Chapter X (8)

It must be noted that the amount is not fixed by Whistler, but is left at from one hundred to one hundred and fifty pounds, depending of course upon the painter’s own feeling regarding his work, and not depending in any sense upon the whim of the baronet.

The portrait went on towards completion. Instead of painting a head, as was originally suggested, Whistler painted a full-length figure seated upon a little sofa, the entire composition being quite as elaborate an interior as if the canvas had been five times the size. The picture was about fourteen to sixteen inches long by five or six inches high, and was such an exquisite bit of the painter’s art that a representative of a public gallery, who did not know that it was a commission, offered for it twelve hundred dollars, and higher offers were made.

Sir William Eden did not again refer to the price, although he had many opportunities; but on February 14, St. Valentine’s day, the baronet visited the studio and expressed himself as delighted with the picture. On taking leave, he informed Mr. Whistler that he was about to start for India on a hunting-tour, and, taking an envelope from his pocket, he handed it to the artist. “Here is a valentine for you. Look at it after I have gone. Don’t bother about it just now.”

When the artist opened his “valentine,” he found a check for one hundred guineas,--the minimum amount mentioned in his letter. The baronet had taken it upon himself to fix the price of the picture on the eve of his departure. The “valentine” read as follows:

“4 RUE DE PRESBOURG, PARIS, February 14, 1894.

“DEAR MR. WHISTLER: Herewith your valentine,--cheque value one
hundred guineas. The picture will always be of inestimable value to
me, and will be handed down as an heirloom as long as heirlooms
last.

“I shall always look with pleasure to the painting of it,--and,
with thanks, remain

“Yours sincerely,

“WILLIAM EDEN.”

To which Whistler immediately replied:

“110 RUE DU BAC, PARIS, February 14.

“MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM: I have your valentine. You really are
magnificent, and have scored all round.

“I can only hope that the little picture will prove even slightly
worthy of all of us, and I rely on Lady Eden’s amiable promise to
let me add the few last touches we know of. She has been so
courageous and kind all along in doing her part.

“With best wishes again for your journey,

“Very faithfully,

“J. MCNEILL WHISTLER.”

From the legal point of view Whistler made the mistake of not immediately returning the check for one hundred guineas, and the additional mistake of exhibiting the picture in the Salon of the Champ de Mars in the spring of 1894, as No. 1187, under the title of “Brown and Gold. Portrait of Lady E----.”

But ultimately the one hundred guineas were returned, and the baronet brought suit to secure the possession of the picture.

Whistler would have permitted himself to be drawn-and-quartered before Sir William Eden should have any work of his. He felt, and most justly, that a work which had been begun by him, first, to oblige others, and secondly, as a labor of love, had been placed upon a commercial footing of the lowest level. He felt that there had been no real desire to have one of his pictures on account of its artistic merit, but that there had been an attempt to secure something of commercial value for one-third its market price.

The episode of the “valentine,” truly ingeniously devised, completely changed the relations between the parties. He painted out the little portrait, substituted another head, and stood ready to return the hundred guineas and to pay whatever damages the court might award the plaintiff; but under no circumstances should the baronet have the picture.

For the first time in the annals of litigation the question was presented for final determination,--whether an artist could be compelled to deliver work which he claimed was not yet finished to his satisfaction, even though he had received the price. Be it said to the credit of the French tribunal of last resort, that it held broadly that the artist is master and proprietor of his work until such time as it shall please him to deliver it. But that, failing delivery, he must return the price with interest thereon, together with such damages as the sitter may have sustained.

The hand of the painter cannot be forced by the importunity of either patient or impatient patron, and no man but the painter himself can say when a painting is sufficiently finished to be delivered.

Except in those few cases where Whistler took such intense dislikes to sitters or purchasers that he would not permit them to have his work under any circumstances, there is no instance where the great painter, in unduly delaying the delivery of a picture, had any intention of depriving the owner of what was rightfully his,--namely, the possession of the picture.

Beyond the right of possession, Whistler did not concede much to the owner. Frequently he challenged the owner’s right to exhibit without his sanction, and he was quite inclined to deny to the owner the moral right to sell at speculative prices. He had a poor opinion of those who would buy from the artist to sell later at a profit; he classed them as dealers.

* * * * *

Sitters did not always see things in the same light, and became tired, then impatient, sometimes ugly. Then Whistler would no longer like them, and the sittings would come to an end. If the portrait was unfinished, it was cast aside to remain forever unfinished; if finished, the money would be returned and the portrait kept,--under no circumstances to fall into the hands of a person whom he disliked.

The studio contained many an unfinished portrait, some of them works of great beauty, but of complete indifference to Whistler. He lost all interest in them when he lost interest in the sitters; and it mattered not to him that he had spent and lost days, and weeks, and months of precious time, nor did it matter to him that his sitters had exhausted themselves with numerous and long seances.

* * * * *

Childless, his paintings were his children, and to part with one was like the parting of mother and child.

In these days, when the selling of pictures has become an essential part of the art of painting, it is difficult for people to comprehend the attitude of a man who really did not like to sell.

