new manner of Mr. Whistler's is no improvement upon that which
helped him to win his fame in this field of art."
48.--PALACES.
"The absence, seemingly, of any power of drawing the forms of
water."[30]--_F. Wedmore._
[Note 30: See No. 30, _The Riva_.]
"He has never, so far as we know, attempted to transfer to copper any
of the more ambitious works of the architect."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"He has been content to show us what his eyes can see, and not what
his hand can do."
_St. James's Gazette._
49.--SALUTE DAWN.
"Too sensational."--_Athenæum._
"Pushing a single artistic principle to the verge of
affectation."--_Sidney Colvin._
50.--BEGGARS.
"In the character of humanity he has not time to be
interested."--_Standard._
"General absence of tone."--_P. G. Hamerton._
51.--LAGOON: NOON.
"Years ago James Whistler was a person of high promise."--_F. Wedmore._
"What the art of Mr. Whistler yields is a tertium quid."[31]--_Sidney
Colvin._
[Note 31: _REFLECTION:_
The quid of sweet and bitter fancy.
[Illustration]]
"All of which gems, I am sincerely thankful to say, I cannot
appreciate."
"As we have hinted, the series does not represent any Venice that we
much care to remember; for who wants to remember the degradation of
what has been noble, the foulness of what has been fair?"
_'Arry[32] in the "Times."_
[Note 32: _REFLECTION:_
The labour of the foolish wearieth every one of them
because he knoweth not how to go to the City.
[Illustration]]
"Disastrous failures."--_F. Wedmore._
"Failures that are complete and failures that are partial."--_F.
Wedmore._
"A publicity rarely bestowed upon failures at all."
_F. Wedmore, Nineteenth Century._
[Sidenote:
_"Voilà ce que l'on dit de moi
Dans la Gazette de Hollande."_]
"Therefore is judgment far from us, neither doth justice overtake
us. We wait for light, but behold obscurity; for brightness, but we
walk in darkness."
"We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no
eyes; we stumble at noonday as in the night."
"We roar all like bears."
[Illustration]
_Taking the Bait_
[Sidenote: _The Academy_, Feb. 24, 1883.]
By the simple process of applying snippets of published sentences to
works of art to which the original comments were never meant to have
reference, and sometimes, too, by lively misquotation--as when a
writer who "did not wish to understate" Mr. Whistler's merit is made
to say he "did not wish to understand" it, Mr. Whistler has counted on
good-humouredly confounding criticism. He has entertained but not
persuaded; and if his literary efforts with the scissors and the
paste-pot might be taken with any seriousness we should have to rebuke
him for his feat. But we are far from doing so. He desired, it seems,
to say that he and Velasquez were both above criticism. An artist in
literature would have said it in fewer words; but indulgence may
fairly be granted to the less assured methods of an amateur in
authorship.
F. WEDMORE.
_An Apology_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 28, 1883.]
Atlas--There are those, they tell me, who have the approval of the
people--and live! For them the _succès d'estime_; for me, O Atlas, the
_succès d'exécration_--the only tribute possible from the Mob to the
Master! This I have now nobly achieved. _Glissons!_ In the hour of my
triumph let me not neglect my ambulance.
Mr. Frederick Wedmore--a critic--one of the wounded--complains that by
dexterously substituting "understand" for "understate," I have dealt
unfairly by him, and wrongly rendered his writing. Let me hasten to
acknowledge the error, and apologise. My carelessness is culpable, and
the misprint without excuse; for naturally I have all along known, and
the typographer should have been duly warned, that with Mr. Wedmore,
as with his brethren, it is always a matter of understating, and not
at all one of understanding.
_Quant aux autres_--well, with the exception of "'Arry," who
really is dead, they will recover. Scalped and disfigured, they are
not mortally hurt; and--would you believe it?--possessed with an
infinite capacity for continuing, they have already returned, nothing
doubting, to their limited literature, of which I have exhausted the
stock.--Yours, _en passant_,
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_"Jeux Innocents" in Tite Street_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 26, 1883.]
Mr. Whistler's final breakfast of the year was given on Sunday last.
The hospitable master has fresh wonders in store for his friends in
the new year; for, not content with treating his next-door critic
after the manner that Portuguese sailors treat the Apostle Judas at
Easter-tide, he is said to have perfected a new instrument of torture.
This invention is of the nature of a camera obscura, whereby, by a
crafty "arrangement" of reflectors, he promises to display in his own
studio, to his friends, "'Arry at the White House," under all the
appropriate circumstances that might be expected of a "Celebrity at
Home."
ATLAS.
_A Line from the Lands End_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Jan. 2, 1884.]
Delightful! Atlas--I have read here, to the idle miners--culture in
their manners curiously, at this season, blended with intoxication--your
brilliant and graphic description of 'Arry at the other end of my
arrangement in telescopic lenses.
The sensitive sons of the Cornish caves, by instinct refined, revel in
the writhing of the resurrected 'Arry.
Our natures are evidently of the same dainty brutality. Cruelty to the
critic after demise, is a revelation, and the story of 'Arry pursued
with post-mortem, and, for Sunday demonstration, kept by galvanism
from his grave, is to them most fascinating.
I have, my sympathetic Atlas, the success that might have been Edgar
Poe's, could he have read to such an audience the horrible "Case of
Mr. Waldemar."
My invention and machinery, by the way, these warm-hearted people
believe to be something after the fashion of their own sluice-boxes--and
I dare not undeceive them.
Atlas, _je te la souhaite bonne et heureuse_!
ST. IVES, CORNWALL,
Dec. 27.
[Illustration]
_The Easy Expert_
Atlas--They have sent me the _Spectator_--a paper upon which our late
'Arry lingered to the last as art critic. In its columns I find a
correspondent calling aloud for our kind intervention. Present me,
brave Atlas, to the editor, that I may say to him:
[Sidenote: _The World_, Jan. 30, 1884.]
"GOOD SIR,--'Your Reviewer' is doubtless my unburied 'Arry. Why, then,
should 'his mistaking a photogravure reproduction of a pen-and-ink
drawing by Samuel Palmer for a finished etching by the same hand'
seem, 'to say the least of it, astounding'?
"Not at all! By this sort of thing was he known among us, poor
chap--and so was he our fresh gladness and continued surprise."
"Did I not make historical his enchanting encounter with Mr.
Herkomer's water-colour drawing of Mr. Ruskin at the Grosvenor, which
he described as the 'first oil portrait we have of the great master'?
Amazing that, if you like!
"Do not all remember how we leaped for joy at the reading of it?"
"Even Atlas himself laughed aloud, and, handicapped as he is with the
World, and weighted with wisdom, danced upon his plinth, a slow
measure of reckless acquiescence, as I set down in the chronicles of
all time that 'Arry, 'unable, by mere sense of smell, to distinguish
between oil and water-colour, might at least have inquired; and that
either the fireman or the guardian in the Gallery could have told him
not to blunder in the _Times_.'"
"But no, he never would ask--he liked his potshots at things; it used
to give a sort of sporting interest to his speculations upon pictures.
And so he was ever obstinate--or any one at the Fine Art Society would
have told him the difference between an etching and a photograph.--I
am, good sir, yours, etc."
Atlas, _à bientôt_.
ST. IVES, CORNWALL,
Jan. 25, 1834.
[Illustration]
_Propositions--No. 2_
A picture is finished when all trace of the means used to bring about
the end has disappeared.
To say of a picture, as is often said in its praise, that it shows
great and earnest labour, is to say that it is incomplete and unfit
for view.
Industry in Art is a necessity--not a virtue--and any evidence of the
same, in the production, is a blemish, not a quality; a proof, not of
achievement, but of absolutely insufficient work, for work alone will
efface the footsteps of work.
The work of the master reeks not of the sweat of the brow--suggests no
effort--and is finished from its beginning.
The completed task of perseverance only, has never been begun, and
will remain unfinished to eternity--a monument of goodwill and
foolishness.
"There is one that laboureth, and taketh pains, and maketh haste, and
is so much the more behind."
The masterpiece should appear as the flower to the
painter--perfect in its bud as in its bloom--with no reason to explain
its presence--no mission to fulfil--a joy to the artist--a delusion to
the philanthropist--a puzzle to the botanist--an accident of sentiment
and alliteration to the literary man.
[Illustration]
_A Hint_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 17, 1886.]
Please to take note, my dear Mr. James McN. W., that your "dearest
foe," 'Arry, is a candidate for the Slade Chair of Art in the
University of Cambridge! This is said to be the age of testimonials. A
few words from you, my dear James, addressed to the distinguished
trustees, could not fail to give 'Arry a lift.
ATLAS.
_A Distinction_
Atlas, you provoke me! The wisdom of ages means but little--I have
said it. _Faut être "dans le mouvement,"_ you dear old thing, or you
are absolutely out of it!
[Sidenote: _The World_, Feb. 24, 1886.]
You are misled, and mistake mere fact for the fiction of history,
which is truth--and instructs--and is beautiful.
Now, in truth, 'Arry is dead--very dead.
Did I not, from between your shoulders, sally forth and slay
him?--thereby instructing--and making history--and avenging the
beautiful.
If within the distant Aïden, you can't descry, "with sorrow laden,"
the tiny soul of 'Arry, it is because you no longer read your own
small print, my Atlas! and the microbes of Eternity escape you.