“What are pictures painted for, if not to sell?” asks the spirit of the age.

It does not seem quite so obvious that poems are written to sell and that music is composed to sell. Even the “practical man” feels that poems and music ought to be made for something more than to sell, and if they are not, they will be the worst for the narrow end in view; but paintings and sculpture, they are commercial products to be dealt in accordingly.

When Whistler did part with a picture he had no faculty for getting a high price. His prices were very uncertain. To one person he might ask a round sum, to another small,--just as the mood seized him, the price having no particular relation to the painting.

He never could see why paintings should be sold, like cloth, by the square yard; why a large picture should necessarily bring more than a small. To him perfection was perfection, whether large or small.

What justifiable reason is there for the commercial schedule of so much for a head, so much for a half-length, so much for a full-length portrait?

The one may, but does by no means necessarily, take a little more time; but, then, a painter does not value his work by the day.

A perfect thing is a perfect thing, whether large or small, Whistler would frequently say. In the matter of prices he was obliged to yield somewhat to custom, and ask more for large pictures than for small, but he did so reluctantly and intermittently, with the natural result that dealers, who screen pictures as the plasterer does his gravel, could do nothing with him.

* * * * *

Of late years, with a demand far beyond any possible supply, his prices advanced; but where a Degas, for instance, would sell for five, ten, or fifteen thousand dollars, a Whistler of incomparably greater beauty would sell for a third or a fifth the amount,--proof of what the co-operation of the dealer can do.

Some years ago he showed a visitor several heads of Italian children, each about ten or twelve, by sixteen or eighteen inches in size. With them was a three-quarter length of one of the children. They were all superb bits of portraiture, and akin to the “Little Rose, Lyme Regis,” in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

The visitor was eager to get one or more of the pictures. After considerable pressure, he said:

“I think they ought to be worth six hundred guineas each; don’t
you?”

“And the large one?” said the visitor.

“Oh, the same. That is no more important than the small.”

“Very well. May I have all four?”

“Dear me! You don’t want them all?”

“If you will let me have them.”

“But--” and then the struggle began, “I must look them over; they
are not quite finished.”

“But, surely, these two are finished.”

“Yes, I might let those go by-and-bye, but not now.”

“Will you send them to me?”

“Yes, certainly, after I have gone over them again.”

“I will leave a check.”

“God bless me, no! You must not do that. It will be time enough to
send a check after you receive the little pictures.”

Needless to say, the pictures were never received. They had just been finished, and he could not bring himself to part with them. It was not a matter of money at all,--likely as not he sold them later for less,--but it was always next to impossible to get him to part with recent work. If he happened to have on hand a picture five or ten years old, possibly that could be bought and taken away, but anything in which he was interested at the time he would not let go.

* * * * *

In 1894 he exhibited three small marines, which he had painted off-shore while the boatman steadied

his boat. They were fresh and crisp,--so good that a great painter of marines said of them in the exhibition, “They over-topped everything about them.”

Two were sold, and he showed the third to an American who came to
the studio. The caller said at once he would be only too glad to
take it at the price named; the matter was apparently closed, and
the buyer sailed for home, leaving a friend to get the picture.

A day or two after, Whistler stood looking long and earnestly at
the little marine, saying half to himself:

“It is good, isn’t it?”

Then he took the canvas out of the frame, and said:

“I think it needs touching up a little.”

Another pause, then:

“Do you know, I believe I won’t let this go just yet. I want to go
over it once more. You know, I can send your friend something else
next winter,--something that he may like better. And if he doesn’t
like it, why, he can return it.”

“But, Mr. Whistler, he wants this little marine. There is not much
to do upon it, is there?”

“No--o; but, then, you see----”

“Well, why not give it the last touches now, and let him have it.
If you do not send him this, I am afraid he will never have one of
your pictures.”

“Oh, yes, he will; next winter----”

“But next winter others will come in when we are not here, and buy
from you whatever you have.”

“Well, we will see.”

And only persistent urgings, day after day, even after a draft on London had been forced upon him, induced him to ship the painting.

At no time was there any question of price or money involved; he simply did not wish to part with the last of his three marines.

It was not until about 1890, and after, that Whistler’s paintings began to sell at anything like their real worth. To his credit be it said, his work was never “popular.”

By his independence, his seeming defiance of all conventional and academic notions in his art, his eccentricities, and his lack of commercial instincts he managed, at a very early period in his career, to alienate,--

Dealers,

Painters, and

Public,

the three factors upon which commercial success depends.

* * * * *

“A millionaire--one who was getting up an art-gallery--went to Whistler’s studio and glanced casually at the pictures.

“‘How much for the lot?’ he asked, with the confidence of one who owns gold mines.

“‘Your millions,’ said Whistler.

“‘What!’

“‘My posthumous prices.’ And the painter added, ‘Good-morning.’”