Moreover, are not these things written in the chronicles of Chelsea,
adown whose Embankment I still, Achilles-like, do drag the body of an
afternoon?
This practice has doubtless completed the confusion of the
wearied ones of Slade--and they of the Schools, accustomed to the
culture of Colvin, whose polished scalp I with difficulty collected,
ceasing to distinguish between the quick and the dead, will probably
prop up our late 'Arry as professor, long to remain undetected in the
Chair!
Atlas, _tais-toi!_--Let us not interfere!
[Illustration]
_A Document_
Atlas--I have come upon the posthumous paper of 'Arry--his certificate
of character, and printed pretension to the Professorship of
Slade--and O! the shame of it--and the indiscretion of it!
Read, Atlas, and seek in your past for a parallel:
[Sidenote: _The World_, March 24, 1886.]
"To the Electors of the Slade Professor of Fine Art for the University
of Cambridge.--My Lord and Gentlemen,--I beg to submit my name as a
candidate for the Slade Professorship, and enclose herewith a few
testimonials ... I have also received favourable letters from the
following gentlemen ... Alma-Tadema, R.A., Marcus Stone, R.A., Briton
Rivière, R.A., John Brett, A.R.A., ... and others."
What! is the Immaculate impure?--and shall the Academy have coquetted
with the unclean?
Had Alma the classic aught in common with this 'Arry of commerce?
Believe him not, Atlas!
O Alma! O Ichabod! forgive us the thought of it!
Surely also the pots of "the Forty" do boil before the Lord, and the
flames of the chosen were unfanned by the feather of 'Arry's
goose-quill.
Again:
"My experience in art matters has been briefly as follows:
"I have worked at the subject continually in Italy, having for that
purpose travelled and stayed in that country--at least a dozen times.
I have also painted in France, Germany, and Belgium, in which
last-mentioned country I was in a portrait painter's studio."--(A
portrait by 'Arry!)
"There are several pictures of mine being exhibited in London at the
present time." (!!!)
"I have also executed a good deal of distemper....
"I have also travelled for a year in the East." ('Arry in the East!!)
"I have had, as a lecturer upon Art, considerable experience--at
working men's clubs-- ... and at the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke's College
for men, women, and children.
"For the last ten years I have written _every article upon art_ which
has appeared in the _Spectator_ newspaper"--a confession, Atlas,
clearly a confession!
"In 1880, I wrote a critical life of Giotto"--he did indeed,
Atlas!--I saw it--a book in blue--his own, and Reckitt's--all bold
with brazen letters:
"GIOTTO BY 'ARRY"
--"of which two editions were published"--bless him--and then I killed
him!
and, "I am, Gentlemen,
"Your most obedient servant,
"'ARRY, M.A.
"Trin. Coll. Camb., _Esquire_."
The pride of it!
[Illustration]
_Sacrilege_
O Atlas! What of the "Society for the Preservation of Beautiful
Buildings"?
[Sidenote: Upon the Alterations of the "White House."]
Where _is_ Ruskin? and what do Morris and Sir William Drake?
[Sidenote: _The World_, Oct. 17, 1883.]
For, behold! beside the Thames, the work of desecration continues, and
the "White House" swarms with the mason of contract.
The architectural _galbe_ that was the joy of the few, and the
bedazement of "the Board," crumbles beneath the pick, as did the north
side of St. Mark's, and history is wiped from the face of Chelsea.
Shall no one interfere? Shall the interloper, even after his death,
prevail?
Shall 'Arry, whom I have hewn down, still live among us by outrage of
this kind, and impose his memory upon our pavement by the public
perpetration of his posthumous philistinism?
Shall the birthplace of art become the tomb of its parasite in
Tite Street?
See to it, Atlas! lest, when Time, the healer of all the wounds I have
inflicted, shall for me have exacted those honours the prophet may not
expect while alive, and the inevitable blue disc, imbedded in the
walls, shall proclaim that "Here once dwelt" the gentle Master of all
that is flippant and fine in Art, some anxious student, reading, fall
out with Providence in his vain effort to reconcile such joyous
reputation with the dank and hopeless appearance of this "model
lodging," bequeathed to the people by the arrogance of 'Arry.
[Illustration]
_The Red Rag_
[Sidenote: "_Mr. Whistler, Cheyne Walk._"]
[Sidenote: _The World_, May 22, 1878.]
Why should not I call my works "symphonies," "arrangements,"
"harmonies," and "nocturnes"? I know that many good people think my
nomenclature funny and myself "eccentric." Yes, "eccentric" is the
adjective they find for me.
The vast majority of English folk cannot and will not consider a
picture as a picture, apart from any story which it may be supposed to
tell.
My picture of a "Harmony in Grey and Gold" is an illustration of my
meaning--a snow scene with a single black figure and a lighted tavern.
I care nothing for the past, present, or future of the black figure,
placed there because the black was wanted at that spot. All that I
know is that my combination of grey and gold is the basis of the
picture. Now this is precisely what my friends cannot grasp.
They say, "Why not call it 'Trotty Veck,' and sell it for a round
harmony of golden guineas?"--naïvely acknowledging that, without
baptism, there is no ... market!
But even commercially this stocking of your shop with the goods of
another would be indecent--custom alone has made it dignified. Not
even the popularity of Dickens should be invoked to lend an
adventitious aid to art of another kind from his. I should hold it a
vulgar and meretricious trick to excite people about Trotty Veck when,
if they really could care for pictorial art at all, they would know
that the picture should have its own merit, and not depend upon
dramatic, or legendary, or local interest.
As music is the poetry of sound, so is painting the poetry of sight,
and the subject-matter has nothing to do with harmony of sound or of
colour.
The great musicians knew this. Beethoven and the rest wrote
music--simply music; symphony in this key, concerto or sonata in that.
On F or G they constructed celestial harmonies--as harmonies--as
combinations, evolved from the chords of F or G and their minor
correlatives.
This is pure music as distinguished from airs--commonplace and vulgar
in themselves, but interesting from their associations, as, for
instance, "Yankee Doodle," or "Partant pour la Syrie."
Art should be independent of all clap-trap--should stand alone, and
appeal to the artistic sense of eye or ear, without confounding this
with emotions entirely foreign to it, as devotion, pity, love,
patriotism, and the like. All these have no kind of concern with
it; and that is why I insist on calling my works "arrangements" and
"harmonies."
Take the picture of my mother, exhibited at the Royal Academy as an
"Arrangement in Grey and Black." Now that is what it is. To me it is
interesting as a picture of my mother; but what can or ought the
public to care about the identity of the portrait?
The imitator is a poor kind of creature. If the man who paints only
the tree, or flower, or other surface he sees before him were an
artist, the king of artists would be the photographer. It is for the
artist to do something beyond this: in portrait painting to put on
canvas something more than the face the model wears for that one day;
to paint the man, in short, as well as his features; in arrangement of
colours to treat a flower as his key, not as his model.
This is now understood indifferently well--at least by dressmakers. In
every costume you see attention is paid to the key-note of colour
which runs through the composition, as the chant of the Anabaptists
through the _Prophète_, or the Huguenots' hymn in the opera of that
name.
[Illustration]
_A Rebuke_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 9, 1885.]
No Birmingham election, no Chamberlain speech, no _Reynolds_ or
_Dispatch_ article, could bring the aristocracy more strongly into
ridicule and contempt than does the coarsely coloured cartoon of
"Newmarket" accompanying the winter number of _Vanity Fair_. From it
one learns that the Dukes, Duchesses, and turf persons generally,
frequenting the Heath, are a set of blob-headed stumpy dwarfs....
ATLAS.
_"Les points sur les i"_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 16, 1885.]
I agree with you, O Atlas of ages, that completeness is a reason for
ceasing to exist; but even indignation might be less vague than is
your righteous anger at _Vanity's_ Christmas cartoon. Surely you might
have helped the people, who scarcely distinguish between the original
and impudent imitation, to know that this faded leaf is not from the
book of Carlo Pellegrini, the master who has taught them all--that
they can never learn?
[Illustration]
_MR. WHISTLER'S_
"_TEN O'CLOCK_"
[Illustration]
_London_, 1888
[Illustration]
_Delivered in London_
Feb. 20, 1885
_At Cambridge_
March 24
_At Oxford_
April 30
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN:
It is with great hesitation and much misgiving that I appear before
you, in the character of The Preacher.
If timidity be at all allied to the virtue modesty, and can find
favour in your eyes, I pray you, for the sake of that virtue, accord
me your utmost indulgence.
I would plead for my want of habit, did it not seem preposterous,
judging from precedent, that aught save the most efficient effrontery
could be ever expected in connection with my subject--for I will not
conceal from you that I mean to talk about Art. Yes, Art--that has of
late become, as far as much discussion and writing can make it, a sort
of common topic for the tea-table.
Art is upon the Town!--to be chucked under the chin by the passing
gallant--to be enticed within the gates of the householder--to be
coaxed into company, as a proof of culture and refinement.
If familiarity can breed contempt, certainly Art--or what is
currently taken for it--has been brought to its lowest stage of
intimacy.
The people have been harassed with Art in every guise, and vexed with
many methods as to its endurance. They have been told how they shall
love Art, and live with it. Their homes have been invaded, their walls
covered with paper, their very dress taken to task--until, roused at
last, bewildered and filled with the doubts and discomforts of
senseless suggestion, they resent such intrusion, and cast forth the
false prophets, who have brought the very name of the beautiful into
disrepute, and derision upon themselves.
Alas! ladies and gentlemen, Art has been maligned. She has naught in
common with such practices. She is a goddess of dainty thought--reticent
of habit, abjuring all obtrusiveness, purposing in no way to better
others.
She is, withal, selfishly occupied with her own perfection
only--having no desire to teach--seeking and finding the beautiful in
all conditions and in all times, as did her high priest Rembrandt,
when he saw picturesque grandeur and noble dignity in the Jews'
quarter of Amsterdam, and lamented not that its inhabitants were not
Greeks.
As did Tintoret and Paul Veronese, among the Venetians, while not
halting to change the brocaded silks for the classic draperies of
Athens.
As did, at the Court of Philip, Velasquez, whose Infantas, clad in
inæsthetic hoops, are, as works of Art, of the same quality as the
Elgin marbles.
No reformers were these great men--no improvers of the way of others!
Their productions alone were their occupation, and, filled with the
poetry of their science, they required not to alter their
surroundings--for, as the laws of their Art were revealed to them they
saw, in the development of their work, that real beauty which, to
them, was as much a matter of certainty and triumph as is to the
astronomer the verification of the result, foreseen with the light
given to him alone. In all this, their world was completely severed
from that of their fellow-creatures with whom sentiment is mistaken
for poetry; and for whom there is no perfect work that shall not be
explained by the benefit conferred upon themselves.
Humanity takes the place of Art, and God's creations are excused by
their usefulness. Beauty is confounded with virtue, and, before a work
of Art, it is asked: "What good shall it do?"
Hence it is that nobility of action, in this life, is hopelessly
linked with the merit of the work that portrays it; and thus the
people have acquired the habit of looking, as who should say, not
_at_ a picture, but _through_ it, at some human fact, that shall, or
shall not, from a social point of view, better their mental or moral
state. So we have come to hear of the painting that elevates, and of
the duty of the painter--of the picture that is full of thought, and
of the panel that merely decorates.
* * * * *
A favourite faith, dear to those who teach, is that certain periods
were especially artistic, and that nations, readily named, were
notably lovers of Art.
So we are told that the Greeks were, as a people, worshippers of the
beautiful, and that in the fifteenth century Art was engrained in the
multitude.
That the great masters lived in common understanding with their
patrons--that the early Italians were artists--all--and that the
demand for the lovely thing produced it.
That we, of to-day, in gross contrast to this Arcadian purity, call
for the ungainly, and obtain the ugly.
That, could we but change our habits and climate--were we willing to
wander in groves--could we be roasted out of broadcloth--were we
to do without haste, and journey without speed, we should again
_require_ the spoon of Queen Anne, and pick at our peas with the fork
of two prongs. And so, for the flock, little hamlets grow near
Hammersmith, and the steam horse is scorned.
Useless! quite hopeless and false is the effort!--built upon fable,
and all because "a wise man has uttered a vain thing and filled his
belly with the East wind."
Listen! There never was an artistic period.
There never was an Art-loving nation.
In the beginning, man went forth each day--some to do battle, some to
the chase; others, again, to dig and to delve in the field--all that
they might gain and live, or lose and die. Until there was found among
them one, differing from the rest, whose pursuits attracted him not,
and so he stayed by the tents with the women, and traced strange
devices with a burnt stick upon a gourd.
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.
And when, from the field and from afar, there came back the
people, they took the gourd--and drank from out of it.
And presently there came to this man another--and, in time, others--of
like nature, chosen by the Gods--and so they worked together; and soon
they fashioned, from the moistened earth, forms resembling the gourd.
And with the power of creation, the heirloom of the artist, presently
they went beyond the slovenly suggestion of Nature, and the first vase
was born, in beautiful proportion.
And the toilers tilled, and were athirst; and the heroes returned from
fresh victories, to rejoice and to feast; and all drank alike from the
artists' goblets, fashioned cunningly, taking no note the while of the
craftsman's pride, and understanding not his glory in his work;
drinking at the cup, not from choice, not from a consciousness that it
was beautiful, but because, forsooth, there was none other!
And time, with more state, brought more capacity for luxury, and it
became well that men should dwell in large houses, and rest upon
couches, and eat at tables; whereupon the artist, with his artificers,
built palaces, and filled them with furniture, beautiful in proportion
and lovely to look upon.
And the people lived in marvels of art--and ate and drank out of
masterpieces--for there was nothing else to eat and to drink out of,
and no bad building to live in; no article of daily life, of luxury,
or of necessity, that had not been handed down from the design of the
master, and made by his workmen.
And the people questioned not, _and had nothing to say in the matter_.
So Greece was in its splendour, and Art reigned supreme--by force of
fact, not by election--and there was no meddling from the outsider.
The mighty warrior would no more have ventured to offer a design for
the temple of Pallas Athene than would the sacred poet have proffered
a plan for constructing the catapult.
And the Amateur was unknown--and the Dilettante undreamed of!
And history wrote on, and conquest accompanied civilisation, and Art
spread, or rather its products were carried by the victors among the
vanquished from one country to another. And the customs of cultivation
covered the face of the earth, so that all peoples continued to use
what _the artist alone produced_.
And centuries passed in this using, and the world was flooded with all
that was beautiful, until there arose a new class, who discovered
the cheap, and foresaw fortune in the facture of the sham.
Then sprang into existence the tawdry, the common, the gewgaw.
The taste of the tradesman supplanted the science of the artist, and
what was born of the million went back to them, and charmed them, for
it was after their own heart; and the great and the small, the
statesman and the slave, took to themselves the abomination that was
tendered, and preferred it--and have lived with it ever since!
And the artist's occupation was gone, and the manufacturer and the
huckster took his place.
And now the heroes filled from the jugs and drank from the bowls--with
understanding--noting the glare of their new bravery, and taking pride
in its worth.
And the people--this time--had much to say in the matter--and all were
satisfied. And Birmingham and Manchester arose in their might--and Art
was relegated to the curiosity shop.
* * * * *
Nature contains the elements, in colour and form, of all pictures, as
the keyboard contains the notes of all music.
But the artist is born to pick, and choose, and group with
science, these elements, that the result may be beautiful--as the
musician gathers his notes, and forms his chords, until he bring forth
from chaos glorious harmony.
To say to the painter, that Nature is to be taken as she is, is to say
to the player, that he may sit on the piano.
That Nature is always right, is an assertion, artistically, as untrue,
as it is one whose truth is universally taken for granted. Nature is
very rarely right, to such an extent even, that it might almost be
said that Nature is usually wrong: that is to say, the condition of
things that shall bring about the perfection of harmony worthy a
picture is rare, and not common at all.
This would seem, to even the most intelligent, a doctrine almost
blasphemous. So incorporated with our education has the supposed
aphorism become, that its belief is held to be part of our moral
being, and the words themselves have, in our ear, the ring of
religion. Still, seldom does Nature succeed in producing a picture.
The sun blares, the wind blows from the east, the sky is bereft of
cloud, and without, all is of iron. The windows of the Crystal Palace
are seen from all points of London. The holiday-maker rejoices
in the glorious day, and the painter turns aside to shut his eyes.
How little this is understood, and how dutifully the casual in Nature
is accepted as sublime, may be gathered from the unlimited admiration
daily produced by a very foolish sunset.
The dignity of the snow-capped mountain is lost in distinctness, but
the joy of the tourist is to recognise the traveller on the top. The
desire to see, for the sake of seeing, is, with the mass, alone the
one to be gratified, hence the delight in detail.
And when the evening mist clothes the riverside with poetry, as with a
veil, and the poor buildings lose themselves in the dim sky, and the
tall chimneys become campanili, and the warehouses are palaces in the
night, and the whole city hangs in the heavens, and fairyland is
before us--then the wayfarer hastens home; the working man and the
cultured one, the wise man and the one of pleasure, cease to
understand, as they have ceased to see, and Nature, who, for once, has
sung in tune, sings her exquisite song to the artist alone, her son
and her master--her son in that he loves her, her master in that he
knows her.
To him her secrets are unfolded, to him her lessons have become
gradually clear. He looks at her flower, not with the enlarging lens,
that he may gather facts for the botanist, but with the light of the
one who sees in her choice selection of brilliant tones and delicate
tints, suggestions of future harmonies.
He does not confine himself to purposeless copying, without thought,
each blade of grass, as commended by the inconsequent, but, in the
long curve of the narrow leaf, corrected by the straight tall stem, he
learns how grace is wedded to dignity, how strength enhances
sweetness, that elegance shall be the result.
In the citron wing of the pale butterfly, with its dainty spots of
orange, he sees before him the stately halls of fair gold, with their
slender saffron pillars, and is taught how the delicate drawing high
upon the walls shall be traced in tender tones of orpiment, and
repeated by the base in notes of graver hue.
In all that is dainty and lovable he finds hints for his own
combinations, and thus is Nature ever his resource and always at his
service, and to him is naught refused.
Through his brain, as through the last alembic, is distilled the
refined essence of that thought which began with the Gods, and which
they left him to carry out.