_X_

_The School of Carmen--In Search of Health--Chelsea once more--The End._

To please Madame Carmen Rossi, who as a child had been one of his best models, Whistler consented in 1897 to criticise the work of such students as might attend her school. As a result Carmen’s atelier was for the time being the most distinguished in Paris, and it was not uncommon to see carriages with coachmen and footmen in livery before the door on the days that Whistler was expected.

As he passed about among the pupils he seldom praised and was never enthusiastic. He would sometimes stand many minutes before a canvas that merited his attention and would suggest changes and improvements; and now and then he took a brush and made the alterations himself, remarking, if the student were a young woman, “Now you have a Whistler all to your charming self.”

The story is told that once he stopped before a very brilliant canvas, and exclaimed, “Hideous! hideous!” The student said, somewhat proudly, that she had taken private lessons from Bouguereau, and he blandly inquired, “Bouguereau, Bouguereau,--who is Bouguereau?”

A pupil has printed some reminiscences of those days:[47]

“Usually Mr. Whistler came once a week to criticise us, and on
those days the class, numbering anywhere from fifteen to forty, had
been instructed to adopt a certain respectful mode of bearing on
the arrival of the master; so, when the concierge threw wide the
door and formally announced, ‘Monsieur Whistler,’ every student had
risen to return his ceremonious salutation. Vividly I recall the
scene: a man of not much more than medium stature, but so slight as
to give the impression, when standing apart from others, of being
much taller; dressed entirely in black, even to the suéde gloves;
every garment immaculate in fit and condition; a little red rosette
of the Legion of Honor of France forming the only spot of color
about him until a faint flush rose to his cheek as he greeted the
class with kindly smile.

“Then, as _massier_ (or monitor, in charge of the class), he passed
me his long, black, fur-lined coat and tall, straight-brimmed
hat,--those well-known targets for the caricaturist,--and began his
criticism by inspecting every drawing and weighing its merits--if
any there were, as only too rarely happened--before uttering a
word. This silent inspection finished, Mr. Whistler usually asked
for a palette,--preferably mine, because it was patterned after his
own, and made him ‘feel at home,’ as he expressed it,--and then,
without removing his gloves, painted a few strokes here and there
on some of the pupils’ work. Even in the matter of a palette he
evinced marked sentiment. A carelessly kept one was, above all, his
particular abhorrence, and generally elicited some such remark as
the following: ‘My friends, have you noticed the way in which a
musician cares for his violin--how beautiful it is? how well kept?
how tenderly handled? Your palette is your instrument, its colors
the notes, and upon it you play your symphonies.’

“As an instructor he was courteous to each pupil, but naturally
most interested in those who followed his precepts closest.
Sometimes he jested at the expense of a luckless pupil. I remember
an amusing instance. Smoking was prohibited on the days for
criticism, since our master believed it clouded the atelier and in
some degree obscured a view of the model. One day, upon entering,
Mr. Whistler noticed an Englishman, much addicted to his huge
cigars, who continued puffing away contentedly during the
‘criticism.’ Mr. Whistler turned quickly, asking me why his wishes
were not enforced; but before I could frame a reply he had
addressed our British friend, saying, ‘Er--my dear sir, I know you
do not smoke to show disrespect to my request that the students
should refrain from smoking on the days I come to them, nor would
you desire to infringe upon the rules of the atelier--but--er--it
seems to me--er--that when you are painting--er--you might possibly
become so absorbed in your work as to--er--well--let your cigar go
out.’ I often remarked a whimsical affectation of Mr. Whistler in
his manner of speech with different pupils in his class,--we were a
diverse lot from many lands, Americans and English predominating.
If criticising an American, for instance, Mr. Whistler’s choice of
language, and in some cases his accent, would become markedly
English in form; while in addressing an Englishman he would adopt
the Yankee drawl, sometimes adding a touch of local slang. I
subsequently learned that these were his customary tactics, even in
society, but in class criticism he always addressed us in French.”

His methods of teaching were original. He laid little stress on drawing. He hated and despised academic treatment. He wanted the pupil to paint. A few careful charcoal strokes on the canvas as a guide, the rest to be drawn in with brush and color. And he preached simplicity,--as few tones as possible, as low as possible. But it is painful to record that the endeavors of a certain proportion of the class to attempt the achievements of the master in this respect resulted in a unique crop of posters. The constant theme of his discourse was “mixtures.” He advised a pupil to get first on his palette a correct and sufficient mixture of each tone required for his picture. Often he would give a long criticism without so much as glancing at the canvas,--a criticism on the mixtures he found on the pupil’s palette; and he himself would work indefinitely at the colors, and all the while talking, till it appeared to him to be satisfactory. “And then,” says an enthusiastic young artist, “when he did take up some of the color and transfer it to the canvas, why, it would just sing.”

“One day on entering the class-room he discovered that a red
background had been arranged behind the model. He was horrified,
and directed the students to put up something duller in tone.

“Then he scraped out the red paint on a pupil’s canvas and
proceeded to mix and lay on a new background. Somehow the red would
show through, and he found it difficult to satisfy himself with the
effect he produced. He mixed and studied and scraped, working
laboriously, surrounded by a group of admiring students. Finally,
he remarked:

“‘I suppose you know what I’m trying to do?’