Set apart by them to complete their works, he produces that
wondrous thing called the masterpiece, which surpasses in perfection
all that they have contrived in what is called Nature; and the Gods
stand by and marvel, and perceive how far away more beautiful is the
Venus of Melos than was their own Eve.
* * * * *
For some time past, the unattached writer has become the middleman in
this matter of Art, and his influence, while it has widened the gulf
between the people and the painter, has brought about the most
complete misunderstanding as to the aim of the picture.
For him a picture is more or less a hieroglyph or symbol of
story. Apart from a few technical terms, for the display of which
he finds an occasion, the work is considered absolutely from a
literary point of view; indeed, from what other can he consider
it? And in his essays he deals with it as with a novel--a
history--or an anecdote. He fails entirely and most naturally to
see its excellences, or demerits--artistic--and so degrades Art,
by supposing it a method of bringing about a literary climax.
It thus, in his hands, becomes merely a means of perpetrating
something further, and its mission is made a secondary one, even as a
means is second to an end.
The thoughts emphasised, noble or other, are inevitably attached to
the incident, and become more or less noble, according to the
eloquence or mental quality of the writer, who looks the while, with
disdain, upon what he holds as "mere execution"--a matter belonging,
he believes, to the training of the schools, and the reward of
assiduity. So that, as he goes on with his translation from canvas to
paper, the work becomes his own. He finds poetry where he would feel
it were he himself transcribing the event, invention in the intricacy
of the _mise en scène_, and noble philosophy in some detail of
philanthropy, courage, modesty, or virtue, suggested to him by the
occurrence.
All this might be brought before him, and his imagination be appealed
to, by a very poor picture--indeed, I might safely say that it
generally is.
Meanwhile, the _painter's_ poetry is quite lost to him--the amazing
invention that shall have put form and colour into such perfect
harmony, that exquisiteness is the result, he is without
understanding--the nobility of thought, that shall have given the
artist's dignity to the whole, says to him absolutely nothing.
So that his praises are published, for virtues we would blush to
possess--while the great qualities, that distinguish the one work from
the thousand, that make of the masterpiece the thing of beauty that it
is--have never been seen at all.
That this is so, we can make sure of, by looking back at old reviews
upon past exhibitions, and reading the flatteries lavished upon men
who have since been forgotten altogether--but, upon whose works, the
language has been exhausted, in rhapsodies--that left nothing for the
National Gallery.
* * * * *
A curious matter, in its effect upon the judgment of these gentlemen,
is the accepted vocabulary of poetic symbolism, that helps them, by
habit, in dealing with Nature: a mountain, to them, is synonymous with
height--a lake, with depth--the ocean, with vastness--the sun, with
glory.
So that a picture with a mountain, a lake, and an ocean--however poor
in paint--is inevitably "lofty," "vast," "infinite," and
"glorious"--on paper.
* * * * *
There are those also, sombre of mien, and wise with the
wisdom of books, who frequent museums and burrow in crypts;
collecting--comparing--compiling--classifying--contradicting.
Experts these--for whom a date is an accomplishment--a hall mark,
success!
Careful in scrutiny are they, and conscientious of
judgment--establishing, with due weight, unimportant
reputations--discovering the picture, by the stain on the
back--testing the torso, by the leg that is missing--filling folios
with doubts on the way of that limb--disputatious and dictatorial,
concerning the birthplace of inferior persons--speculating, in much
writing, upon the great worth of bad work.
True clerks of the collection, they mix memoranda with ambition, and,
reducing Art to statistics, they "file" the fifteenth century, and
"pigeon-hole" the antique!
* * * * *
Then the Preacher "appointed"!
He stands in high places--harangues and holds forth.
Sage of the Universities--learned in many matters, and of much
experience in all, save his subject.
Exhorting--denouncing--directing.
Filled with wrath and earnestness.
Bringing powers of persuasion, and polish of language, to
prove--nothing.
Torn with much teaching--having naught to impart.
Impressive--important--shallow.
Defiant--distressed--desperate.
Crying out, and cutting himself--while the gods hear not.
Gentle priest of the Philistine withal, again he ambles pleasantly
from all point, and through many volumes, escaping scientific
assertion--"babbles of green fields."
* * * * *
So Art has become foolishly confounded with education--that all should
be equally qualified.
Whereas, while polish, refinement, culture, and breeding, are in no
way arguments for artistic result, it is also no reproach to the most
finished scholar or greatest gentleman in the land that he be
absolutely without eye for painting or ear for music--that in his
heart he prefer the popular print to the scratch of Rembrandt's
needle, or the songs of the hall to Beethoven's "C minor Symphony."
Let him have but the wit to say so, and not feel the admission a proof
of inferiority.
Art happens--no hovel is safe from it, no Prince may depend upon it,
the vastest intelligence cannot bring it about, and puny efforts
to make it universal end in quaint comedy, and coarse farce.
This is as it should be--and all attempts to make it otherwise are due
to the eloquence of the ignorant, the zeal of the conceited.
The boundary line is clear. Far from me to propose to bridge it
over--that the pestered people be pushed across. No! I would save them
from further fatigue. I would come to their relief, and would lift
from their shoulders this incubus of Art.
Why, after centuries of freedom from it, and indifference to it,
should it now be thrust upon them by the blind--until wearied and
puzzled, they know no longer how they shall eat or drink--how they
shall sit or stand--or wherewithal they shall clothe themselves--without
afflicting Art.
But, lo! there is much talk without!
Triumphantly they cry, "Beware! This matter does indeed concern us. We
also have our part in all true Art!--for, remember the 'one touch of
Nature' that 'makes the whole world kin.'"
True, indeed. But let not the unwary jauntily suppose that Shakespeare
herewith hands him his passport to Paradise, and thus permits him speech
among the chosen. Rather, learn that, in this very sentence, he
is condemned to remain without--to continue with the common.
This one chord that vibrates with all--this "one touch of Nature" that
calls aloud to the response of each--that explains the popularity of
the "Bull" of Paul Potter--that excuses the price of Murillo's
"Conception"--this one unspoken sympathy that pervades humanity,
is--Vulgarity!
Vulgarity--under whose fascinating influence "the many" have elbowed
"the few," and the gentle circle of Art swarms with the intoxicated
mob of mediocrity, whose leaders prate and counsel, and call aloud,
where the Gods once spoke in whisper!
And now from their midst the Dilettante stalks abroad. The amateur is
loosed. The voice of the æsthete is heard in the land, and catastrophe
is upon us.
The meddler beckons the vengeance of the Gods, and ridicule threatens
the fair daughters of the land.
And there are curious converts to a weird _culte_, in which all
instinct for attractiveness--all freshness and sparkle--all woman's
winsomeness--is to give way to a strange vocation for the
unlovely--and this desecration in the name of the Graces!
Shall this gaunt, ill-at-ease, distressed, abashed mixture of
_mauvaise honte_ and desperate assertion call itself artistic, and
claim cousinship with the artist--who delights in the dainty, the
sharp, bright gaiety of beauty?
No!--a thousand times no! Here are no connections of ours.
We will have nothing to do with them.
Forced to seriousness, that emptiness may be hidden, they dare not
smile--
While the artist, in fulness of heart and head, is glad, and laughs
aloud, and is happy in his strength, and is merry at the pompous
pretension--the solemn silliness that surrounds him.
For Art and Joy go together, with bold openness, and high head, and
ready hand--fearing naught, and dreading no exposure.
Know, then, all beautiful women, that we are with you. Pay no heed, we
pray you, to this outcry of the unbecoming--this last plea for the
plain.
It concerns you not.
Your own instinct is near the truth--your own wit far surer guide than
the untaught ventures of thick heeled Apollos.
What! will you up and follow the first piper that leads you down
Petticoat Lane, there, on a Sabbath, to gather, for the week, from the
dull rags of ages wherewith to bedeck yourselves? that, beneath
your travestied awkwardness, we have trouble to find your own dainty
selves? Oh, fie! Is the world, then, exhausted? and must we go back
because the thumb of the mountebank jerks the other way?
Costume is not dress.
And the wearers of wardrobes may not be doctors of taste!
For by what authority shall these be pretty masters? Look well, and
nothing have they invented--nothing put together for comeliness' sake.
Haphazard from their shoulders hang the garments of the
hawker--combining in their person the motley of many manners with the
medley of the mummers' closet.
Set up as a warning, and a finger-post of danger, they point to the
disastrous effect of Art upon the middle classes.
* * * * *
Why this lifting of the brow in deprecation of the present--this
pathos in reference to the past?
If Art be rare to-day, it was seldom heretofore.
It is false, this teaching of decay.
The master stands in no relation to the moment at which he
occurs--a monument of isolation--hinting at sadness--having no part in
the progress of his fellow men.
He is also no more the product of civilisation than is the scientific
truth asserted dependent upon the wisdom of a period. The assertion
itself requires the _man_ to make it. The truth was from the
beginning.
So Art is limited to the infinite, and beginning there cannot
progress.
A silent indication of its wayward independence from all extraneous
advance, is in the absolutely unchanged condition and form of
implement since the beginning of things.
The painter has but the same pencil--the sculptor the chisel of
centuries.
Colours are not more since the heavy hangings of night were first
drawn aside, and the loveliness of light revealed.
Neither chemist nor engineer can offer new elements of the
masterpiece.