“‘Oh, yes, sir,’ they chorused.

“‘Well, it’s more than I know myself,’ he grimly replied.”

It is to be hoped that his epigrammatic utterances which hung on the walls of the Carmen Rossi school have been preserved, for they would be valuable additions to the “Propositions” and “Ten o’Clock” already published.

With none of the instincts of the teacher, he in time lost interest in the school. After a year or two his visits became infrequent, and upon leaving Paris his connection ceased.

* * * * *

The studio in Notre Dame des Champs and the home on the Rue du Bac were closed a few years after the death of Mrs. Whistler, and he made his home once more in Chelsea, at 74 Cheyne Walk, with frequent excursions to the Continent.

In the winter of 1901 he was at Ajaccio, and he wrote to a friend: “You will be surprised at this present address. But it’s all right,--‘Napoleon and I, you know.’”

In another letter to the same friend, speaking of a public official with whom he had some legal transactions, he remarks: “Say that I know how devotedly kind he has been in his care of me, but the care of the state overwhelms him. You cannot serve the republic ... and Whistler.”

* * * * *

For many years his heart had troubled him, and towards the last the warnings came more frequently and persistently. The year before his death he was quite ill at The Hague, and one of the London papers printed the following of a semi-obituary flavor:

“Mr. Whistler is so young in spirit that his friends must have read with surprise the Dutch physician’s pronouncement that the present illness is due to ‘advanced age.’ In England sixty-seven is not exactly regarded as ‘advanced age;’ but even for the gay ‘butterfly’ time does not stand still, and some who are unacquainted with the details of Mr. Whistler’s career, though they may know his work well, will be surprised to hear that he was exhibiting at the Academy forty-three years ago. His contributions to the exhibition of 1859 were ‘Two Etchings from Nature,’ and at intervals during the following fourteen or fifteen years Mr. Whistler was represented at the Academy by a number of works, both paintings and etchings. In 1863 his contributions numbered seven in all, and in 1865 four. Among his Academy pictures of 1865 was the famous ‘Little White Girl,’[48] the painting that attracted so much attention at the Paris Exhibition of 1900. This picture--rejected at the Salon of 1863--was inspired, though the fact seems to have been forgotten of late, by the following lines of Swinburne:

“‘Come snow, come wind or thunder
High up in air,
I watch my face and wonder
At my bright hair, etc., etc.’”

The item called forth the following characteristic correction, dated from The Hague:

“SIR: I feel it no indiscretion to speak of my ‘convalescence’
since you have given it official existence.

“May I therefore acknowledge the tender little glow of health
induced by reading, as I sat here in the morning sun, the
flattering attention paid me by your gentleman of ready wreath and
quick biography.

“I cannot, as I look at my improving self with daily satisfaction,
really believe it all; still it has helped to do me good. And it is
with almost sorrow that I must beg you, perhaps, to put back into
its pigeon-hole, for later on, this present summary, and replace it
with something preparatory--which, doubtless, you have also ready.

“This will give you time, moreover, for some correction,--if really
it be worth while. But certainly the ‘Little White Girl,’ which was
not rejected at the Salon of ’63, was, I am forced to say, not
‘inspired by the following lines of Swinburne,’ for the one simple
reason that those lines were only written, in my studio, after the
picture was painted. And the writing of them was a rare and
graceful tribute from the poet to the painter--a noble recognition
of one work by the production of a nobler one.

“Again, of ‘the many tales concerning the hanging, at the Academy,
of the well-known portrait of the artist’s mother, now at the
Luxembourg,’ one is true--let us trust your gentleman may have time
to find it out--that I may correct it. I surely may always
hereafter rely on the _Morning Post_ to see that no vulgar Woking
joke reach me.

“It is my marvellous privilege, then, to come back, as who should
say, while the air is still warm with appreciation, affection, and
regret, and to learn in how little I had offended.

“The continuing to wear my own hair and eyebrows, after
distinguished confrères and eminent persons had long ceased their
habit, has, I gather, clearly given pain. This, I see, is much
remarked on. It is even found inconsiderate and unseemly in me, as
hinting at affectation.

“I might beg you, sir, to find a pretty place for this, that I
would make my ‘apology,’ containing also promise, in years to
come, to lose these outer signs of vexing presumption.

“Protesting, with full enjoyment of its unmerited eulogy, against
your premature tablet, I ask you again to contradict it, and appeal
to your own sense of kind sympathy when I tell you I learn that I
have, lurking in London, still ‘a friend’--though for the life of
me I cannot remember his name.

“And I have, sir, the honor to be

“J. MCNEILL WHISTLER.”

In the spring of 1903, only a few months before his death, three of his pictures were withdrawn from the annual exhibition of the Society of American Artists in New York. They had not been sent in by him, but loaned by the owner upon the understanding they would be given the prominence which he thought Whistler’s work deserved.

In the absence of the owner in Europe the whole matter was left in charge of a member of the society,--a well-known artist,--who, when he saw where the committee had placed the little pictures, promptly withdrew them, and notified the owner of his action, which was approved.

Whistler learned of the matter, and wrote the following letter:

“DEAR MR. L---- : I have just learned with distress that my
canvases have been a trouble and a cause of thought to the
gentlemen of the hanging committee.

“Pray present to them my compliments and my deep regrets.

“I fear also that this is not the first time of simple and
good-natured intrusion,--‘looking in,’ as who should say, with
beaming fellowship and crass camaraderie upon the highly-finished
table and well-seated guests,--to be kindly and swiftly shuffled
into some further respectable place, that all be well and
hospitality endure.

“Promise, then, for me, that I have learned and that this ‘shall
not occur again.’ And, above all, do not allow a matter of colossal
importance to ever interfere with the afternoon habit of peace and
good will and the leaf of the mint so pleasantly associated with
this society.

“I could not be other than much affected by your warm and immediate
demonstration, but I should never forgive myself were the
consequences of lasting vexation to your distinguished confrères,
and, believe me, dear Mr. L----, very sincerely,

“J. MCNEILL WHISTLER.

"LONDON, April 7, 1903."

To the end he worked with indefatigable energy, save only those days and hours when he was compelled by exhaustion or by the physicians to rest.

Work was a tonic to him, and, while painting, the rebellious organs of his body were submissive to his genius.

He would forget himself when, brush in hand, he stood before a canvas.

* * * * *

During the spring of 1903 he had been far from well. Into May he worked, but not regularly nor for long at a time. In June he was quite ill, and his friends were apprehensive; but in the early part of July he began to gain, so that he took long drives and planned resuming his work.

On the afternoon of July 16 he was out for a drive and in the best of spirits, with plans for the future that even a younger man could not hope to execute.

* * * * *

Art, the ever-youthful mistress of his life, urged him on. Should he confess before her the ravages of years? In dauntless enthusiasm, in boundless ambition, in spirit unsubdued he was still young. He struggled to his feet and for the last time stood before the canvas,--the magic mirror from which he, wizzard-like, had evoked so many beautiful images; he thought of the things he yet would do, of lines that would charm for all time, of colors that would play like the iridescent hues upon the surface of the shimmering sea, of the wraith-like images of people which lurked in the depths of the canvas awaiting the touch of his wand to step forth in all their stately dignity and beauty.

And the soul of the master was filled with delight.

But the visions of beauty were shattered,
Like forms of the mist they were scattered--
As bubbles are blown by a breath--
By the grim, haunting spectre of Death.

The tired body could not respond, and there where he had worked, on the afternoon of Friday, July 17, the great painter died.

* * * * *

On the following Wednesday the funeral services were held in the old church at Chelsea where he often went with his mother, and he was buried beside her in the graveyard at Chiswick.

“_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 Fusiyama._”--WHISTLER’S “Ten o’Clock.”

INDEX

Ajaccio, 281

Albany, 33

Allen, Sir William, 35

America, attitude towards, 52-53;
desire to visit, 22;
trip to South America, 22-23

American appreciation, 15-17;
art, future of, 63-64;
characteristics, 64-65

Americanism, Whistler’s, 47-48

Ancestors, 25-28

Anecdotes and sayings, as a teacher, 277-281;
attitude towards America, 52-53;
authenticity of stories, 81-82;
bailiff in the “White House,” 112-113;
Balaam’s ass, 84-85;
blue-and-white china, 70;
Boer war, 45;
Carlyle portrait, 123;
colors and pigments used, 72-73;
concerning a sitter, 238-239;
concerning birth, 29;
concerning Carlyle and Miss Alexander, 121;
concerning Chicago, 27;
concerning each portrait, 241-242;
concerning his portraits, 255;
concerning poor lawyers, 148;
concerning purchasers, 265-266;
concerning sittings required, 30-31;
continually polishing, 84-85;
Dieppe, 34;
disintegration of the Royal Society of British Artists, 218;
early days in Paris, 86-88;
early days in Venice, 92-95;
effacing an insult, 43;
falling down stairs, 114;
first money earned with brush, 80-81;
Henry James, 85;
his umbrella, 227;
Hogarth, 55;
house-painters, 212;
late to dinner, 29-30;
Leighton, 82-84;
in lithography suit, 103;
man whose coat did not fit, 42;
“Nana,” 151-153;
Napoleon and I, 281;
Nature looking up, 214;
necktie of a sitter, 191;
no artistic period, 73-78;
old Delft, 71;
painting in the dark, 214;
“Peacock Room,” 129;
of Peter the Great, 35;
railway accident, 33-34;
rebuking an admirer, 162;
rich man’s house, 56;
Rossetti, 111;
Royal Academy, 116-119;
Savoy Hotel, 181;
school, 61;
selling his pictures, 274-275;
Stoeckl dinner, 40-41;
story of “The Yellow Buskin,” 119-120;
studio on ground floor, 229;
the arrangement in gray, 194;
the color of a critic’s clothes, 195;
the grocer’s shop, 193-194;
the millionaire, 276;
the model and the red background, 280;
the pupil who smoked, 279;
the republic and Whistler, 281;
the Ruskin trial, 144-147;
the studio stove, 231;
to the Prince of Wales, 217;
trip to Valparaiso, 22-23;
unwelcome callers at studio, 228;
visit of students to his studio, 134-135;
“warm personal enemy,” 156;
West Point, 36;
while in service of Coast and Geodetic Survey, 37-41