* * * * *
False again, the fabled link between the grandeur of Art and the
glories and virtues of the State, for Art feeds not upon nations, and
peoples may be wiped from the face of the earth, but Art _is_.
It is indeed high time that we cast aside the weary weight of
responsibility and co-partnership, and know that, in no way, do our
virtues minister to its worth, in no way do our vices impede its
triumph!
How irksome! how hopeless! how superhuman the self-imposed task of the
nation! How sublimely vain the belief that it shall live nobly or art
perish.
Let us reassure ourselves, at our own option is our virtue. Art we in
no way affect.
A whimsical goddess, and a capricious, her strong sense of joy
tolerates no dulness, and, live we never so spotlessly, still may she
turn her back upon us.
As, from time immemorial, she has done upon the Swiss in their
mountains.
What more worthy people! Whose every Alpine gap yawns with tradition,
and is stocked with noble story; yet, the perverse and scornful one
will none of it, and the sons of patriots are left with the clock that
turns the mill, and the sudden cuckoo, with difficulty restrained in
its box!
For this was Tell a hero! For this did Gessler die!
Art, the cruel jade, cares not, and hardens her heart, and hies her
off to the East, to find, among the opium-eaters of Nankin, a favourite
with whom she lingers fondly--caressing his blue porcelain, and
painting his coy maidens, and marking his plates with her six
marks of choice--indifferent in her companionship with him, to all
save the virtue of his refinement!
He it is who calls her--he who holds her!
And again to the West, that her next lover may bring together the
Gallery at Madrid, and show to the world how the Master towers above
all; and in their intimacy they revel, he and she, in this knowledge;
and he knows the happiness untasted by other mortal.
She is proud of her comrade, and promises that in after-years, others
shall pass that way, and understand.
So in all time does this superb one cast about for the man worthy her
love--and Art seeks the Artist alone.
Where he is, there she appears, and remains with him--loving and
fruitful--turning never aside in moments of hope deferred--of
insult--and of ribald misunderstanding; and when he dies she sadly
takes her flight, though loitering yet in the land, from fond
association, but refusing to be consoled.[33]
[Note 33: And so have we the ephemeral influence of
the Master's memory--the afterglow, in which are warmed,
for a while, the worker and disciple.]
With the man, then, and not with the multitude, are her intimacies;
and in the book of her life the names inscribed are few--scant,
indeed, the list of those who have helped to write her story of love
and beauty.
From the sunny morning, when, with her glorious Greek relenting,
she yielded up the secret of repeated line, as, with his hand in hers,
together they marked in marble, the measured rhyme of lovely limb and
draperies flowing in unison, to the day when she dipped the Spaniard's
brush in light and air, and made his people live within their frames,
and _stand upon their legs_, that all nobility and sweetness, and
tenderness, and magnificence should be theirs by right, ages had gone
by, and few had been her choice.
Countless, indeed, the horde of pretenders! But she knew them not.
A teeming, seething, busy mass, whose virtue was industry, and whose
industry was vice!
Their names go to fill the catalogue of the collection at home, of the
gallery abroad, for the delectation of the bagman and the critic.
* * * * *
Therefore have we cause to be merry!--and to cast away all
care--resolved that all is well--as it ever was--and that it is not
meet that we should be cried at, and urged to take measures!
Enough have we endured of dulness! Surely are we weary of weeping, and
our tears have been cozened from us falsely, for they have called out
woe! when there was no grief--and, alas! where all is fair!
We have then but to wait--until, with the mark of the Gods upon
him--there come among us again the chosen--who shall continue what has
gone before. Satisfied that, even were he never to appear, the story
of the beautiful is already complete--hewn in the marbles of the
Parthenon--and broidered, with the birds, upon the fan of Hokusai--at
the foot of Fusi-yama.
[Illustration]
"_Rengaines!_"
[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, Feb. 21, 1885.]
Last night, at Prince's Hall, Mr. Whistler made his first public
appearance as a lecturer on Art.... There were some arrows ... shot
off ... and (O, _mea culpa!_) at dress reformers most of all.... That
an artist will find beauty in ugliness, _le beau dans l'horrible_, is
now a commonplace of the schools.... I differ entirely from Mr.
Whistler. An Artist is not an isolated fact; he is the resultant of a
certain _milieu_ and a certain _entourage_, and can no more be born of
a nation that is devoid of any sense of beauty than a fig can grow
from a thorn or a rose blossom from a thistle.... The poet is the
supreme Artist, for he is the master of colour and of form, and the
real musician besides, and is lord over all life and all arts; and so
to the poet beyond all others are these mysteries known; to Edgar
Allan Poe and Baudelaire, not to Benjamin West and Paul Delaroche....
OSCAR WILDE.
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
It is not enough that our simple Sunflower thrive on his
"thistle"--he has now grafted Edgar Poe on the "rose"
tree of the early American Market in "a certain milieu"
of dry goods and sympathy; and "a certain entourage" of
worship and wooden nutmegs.
Born of a Nation, not absolutely "devoid of any sense of
beauty"--Their idol--cherished--listened to--and
understood!
Foolish Baudelaire!--Mistaken Mallarmé!
[Illustration]]
_Tenderness in Tite Street_
_TO THE POET:_
[Sidenote: _The World._]
Oscar--I have read your exquisite article in the _Pall Mall_. Nothing
is more delicate, in the flattery of "the Poet" to "the Painter," than
the _naïveté_ of "the Poet," in the choice of his Painters--Benjamin
West and Paul Delaroche!
You have pointed out that "the Painter's" mission is to find "_le beau
dans l'horrible_," and have left to "the Poet" the discovery of
_"l'horrible" dans "le beau"_!
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_TO THE PAINTER:_
[Sidenote: _The World._]
Dear Butterfly--By the aid of a biographical dictionary, I made the
discovery that there were once two painters, called Benjamin West and
Paul Delaroche, who rashly lectured upon Art. As of their works
nothing at all remains, I conclude that they explained themselves
away.
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
I do know a bird, who, like Oscar, with his head in the
sand, still believes in the undiscovered!
If to be misunderstood is to be great, it was rash in
Oscar to reveal the source of his inspirations: the
"_Biographical Dictionary_!"
[Illustration]]
Be warned in time, James; and remain, as I do, incomprehensible. To be
great is to be misunderstood.--_Tout à vous_,
OSCAR WILDE.
_To the Committee of the "National Art Exhibition"_
[Sidenote: Letter read at a meeting of this Society,
associated for purposes of Art reform.]
[Sidenote: _The World_, Nov. 17, 1888.]
Gentlemen--I am naturally interested in any effort made among Painters
to prove that they are alive--but when I find, thrust in the van of
your leaders, the body of my dead 'Arry, I know that putrefaction
alone can result. When, following 'Arry, there comes on Oscar, you
finish in farce, and bring upon yourselves the scorn and ridicule of
your _confrères_ in Europe.
What has Oscar in common with Art? except that he dines at our tables
and picks from our platters the plums for the pudding he peddles in
the provinces. Oscar--the amiable, irresponsible, esurient Oscar--with
no more sense of a picture than of the fit of a coat, has the courage
of the opinions ... of others!
[Sidenote: Enclosed to the Poet, with a line: "Oscar,
you must really keep outside 'the radius'!"
[Illustration]]
With 'Arry and Oscar you have avenged the Academy.
I am, Gentlemen, yours obediently,
[Illustration]
_Quand même!_
[Sidenote: _The World_, Nov. 24, 1886.]
Atlas, this is very sad! With our James vulgarity begins at home, and
should be allowed to stay there.--_À vous_,
OSCAR WILDE
TO WHOM:
"A poor thing," Oscar!--"but," for once, I suppose "your own."
[Illustration]
_Philanthropy and Art_
The _Saturday Review_ has not thought it disgraceful to once more
justify its title to be called the "Saturday Reviler." This time it is
not to break upon the wheel some poor butterfly of a lady traveller or
novelist, but to scoff at an aged painter of the highest repute--Mr.
Herbert--upon his retirement to the rank of "Honorary Academician,"
after a career such as few, if any, painters living can boast. This it
pleases the "Reviler" to congratulate artists upon as "good news,"
without a word or a thought of what the retiring Academician has done
in art, except to utter the contemptible untruth that "his resignation
means that he has found out that he is beaten," _not_ by the natural
failing of old age, but because he failed to impress such a writer as
this with the special exhibition of the works of his long life, that
was made some few years back to mark the completion of his last great
picture for the House of Lords, "The Judgment of Daniel." That
exhibition, which most people, who know anything about painting in its
highest style of religious and monumental art, thought a most
interesting display of a painter's career, is described by this most
genial of critics as "acres of pallid purple canvases, with wizened
saints and virgins in attitudinizing groups."
Whether that collection of Mr. Herbert's works had merit or not is
matter of opinion which I am not concerned to dispute; but, as a
matter of fact, there were only _three_ small pictures in which the
virgin or any saints appeared; the other pictures, besides the two
large works of "The Delivery of the Law" and "The Judgment of Daniel,"
painted for the nation, being historical subjects, such as the "Lear
Disinheriting Cordelia," a fresco of which is in the House of Lords;
"The Acquittal of the Seven Bishops," which the Corporation of Salford
purchased for their gallery of art; and several fine works of his
youth, such as the "Brides of Venice," a "Procession in Venice, 1528,"
and others, which won for him his election to the Academy forty-five
years ago, when he had to compete with such men as are, unfortunately,
not to be found now among the candidates--Etty--Maclise--Dyce--Egg--and
Elmore.