Angelo, Michael, 253

Appearance and characteristics, 36;
alertness, 85;
a poser, 149-155;
approachable, except in studio, 227-228;
as a story-teller, 224;
at home, 222;
attitude towards art and artists, 122;
attitude towards nature, 213-216;
attitude towards other artists, 56;
attitude towards purchasers, 265-272;
attitude towards the Royal Academy, 115-119;
careless about keeping list of works, 90;
courage, 42-43;
dilatory habits, 37-41;
dress when a young man, 41-42;
George Moore’s theory, 168-172;
his Americanism, 47-78;
his dislikes and prejudices, 271-272;
laugh, 119;
military spirit, 45-46;
no commercial instinct, 111;
no mystery about his art, 106-108;
on the street, 226;
Puritan element, 49-50;
refinement, 50;
sense of humor, 82;
superstitions, 44;
susceptibility to color intervals, 191-195;
West Point, 44;
when twenty, 38-40

Art, abstract use of color, 211;
and physique, 168-172;
early love for, 35;
harmonies in line, 182;
his paintings and poetry, 182;
of pure line, 180-181;
Oriental, 176;
purely sensuous, 180

Artistic period, 73-78

Autograph character of work, 105-106

Balcony,” “The, 58

Baptism, 32

Baronet _vs._ The Butterfly, 266-270

Beauties of form and color, 185-186

Beethoven, 257;
relation to, 176

Birth, 28-29, 31-32

Boston, proposed exhibition of pictures, 20

Bouguereau, 277

Boxall, Sir William, 53-54

Brothers and sisters, 32

Burne-Jones, 176;
Ruskin trial, 146

Carlyle, 119;
and Froude, 122-123;
as a friend, 121-122

Catalogues, 167-168, 265;
of exhibition in 1892, 160-161;
of lithographs, 104.
See Exhibitions

Character. See Appearance and characteristics

Chelsea, Carlyle as neighbor and sitter, 121-122;
Carlyle’s description, 109-111;
death and last illness, 285-286;
early days in, 109;
his last home, 281-286;
the bailiff, 112-113;
“White House,” 112-113;
“White House” occupied by a critic, 114

Chicago, grandfather founded, 26-27

Chinese and Japanese art, 181;
autograph character of Japanese art, 105-106;
blue china, 61;
degradation of Japanese art, 78;
influence of, 55

Chiswick, buried at, 286

Coast and Geodetic Survey, 39-40

Color, “ability to feel,” 208;
abstract composition, 197;
and the musical scale, 195-196;
art of pure color, 180-181;
beauties of, 185-186;
decoration, 128-135;
first color harmonies, 58;
his own explanation of, 178-180;
illustrated in different pictures, 211;
in Italy and Greece, 198;
of sculptor, 206;
range of color-notes, 189-191;
Ruskin’s attitude towards, 158-160, 199-208;
Ruskin trial, 145-146;
sense of, lost, 183-184;
supreme as a colorist, 173;
the house-painter and decorator, 186;
used imitatively, 204, 207, 209;
Whistler’s susceptibility to, 191-195

Colorist. See Color

Commercial side, lacking, 265-276

Conversation, a lost art, 149-151

Courage, 33, 36, 42-43

Criticism, language of, 161

Criticisms in America, 15-16

Critics, arraignment of, in catalogue, 98-102, 160-161, 167-168

Critics and criticisms, attitude towards, 162-165;
early criticism of Turner, 142-143;
George Moore, 168-172;
his attitude towards, 155-157;
his color harmonies not understood, 184;
is the painter the final judge?, 162-165;
order of appreciation, 173-175;
Ruskin’s attitude towards color, 158-160;
“Voice of a People,” 165-167

Dealers, attitude towards, 276

Death and last illness, 285-286

Decoration, 127-133;
as a decorator, 131-135;
in home in Paris, 220-222;
“Peacock Room,” 128-131, 209

Dieppe, 33-34

Dress, 41-42

Eden, Sir William, 267-270

England’s indifference, 47-49

Englishman’s stupidity, 16

Etchings, appreciation of a collector, 96-97;
of Haden, 96;
catalogues of, 91;
early French criticism, 60;
“French Set,” 90;
Haden collection of, 96;
his first, 88-89;
his “Venice Set,” 91;
“Thames Set,” 91;
“Twenty-six Etchings,” 91