But the "_Saturday's_" art critic, if he ever saw this exhibition
at all, didn't go to see these pictures. As Goethe says, "the eye sees
what it came to see," and he went to see the "acres of purple
canvases, with their wizened saints," which were not there. No
matter--it suits his purpose to declare that they were, just as it
does to cram into a paragraph more ignorance, insolence, and false
assertions combined than is often to be met with even in this locality
of literature, where the editor seems to be surrounded with all the
prigs, and the pumps, and the snobs of the literary profession.
_Truth_, Aug. 19, 1886.
"_Nous avons changé tout cela!_"
[Sidenote: _Truth_, Sept. 2, 1886.]
Hoity-toity! my dear Henry!--What is all this? How can you startle the
"Constant Reader," of this cold world, by these sudden dashes into the
unexpected?
Perceive also what happens.
Sweet in the security of my own sense of things, and looking upon you
surely as the typical "_Sapem_" of modern progress and civilization,
here do I, in full Paris, _à l'heure de l'absinthe_, upon mischievous
discussion intent, call aloud for "_Truth_."
"_Vous allez voir_," I say to the brilliant brethren gathered about my
table, "you shall hear the latest beautiful thing and bold, said by
our great Henry--'_capable de tout_,' beside whom '_ce coquin d'Habacuc_'
was mild indeed and usual!" And straightway to my stultification, I
find myself translating paragraphs of pathos and indignation, in which
a colourless old gentleman of the Academy is sympathized with, and
made a doddering hero of, for no better reason than that he _is_
old--and those who would point out the wisdom and comfort of his
withdrawal into the wigwam of private life, sternly reproved and
anathematized and threatened with shame--until they might well expect
to find themselves come upon by the bears of the aged and irascible,
though bald-headed, Prophet, whom the children had thoughtfully urged
to "go up."
Fancy the Frenchmen's astonishment as I read, and their placid
amusement as I attempted to point out that it was "meant drolly--that
_enfin_ you were a _mystificateur_!"
Henry, why should I thus be mortified? Also, why this new _pose_, this
cheap championship of senility?
How, in the name of all that is incompetent, do you find much virtue
in work spreading over more time! What means this affectation of
_naïveté_?
We all know that work excuses itself only by reason of its quality.
If the work be foolish, it surely is not less foolish because an
honest and misspent lifetime has been passed in producing it.
What matters it that the offending worker has grown old among us, and
has endeared himself to many by his caprices as ratepayer and
neighbour?
Personally, he may have claims upon his surroundings; but, as the
painter of poor pictures, he is damned for ever.
You see, my Henry, that it is not sufficient to be, as you are in wit
and wisdom, among us, amazing and astute; a very Daniel in your
judgment of many vexed questions; of a frankness and loyalty withal in
your crusade against abuses, that makes of the keen litigator a most
dangerous Quixote.
This peculiar temperament gives you that superb sense of right,
_outside the realms of art_, that amounts to genius, and carries with
it continued success and triumph in the warfare you wage.
But here it helps you not. And so you find yourself, for instance,
pleasantly prattling in print of "English Art."
Learn, then, O! Henry, that there is no such thing as English Art. You
might as well talk of English Mathematics. Art is Art, and Mathematics
is Mathematics.
What you call English Art, is not Art at all, but produce, of which
there is, and always has been, and always will be, a plenty, whether
the men producing it are dead and called ----, or (I refer you to your
own selection, far be it from me to choose)--or alive and called
----, whosoever you like as you turn over the Academy catalogue.
The great truth, you have to understand, is that it matters not at all
whom you prefer in this long list. They all belong to the excellent
army of mediocrity; the differences between them being infinitely
small--merely microscopic--as compared to the vast distance between
any one of them and the Great.
They are the commercial travellers of Art, whose works are their
wares, and whose exchange is the Academy.
They pass and are forgotten, or remain for a while in the memory of
the worthies who knew them, and who cling to their faith in them, as
it flatters their own place in history--famous themselves--the friends
of the famous!
Speak of them, if it please you, with uncovered head--even as in
France you would remove your hat as there passes by the hearse--but
remember it is from the conventional habit of awe alone, this show of
respect, and called forth generally by the casual corpse of the
commonest kind.
PARIS, Aug. 21, 1886.
[Illustration]
_The Inevitable_
[Sidenote: _Truth_, Sept. 9, 1886.]
When I suggested you as the "Sapeur of modern progress," my dear
Henry, I thought to convey delicately my appreciation, wrapped in
graceful compliment.
When I am made to say that you are the "Sapem" of
civilisation--whatever that may mean--I would seem to insinuate an
impertinence clothed in classic error.
I trust that, if you forgive me, you will never pardon the
printer.--Always,
[Illustration]
"_Noblesse oblige_"
[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 31, 1884.]
Atlas, look at this! It has been culled from the _Plumber and
Decorator_, of all insidious prints, and forwarded to me by the
untiring people who daily supply me with the thinkings of my critics.
Read, Atlas, and let me execute myself:
"The 'Peacock' drawing-room of a well-to-do shipowner, of Liverpool,
at Queen's Gate, London, is hand-painted, representing the noble bird
with wings expanded, painted by an Associate of the Royal Academy, at
a cost of £7000, and fortunate in claiming his daughter as his bride,
and is one of the finest specimens of high art in decoration in the
kingdom. The mansion is of modern construction."
He is not guilty, this honest Associate! It was _I_, Atlas, who did
this thing--"alone I did it"--_I_ "hand-painted" this room in the
"mansion of modern construction."
Woe is me! _I_ secreted, in the provincial shipowner's home, the
"noble bird with wings expanded"--_I_ perpetrated, in harmless
obscurity, "the finest specimen of high-art decoration"--and the
Academy is without stain in the art of its member. Also the immaculate
character of that Royal body has been falsely impugned by this wicked
"_Plumber_"!
Mark these things, Atlas, that justice may be done, the innocent
spared, and history cleanly written.
_Bon soir!_
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_Early Laurels_
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _The Observer_, April 11, 1886.]
Sir--In your report of the Graham sale of pictures at Messrs. Christie
and Manson's rooms, I read the following:
"The next work, put upon the easel, was a 'Nocturne in blue and
silver,' by J. M. Whistler. It was received with hisses."
May I beg, through your widely spread paper, to acknowledge the
distinguished, though I fear unconscious, compliment so publicly paid.
It is rare that recognition, so complete, is made during the lifetime
of the painter, and I would wish to have recorded my full sense of
this flattering exception in my favour.
Chelsea.
[Illustration]
_A Further Proposition_
[Sidenote: _Art Journal_, 1887.]
The notion that I paint flesh lower in tone than it is in nature, is
entirely based upon the popular superstition as to what flesh really
is--when seen on canvas; for the people never look at nature with any
sense of its pictorial appearance--for which reason, by the way, they
also never look at a picture with any sense of nature, but,
unconsciously from habit, with reference to what they have seen in
other pictures.
Now, in the usual "pictures of the year" there is but one flesh, that
shall do service under all circumstances, whether the person painted
be in the soft light of the room or out in the glare of the open. The
one aim of the unsuspecting painter is to make his man "stand out"
from the frame--never doubting that, on the contrary, he should
really, and in truth absolutely does, stand _within_ the frame--and at
a depth behind it equal to the distance at which the painter sees
his model. The frame is, indeed, the window through which the painter
looks at his model, and nothing could be more offensively inartistic
than this brutal attempt to thrust the model on the hither-side of
this window!
Yet this is the false condition of things to which all have become
accustomed, and in the stupendous effort to bring it about,
exaggeration has been exhausted--and the traditional means of the
incompetent can no further go.
Lights have been heightened until the white of the tube alone
remains--shadows have been deepened until black alone is left.
Scarcely a feature stays in its place, so fierce is its intention of
"firmly" coming forth; and in the midst of this unseemly struggle for
prominence, the gentle truth has but a sorry chance, falling flat and
flavourless, and without force.
The Master from Madrid, himself, beside this monster success of
mediocrity, would be looked upon as mild: _beau bien sure, mais pas
"dans le mouvement"_!
Whereas, could the people be induced to turn their eyes but for a
moment, with the fresh power of comparison, upon their fellow-creatures
as they pass in the gallery, they might be made dimly to perceive
(though I doubt it, so blind is their belief in the bad), how
little they resemble the impudent images on the walls! how "quiet" in
colour they are! how "grey!" how "low in tone." And then it might be
explained to their riveted intelligence how they had mistaken
meretriciousness for mastery, and by what mean methods the imposture
had been practised upon them.
[Illustration]
_An Opportunity_
Cher Monsieur--M. ---- m'a remis votre petite planche--port d'Amsterdam
avec une épreuve. Elle est charmante et je serais fort heureux de la
faire paraître dans l'article consacré à vos eaux fortes. Seulement,
je crois que vous avez mal interprété ma demande et que par le fait
nous ne nous entendons pas bien. Vous me demandez 63 guinées pour
cette planche, soit plus de 2000 francs, outre que le prix dépasse
celui de la planche la plus chère parue dans la _Gazette_ depuis sa
fondation, y compris les chefs-d'oeuvre de Jacquemart et de
Gaillard, il n'est pas dans les habitudes de la maison, de payer les
planches d'artistes qui accompagnent un compte-rendu de leur oeuvre.
C'est ainsi que nous avons agi avec Méryon, Seymour Haden, Edwards,
Evershed, Legros, &c.
Du reste, la planche pourrait rester votre propriété. Nous vous la
remettrions après avoir fait notre tirage. Il est entendu qu'elle
serait acierée.
Si ces conditions vous agréent, cher monsieur, je me ferai un
vrai plaisir de faire dans la _Gazette_ un article sur votre beau
talent d'aquafortiste. Dans le cas contraire, je me verrais avec mille
regrets, dans la necessité de vous renvoyer la planche que je me fusse
fait cependant un véritable honneur de publier.
Veuillez agréer, cher monsieur, l'expression de mes meilleurs
sentiments.
LE DIRECTEUR de la
_Gazette des Beaux-Arts_.
PARIS, le 12 Juin 1878.
_The Opportunity Neglected_
Cher Monsieur--Je regrette infiniment que mes moyens ne me permettent
pas de naître dans votre Journal.
L'article que vous me proposez, comme berceau, me coûterait trop cher.
Il me faudrait donc reprendre ma planche et rester inconnu jusqu'à la
fin des choses, puisque je n'aurais pas été inventé par la _Gazette
des Beaux Arts_.--Recevez, Monsieur,
[Illustration]
_Nostalgia_
[Sidenote: Extract from a letter _à propos_ of Mr.
Whistler's contemplated visit to his native land.]
... "Quite true--now that it is established as an improbability, it
becomes true!
[Sidenote: _The World_, Oct. 13, 1886.]
They tell me that December has been fixed upon, by the Fates, for my
arrival in New York--and, if I escape the Atlantic, I am to be wrecked
by the reporter on the pier.
I shall be in his hands, even as is the sheep in the hands of his
shearer--for I have learned nothing from those who have gone
before--and been lost too!
What will you! I know Matthew Arnold, and am told that he whispered
Truth exquisite, unheeded in the haste of America.
And these others who have crossed the seas, that they might fasten
upon the hurried ones at home and gird at them with wisdom,
hysterically acquired, and administered, unblushingly, with a
suddenness of purpose that prevented their ever being listened to
here,--must I follow in their wake, to be met with suspicion
by my compatriots, and resented as the invading instructor?
Heavens!--who knows!--also in the papers, where naturally I read only
of myself, I gather a general impression of offensive aggressiveness,
that, coupled with Chase's monstrous lampoon, has prepared me for the
tomahawk on landing.
How dared he, Chase, to do this wicked thing?--and I who was charming,
and made him beautiful on canvas--the Masher of the Avenues.
However, I may not put off until the age of the amateur has gone by,
but am to take with me some of those works which have won for me the
execration of Europe, that they may be shown to a country in which I
cannot be a prophet, and where I, who have no intention of being other
than joyous--improving no one--not even myself--will say again my "Ten
o'Clock," which I refused to repeat in London--_J'ai dit!_
This is no time for hesitation--one cannot continually disappoint a
Continent!
[Illustration]
_An Insinuation_
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _The Daily News_, Nov. 22, 1886.]
My attention has been directed to a paragraph that has gone the round
of the papers, to the effect that Mr. John Burr and Mr. Reid have
"withdrawn from the Society of British Artists." This tardy statement
acquires undue significance at this moment, with a tendency to
mislead, implying, as it might, that these resignations were in
consequence of, and intended as a marked disapproval of, the
determined stand made by the Society in excluding from their coming
exhibition the masses of commonplace work hitherto offered to the
public in their galleries. No such importance attaches, however, to
their resignations, as these two gentlemen left Suffolk Street six
months ago.
[Illustration]
_An Imputation_
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _The Daily News_, Nov. 24, 1886.]
Sir--Mr. Whistler denies that the recent policy of the Society of
British Artists was the cause of the secession of Messrs. Burr and
Reid from the ranks of that Society, and mentions in proof of his
correction that their resignation took place six months ago. He might
have gone further, and added that their secession corresponded in time
with his own election as president. It is well known to artists that
one, if not both, of these gentlemen left the Society knowing that
changes of policy, of which they could not approve, were inevitable
under the presidency of Mr. Whistler. It will be for the patrons of
the Suffolk Street Gallery to decide whether the more than
half-uncovered walls which will be offered to their view next week are
more interesting than the work of many artists of more than average
merit which will be conspicuous by its absence, owing to the selfish
policy inaugurated.
A BRITISH ARTIST.
"_Autre Temps autre Moeurs_"
_TO THE EDITOR:_
[Sidenote: _The Daily News_, Nov. 26, 1886.]
Sir--The anonymous "British Artist" says that "Mr. Whistler denies
that the recent policy of the Society of British Artists was the cause
of the secession of Messrs. Reid and Burr from the ranks of that
Society."
Far from me to propose to penetrate the motives of such withdrawal,
but what I did deny was that it could possibly be caused--as its
strangely late announcement seemed sweetly to insinuate--by the strong
determination to tolerate no longer the mediocre work that had
hitherto habitually swarmed the walls of Suffolk Street.
This is a plain question of date, and I pointed out that these two
gentlemen left the Society six months ago--long before the
supervising committee were called upon to act at all, or make any
demonstration whatever. Your correspondent regrets that I do not "go
further," and straightway goes further himself, and scarcely fares
better, when, with a quaintness of _naïveté_ rare at this moment, he
proposes that "it will be for the patrons of the gallery to decide
whether the more than half-uncovered walls are more interesting than
the works of many artists of more than the average merit."
Now it will be for the patrons to decide absolutely nothing. It is,
and will always be, for the gentlemen of the hanging committee alone,
duly chosen, to decide whether empty space be preferable to poor
pictures--whether, in short, it be their duty to cover walls, merely
that walls may be covered--no matter with what quality of work.
Indeed, the period of the patron has utterly passed away, and the
painter takes his place--to point out what he knows to be consistent
with the demands of his art--without deference to patrons or prejudice
to party. Beyond this, whether the "policy of Mr. Whistler and his
following" be "selfish or no," matters but little; but if the
policy of your correspondent's "following" find itself among the
ruthlessly rejected, his letter is more readily explained.
[Illustration]
_Talent in a Napkin_
[Sidenote: Lecture before the Church Congress, Oct. 7,
1885.]
If those who talk and write so glibly as to the desirability of
artists devoting themselves to the representation of the naked human
form, only knew a tithe of the degradation enacted before the model is
sufficiently hardened to her shameful calling, they would for ever
hold their tongues and pens in supporting the practice. Is not
clothedness a distinct type and feature of our Christian faith? All
art representations of nakedness are out of harmony with it.
J. C. HORSLEY, R.A.
_The Critic "Catching on"_
[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gaz._ Dec. 8, 1885.]
Mr. Whistler is again, in a sense, the mainstay of the Society
(British Artists), partly through his own individuality and partly
through the innovations he has introduced.... He has several oil and
pastel pictures, very slight in themselves, of the female nude,
dignified and graceful in line and charmingly chaste, entitled
"Harmony," "Caprice," and "Note." Beneath the latter Mr. Whistler has
written, "Horsley _soit qui mal y pense_."
[Sidenote: _REFLECTION:_
Meant "friendly."]
"This is not," said the artist, "what people are sure to call it,
'Whistler's little joke.' On the contrary, it is an indignant protest
against the idea that there is any immorality in the nude."
_Ingratitude_
[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, Dec. 10, 1885.]
No, kind sir--_trop de zèle_ on the part of your representative--for I
surely never explain, and Art certainly requires no "indignant
protest" against the unseemliness of senility. "Horsley _soit qui mal
y pense_" is meanwhile a sweet sentiment--why more--and why
"morality"?
[Illustration]
_The Complacent One_
[Sidenote: _Magazine of Art_, Dec. 1887.]
Mr. Whistler has issued a brown-paper portfolio of half a dozen
"Notes," reproduced in marvellous facsimile. These "Notes" are
delightful sketches in Indian ink and crayon, masterly so far as they
go--but, then, they go such a little way ... the "Notes" can only be
regarded as painter's raw material, interesting as correct sketches,
but unworthy the glories of facsimile reproduction, and imposing
margin.... The chief honours of the portfolio belong to the
publishers....
_The Critic-flâneur_
[Sidenote: _Sunday Times_, Jan. 15, 1888.]
Sir,--You, who are, I perceive, in your present brilliant incarnation,
an undaunted and undulled pursuer of pleasing truths, listen, I pray
you, while again I indicate, with sweet argument, the alternative of
the bewildered one.
Notably, it is not necessary that the "Art Critic" should distinguish
between the real and the "reproduction," or otherwise understand
anything of the matter of which he writes--for much shall be forgiven
him--yet surely, as I have before now pointed out, he might inquire.