Exhibitions, 1868, 177;
1893, 65;
at Antwerp, 263;
at Chicago, 263;
at London, 265;
at Paris, 1894, 24, 264;
at the Royal Academy, 114-119;
criticisms of, 98-101;
his catalogues, 99-101;
light and background required for his pictures, 134-139;
of etchings, 1883, 97;
of lithographs, 104;
reluctant about exhibiting, 262-264;
Society of American Artists in 1903, 284-285;
Society of British Artists, 136;
special, 120-121;
with artificial light, 135;
“Yellow and White,” 98, 132

Family, 25-28;
brothers and sisters, 32;
father, 27-28, 35;
mother, 28;
mother’s diary, 34-35

Fine Arts Society, 121

Foreword, 7

Form, appreciation of, 203

Fort Dearborn, grandfather built, 26-27

French art, influence of, 57-60;
criticism, early, 59-60

Frith, 177;
Ruskin trial, 146

Fur Jacket,” “The, 65

Gainesborough, 249, 250

Gentle Art of Making Enemies,” “The, 32, 154-155

Glasgow and the Carlyle portrait, 124;
school, 55

Gleyre, 57, 59, 79

Gold Screen,” “The, 58

Greece, art of, 63

Grosvenor Gallery, 119

Haden, 32, 88-89, 96

Hague, The, illness at, 281-284;
letter from, 282-284

Hanging of pictures, 124-128

Harmonies, symphonies, and nocturnes, his explanation of, 178-180

“Hermes,” by Praxiteles, 261

Hogarth, 55, 249, 250

Honors and awards, 264

Impressionism, 72

Ingres, copy of painting by, 80-81

Interior decorator, 127-128

International Society, 121

Irish ancestors, 25, 47

Italian painters, influence of, 71-72

Japanese art and influence of, 55.
See Chinese and Japanese art

Khayyam, Omar, 243

Lange Leizen,” “The, 58

Leyland, F. R., 128-131

Light and background for pictures, 134-139;
as distinguished from color, 160

Lithographs, naming of, 183

Lithography, 102-104, 180. See Exhibitions, Catalogues

Lowell, 31-32

Manet, 249-250

Marines, 24, 274-275

Marriage, 219

Method. See Work

Miss Alexander, 50, 119

“Mona Lisa,” 251

Moore, “Modern Painting,” 168-172

Mother, diary of, 34-35;
portrait of, 53-54, 58, 115

Music, 176-177;
and color, 193;
and painting, 179;
and the color scale, 195-196;
range of sounds, 186-188;
the uneducated ear, 196;
“truths of sound,” 203-204

National influence, 61-78

Nature and art, 213-216;
and color, 216;
and music, 215

Naval Academy, 37

Nocturnes, 119. See Pictures

Nude, attitude towards, 50-51

Painting and music, 179;
flat tones, 212;
his manner and mode of, 231-237

Paris as an art centre, 62-63;
early days in, 86-88;
home life in, 222-224;
in 1855, 79;
Rue du Bac, 219;
studio, 131, 132

Pastels, 106-107

“Peacock Room,” 128-131, 209;
trouble over payment, 129-130

Phidias, 253

Philadelphia, 120

Physical appearances. See Appearance and characteristics

Picture galleries, 124-128

Pictures, arrangement of, by periods, 211;
“At the Piano,” 114, 210;
Carlyle portrait, 123-124;
estimation of, 261;
exhibition of, to visitors, 133-135;
“Falling Rocket,” 140;
hanging of, a lost art, 124-128;
hanging of portrait of his mother, 115;
“Lange Leizen,” 210;
marines, 212;
naming of, 178, 183, 185;
“Nocturnes,” “Harmonies,” and “Symphonies,” 210, 211;
present prices of, 114-115;
“The Princess of the Land of Porcelain,” 58, 128, 210;
“Little Rose, Lyme Regis,” 273;
story of “The Yellow Buskin,” 119-120;
Symphonies in White, II. and III., 210;
“Thames in Ice,” 210;
“The Balcony,” 210;
“The Gold Screen,” 210;
the Japanese group, 210, 211;
“The Music Room,” 210;
“White Girl,” 59-60, 109, 210, 282;
“The Yellow Buskin,” 65.
See Portraits

Pomfret, 36

Portraits, classification of, 248;
color compositions, 258;
difference between Whistler and Velasquez, 256-258;
each one to be a masterpiece, 241-242;
his best, 261-262;
Irving as Philip II., 119;
Lady Campbell, 119;
likeness, 258-262;
manner and mode of painting, 231-237;
Miss Gilchrist, 119;
of Lady E----, 269;
portrait-painting, 244;
sittings required, 30-31, 235;
wraith-like quality, 255

Praxiteles, 261

“Propositions” and “The Ten o’Clock,” 108

Providence, 32

Puritan element, 49-50

Racial influence, 61-78

Raphael, 253

Rembrandt, 67, 175, 244, 253, 254, 255, 256;
essentially Dutch, 67

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 247, 249, 252

Rosa Corder, 119

Rossetti, 111

Rossi, Carmen, school of, 277-281

Royal Academy, attitude towards, 114-119;
exhibitions at, etc., 114-119

Royal Society of British Artists, 217

Rue du Bac, 219

Ruskin and flat tones, 212;
attitude towards color, 158-160, 199-208;
attitude towards early criticism of Turner, 143;
color in his home, 207-208;
his limitations, 165;
suit, 140-149