Had the expounder of exhibitions, travelling for the _Magazine of
Art_, asked the Secretary in the galleries of the Royal Society of
British Artists, he would have been told that the "Notes" on the
staircase, and in the vestibule, are not "delightful sketches in
Indian ink and crayon ... _reproduced in marvellous facsimile_ by
Boussod, Valadon & Co.... unworthy the glories of facsimile
reproduction, and imposing margin" ... while "the chief honours of the
portfolio, however, belong to the publishers"--but are, disconcerting
as I acknowledge it to be, _themselves the lithographs from nature_,
drawn on the stone upon the spot.
Thus easily provided with paragraph, he would also have been spared
the mortification of rebuke from his well-meaning and embarrassed
employers.
Let the gentleman be warned--let him learn that the foolish critic
only,--_looks_--and brings disaster, upon his paper--the safe and
well-conducted one "informs himself."
Yours, Sir, gently,
[Illustration]
_A Played-out Policy_
_TO THE EDITOR
OF THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE":_
[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, Dec. 9, 1886.]
Sir--In your courageous crusade against the Demon Dulness and his
preposterous surroundings, I think it well that there should be
delivered into your hands certain documents for immediate publication,
that your readers may be roused quickly, and hear again how well
fenced in are the foolish in strong places--and how greatly to be
desired is their exposure, discomfiture, and death--that Truth may
prevail.
It happened in this way. The criticism in the _Times_ called for
instant expostulation, and my answer was consequently sent in to the
Editor, who forthwith returned it, regretting "that its tone prevented
its appearance in the paper." ... I thereupon withdrew to write the
following note to the Editor in person:--
"Dear Sir--Permit me to call your courteous attention to the fact that
the enclosed letter to the Editor of the _Times_ is in reply to
an article that appeared in your paper--and that, as I sign my name
in full, I alone am responsible for its tone or form; indeed, that
such is its tone and form, is because it is my letter.
"In common fairness the answer to, or comment upon, any statements
made in your paper should be published in your paper, as proper
etiquette prevents its insertion in any other journal.
"Also, you surely would not propose to dictate certain forms or styles
in which alone the columns of the _Times_ are to be approached--as who
should say all other savour of sacrilege!--or acquiescence alone would
do, and you would have to write all your letters yourselves.
"My letter concerns the effect produced by criticism of a commonplace
and inferior kind, wholly unworthy the first paper in England--and I
am startled to learn, and still unwilling to believe, that the _Times_
would shun all ventilation and refuse to publish any letter as its
sole means of screening its staff or protecting its writers.
"I submit that the tone of my letter sins against no laws that are
accepted in antagonism--that it offends in no way the etiquette of
attack known to gentlemen.
"I beg, therefore, again, that if there be still time for its
insertion, you will have it printed in your issue of to-morrow, or
will say that it shall appear in the _Times_ of Thursday morning.
"I am, dear Sir,
"Very faithfully,
"J. MCNEILL WHISTLER."
I was now told, "with the Editor's compliments," "that my letter
should be considered." Taking this in complete good faith, I left the
office, to discover the next day in print a remnant of the letter in
question; that, by itself, entirely did away with sufficient reason
for its being there at all. The two ensuing notes explain themselves:
To J. MCN. WHISTLER, Esq.:
"The Editor of the _Times_ has inserted in to-day's paper the
only portion of Mr. Whistler's letter of November 30 which
appears to have any claim to publication.
"PRINTING HOUSE SQUARE, Dec. 1, 1886."
"To the Editor of the _Times_:
"Dear Sir--I beg to acknowledge the consummate sense of
opportunity displayed by the Editor of the _Times_, in his
cunning production of a part of my letter.
"Amazing! _Mes compliments!_"
[Illustration]
Without further comment I hand you a copy of the rejected letter.
"To the Editor of the _Times_.--Sir--In his article upon the
Society of British Artists, your Art gentleman ventures the
opinion of the 'plain man.'
"That such opinion is out of place and stultifying in a question
of Art never occurs to him, and it is therefore frankly cited as,
in a way, conclusive.
"The _naïf_ train of thought that justified the importance
attached to this poor 'plain' opinion at all would seem to be the
same that pervades the writing throughout; until it becomes
difficult to discover where the easy effrontery and
self-sufficiency of the 'plain one,' nothing doubting, cease, and
the wit and wisdom of the experienced expert begin--so that one
unconsciously confounds the incautious critic with the plausible
plain person, who finally becomes the same authority.
"Blind plainness certainly is the characteristic of the solemn
censure upon the fine work of Mr. Stott, of Oldham--plain
blindness the omission of all mention of Mr. Ludovici's dainty
dancing-girl.
"Bewilderment among paintings is naturally the fate of the 'plain
man,' but, when put forth in the _Times_, his utterances, however
empty, acquire a semblance of sense; so that while he gravely
descants with bald assurance upon the engineering of the
light in the galleries, and the decoration of the walls, the
reader stands a chance of being misled, and may not discover at
once that the 'plain' writer is qualified by ignorance alone to
continue.
"Permit me, therefore, to rectify inconsequent impressions, and
tell your readers that there is nothing 'tentative' in the
'arrangement' of colour, walls, or drapery--that the battens
should _not_ 'be removed'--that they are meant to remain, not
only for their use, but as bringing parallel lines into play that
subdivide charmingly the lower portion of the walls and add to
their light appearance--that the whole 'combination' is
complete--and that the 'plain man' is, as usual, 'out of it.'--I
am, Sir, etc.,
"J. MCNEILL WHISTLER."
The question of fair dealing and good manners in this matter I could
not leave in better hands than your own, and I will only add that
hitherto I have always met with the utmost readiness on the part of
the press to receive into their columns any reply, however opposed to
assertions of their own.
Surely it is but poor policy this peremptory attempt to maintain in
authority the weak and blundering one, that he may destroy himself
and bring sorrow upon his people.
Rather let him be thrust from his post, that he may be "brayed in a
mortar among wheat with a pestle"--that the Just be assuaged and
foolishness depart from among us.
[Illustration]
_An Interview with an ex-President_
[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, June 11, 1888.]
The adverse vote by which the Royal Society of British Artists
transferred its oath of allegiance from Mr. Whistler is for the time
the chief topic of conversation in artistic circles.... We instructed
our representative to visit Mr. Whistler to obtain his explanation of
the affair.
"The state of affairs?" said Mr. Whistler, in his light and airy way,
raising his eyebrows and twinkling his eyes, as if it were all the
best possible fun in the world; "why, my dear sir, there's positively
_no_ state of affairs at all. Contrary to public declaration, there's
actually nothing chaotic in the whole business; on the contrary,
everything is in order, and just as it should be. The survival of the
fittest as regards the presidency, don't you see, and, well--Suffolk
Street is itself again! A new government has come in, and, as I told
the members the other night, I congratulate the Society on the result
of their vote, for no longer can it be said that the right man is
in the wrong place. No doubt their pristine sense of undisturbed
somnolence will again settle upon them after the exasperated mental
condition arising from the unnatural strain recently put upon the old
ship. Eh? what? Ha! ha!"
"You do not then consider the Society as out of date? You do not
think, as is sometimes said, that the establishment of the Grosvenor
took away the _raison d'être_ and original intention of the
Society--that of being a foil to the Royal Academy?"
"I can hardly say what was originally intended, but I do know that it
was originally full of hope, and even determination; shown in a manner
by their getting a Royal Charter--the only art society in London, I
believe, that has one.
"But by degrees it lapsed into a condition of incapacity--a sort of
secondary state,--do you see, till it acknowledged itself a species of
_crêche_ for the Royal Academy. Certain it is that when I came into it
the prevalent feeling among all the men was that their best work
should go to 'another place.'
"I felt that this sense of inferiority was fatal to the well-being of
the place.
"For that reason I attempted to bring about a sense of _esprit de
corps_ and ambition, which culminated in what might be called
'my first offence'--by my proposition that members belonging to other
societies should hold no official position in ours. I wanted to make
it an art centre," continued Mr. Whistler, with a sudden vigour and an
earnestness for which the public would hardly give credit to this
Master of Badinage and Apostle of Persiflage; "they wanted it to
remain a shop, although I said to them, 'Gentlemen, don't you perceive
that as shopmen you have already failed, don't you see, eh?' But they
were under the impression that the sales decreased under my methods
and my _régime_, and ignored the fact that sales had declined all over
the country from all sorts of causes, commercial, and so on.
Their only chance lay in the art tone of the place, for the
old-fashioned pictures had ceased to become saleable wares--buyers
simply wouldn't buy them. But members' work I _couldn't_, by the
rules, eliminate--only the bad outsiders were choked off."
"Then how do you explain the bitterness of all the opposition?"
"A question of 'pull devil, pull baker,' and the devil has gone and
the bakers remain in Suffolk Street! Ha! ha! Here is a list of the
fiendish party who protested against the thrusting forth of their
president in such an unceremonious way:--
"Alfred Stevens, Theodore Roussel, Nelson Maclean, Macnab, Waldo
Story, A. Ludovici, jun., Sidney Starr, Francis James, W. A. Rixon,
Aubrey Hunt, Moffatt P. Lindner, E. G. Girardot, Ludby, Arthur Hill,
Llewellyn, W. Christian Symons, C. Wyllie, A. F. Grace, J. E. Grace,
J. D. Watson, Jacomb Hood, Thornley, J. J. Shannon, and Charles Keen.
Why, the very flower of the Society! and whom have they left--_bon
Dieu!_ whom hav
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