Savoy Hotel, 181

Sayings. See Anecdotes and sayings

School, no American, 61-63;
of Carmen Rossi, 277-281

Sculptor and portrait busts, 245-246

Society of British Artists, exhibition of, 136

Sounds, range of musical, 186-188

Springfield, 33

St. Petersburg, 27-28, 34-35

Stonington, 32, 35

Stories. See Anecdotes and sayings

Studio, description of, 230-231;
in Paris, 229

Swinburne, 74, 177

Taylor, Tom, 146

Teacher, as a, 277-281

“Ten o’Clock,” no artistic period, 73-78

Time, dilatory habits, 37-41;
indifference to, 29-31;
never prompt, 30

Travel, dislike for, 33-34;
effect of, on artists, 69-70

Turner and color, 199;
early criticism of, 142-143;
Whistler’s appreciation of, 56

Valparaiso, trip to, 22-23

Velasquez, 60, 175, 244, 251, 253, 254, 255, 256, 257;
essentially Spanish, 68;
influence of, 71

Venice, early days in, 92-95

“Voice of a People,” 165-167

Water-color, his first, 106

Webster, Daniel, letter to, 35-36

West Point, 35-36

Westerly, 32

“White Girl,” 53, 283

“White House.” See Chelsea

Will, 240

Witticisms. See Anecdotes and sayings

Work always a pleasure, 90-91;
as a decorator, 128-135;
colors and pigments used, 72-73;
description of method, 231-237;
exhibition to visitors, 133-135;
facility in execution, 23;
his attitude towards a sitter, 238-239, 241;
painting in the dark, 213-214;
volume of, 104-105

Yellow Buskin,” “The, 119, 256

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Mr. A. Lindenkohl, now the oldest draughtsman in the department.

[2] G. W. Smalley, in the London _Times_.

[3] _The Nation_, vol. liv., pp. 280-281, April 14, 1892.

[4] New York _Tribune_, July 26, 1903.

[5] New York _Evening Post_, August 1, 1903.

[6] _Fortnightly Review_, June, 1888.

[7] _The Independent_, November 2, 1899.

[8] Major W. L. B. Jenney, in the _American Architect_, January 1, 1898.

[9] Wedmore, Fine Prints, p. 103.

[10] Wedmore’s Catalogue, pp. 19-20.

[11] Printed by H. Wunderlich & Co., New York.

[12] W. S. Adams, in the Springfield _Republican_.

[13] _McClure’s Magazine_, vol. vii. p. 374.

[14] _Knowledge_, April 5, 1883, p. 208.

[15] _The Academy_, February 24, 1883, p. 139.

[16] _Knowledge_, April 6, 1883, pp. 208, 209.

[17] Owned by Frank Gair Macomber, Esq., of Boston.

[18] Gentle Art, p. 116.

[19] Life of Carlyle, First Forty Years, vol. ii., pp. 345-6.

[20] _McClure’s Magazine_, vol. vii. p. 374.

[21] _McClure’s Magazine_, vol. vii. p. 374.

[22] G. W. Smalley, in the London _Times_. Reprinted in the New York _Tribune_, August 19, 1903.

[23] _Harper’s Weekly_, August 1, 1903.

[24] _Library Gazette_, May 14, 1842 p. 331.

[25] _Athenæum_, May 14, 1842, p. 433.

[26] See opening paragraph of Chapter II. of the first and second editions of the first volume of “Modern Painters.”

[27] John Ruskin, by Spielmann, p. 34.

[28] Modern Painters, vol. iii., chap. xvii., paragraph 18.

[29] _Saturday Review_, March 26, 1892, p. 357.

[30] Moore, Modern Painting, p. 6.

[31] _The Critic_, vol. xxxviii. p. 32, January, 1901.

[32] Gentle Art, p. 126.

[33] Gentle Art, pp. 127, 128.

[34] Ibid., p. 128.

[35] Helmholtz, Sensations of Tone, p. 265.

[36] Fleming, Waves and Ripples in Water, Air, and Æther, p. 252.

[37] Physiological Optics, p. 237.

[38] Modern Painters, vol. i., part ii., sec. i., chap. v., par. 3.

[39] Modern Painters, vol. i., part ii., sec. i., chap. v., par. 8, 9.

[40] Ibid., sec. ii., chap. ii., par. 12.

[41] Modern Painters, vol. i., part ii., sec. ii., chap. ii., par. 17, 20.

[42] Gentle Art, p. 128.

[43] Gentle Art, pp. 143, 144.

[44] Gentle Art, p. 143.

[45] London _Times_, July 18, 1903.

[46] Gentle Art, pp. 177, 178.

[47] E. S. Crawford, in _The Reader_, September, 1903.

[48] See page 185.