Chapter IV: Part 4

[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,

"_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.

_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.

_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.

_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,

_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!

_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.

_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.

_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"?

_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,

_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!_"

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.

_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 have they left?"

"It was a hard fight then?"

"My dear sir, they brought up the maimed, the halt, the lame, and the blind--literally--like in Hogarth's 'Election;' they brought up everything but corpses, don't you know!--very well!"

"But all this hardly explains the bitterness of the feud and personal enmity to you."

"What? Don't you see? My presidential career had in a manner been a busy one. When I took charge of the ship I found her more or less water-logged. Well, I put the men to the pumps, and thoroughly shook up the old vessel; had her re-rigged re-cleaned, and painted--and finally I was graciously permitted to run up the Royal Standard to the masthead, and brought her fully to the fore, ready for action--as became a Royal flagship! And as a natural result mutiny at once set in!

"Don't you see," he continued, with one of his strident laughs, "what might be considered, by the thoughtless, as benefits, were resented, by the older and wiser of the crew, as innovations and intrusions of an impertinent and offensive nature. But the immediate result was that interest in the Society was undeniably developed, not only at home, but certainly abroad. Notably in Paris all the art circle was keenly alive to what was taking place in Suffolk Street; and, although their interest in other institutions in this country had previously flagged, there was the strong willingness to take part in its exhibitions.

For example, there was Alfred Stevens, who showed his own sympathy with the progressive efforts by becoming a member. And look at the throngs of people that crowded our private views--eh? ha! ha! what! But what will you!--the question is, after all, purely a parochial one--and here I would stop to wonder, if I do not seem pathetic and out of character, why the Artist is naturally an object of vituperation to the Vestryman?--Why am _I_--who, of course, as you know, am charming--why am I the pariah of my parish?

"Why should these people do other than delight in me?--Why should they perish rather than forgive the one who had thrust upon them honour and success?"

"And the moral of it all?"

Mr. Whistler became impressive--almost imposing--as he stroked his moustache, and tried to hide a smile behind his hand.

"The organisation of this 'Royal Society of British Artists' as shown by its very name, tended perforce to this final convulsion, resulting in the separation of the elements of which it was composed. They could not remain together, and so you see the 'Artists' have come out, and the 'British' remain--and peace and sweet obscurity are restored to Suffolk Street!--Eh? What? Ha! ha!"

_Statistics_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, July 6, 1888.]

Since our interview with Mr. Whistler curious statements have been set afloat concerning the question of finance ... giving circumstantial evidence of the disaster brought upon the Society by the enforcement of the Whistlerian policy:--

This evidence, which is very interesting, is as follows:--The sales of the Society during the year 1881 were under £5000; 1882, under £6000; 1883, under £7000; 1884, under £8000; 1885 (the first year of Mr. Whistler's rule), they fell to under £4000; 1886, under £3000; 1887, under £2000; and the present year, under £1000.

On the other hand, the fact of the Society having made itself responsible to Mr. Whistler for a loan raised by him to meet a sudden expenditure for repairs, is also true; but the unwisdom of the president and members of any society having money transactions between them need hardly be commented upon here....

Mr. Wyke Bayliss, the new president, strikes one as being "a strong man"--shrewd, logical, and self-restrained. The author of several books and pamphlets on the more imaginative realm of art, he is, one would say, as much permeated by religion as he is by art; to both of these qualities, curiously enough, his canvases, which usually deal with cathedral interiors of cheery hue, bear witness.

The hero of three Bond Street "one-man exhibitions," a Board-school chairman, a lecturer, champion chess-player of Surrey, a member of the Rochester Diocesan Council, a Shaksperian student, a Fellow of the Society of Cyclists, a Fellow of the Society of Antiquarians, and public orator of Noviomagus ... he is surely one of the most versatile men who ever occupied a presidential chair....

_A Retrospect_

_TO THE EDITOR
OF THE "PALL MALL GAZETTE:"_

Sir,--The Royal Society of British Artists is, perhaps, by this time again unknown to your agitated readers--but I would recall a brilliant number of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ (July 1888), in which mischievous amusement was sought, with statistics from a newly elected President--Mr. Bayliss (Wyke).

Believing it to be, in an official and dull way, more becoming that the appointed Council of this same Society should deal with the resulting chaos, I have, until now, waited for a slight washing of hands, as who should say, on their part as representing the gentle deprecation of, I assure you, the respectable body in Suffolk Street.

Well, no!--It was doubtless adjudged wiser, or milder, to "live it down," and now it, I really believe, behoves me, in a weary way, to remind you of the document in question, and, for the sake of commonplace, uninteresting, and foolish fact, to lift up my parable and declare fallacious that which was supposed to be true, and generally to bore myself, and perhaps even you, the all-patient one, with what, I fear, we others care but little for--parish matters.

In the article, then, entitled "The Royal Society of British Artists and its Future--An Interview with the New President"--a most appalling volley of figures was fired off at _brûle-pour-point_ distance. Under this deafening detonation I, having no habit, sat for days incapable--dreaming vaguely that when a President should see fit to wash his people's linen in the open, there must be indeed crime at least on the part of the offender at whose instigation such official sacrifice of dignity could come about. _I_ was the offender, and for a while I sincerely believed that disaster had been brought upon this Royal Society by my own casual self. But behold, upon closer inspection, these threatening figures are meretricious and misleading, as was the building account of the early Philanthropist who, in the days of St. Paul, meant well, and was abruptly discouraged by that clear-headed apostle.

Mr. Bayliss tells us that: "The sales of the Society during the year 1881 were under," whatever that may mean, "£5000; 1882, under £6000; 1883, under £7000; 1884, under £8000; in 1885 ('the first year of Mr. Whistler's rule') they fell to under £4000; 1886, under £3000; 1887, under £2000; and the present year, under £1000."

But also Mr. Bayliss takes this rare occasion of attention, to assert his various qualifications for his post as head of painters in the street of Suffolk, and so we learn that he is:--

"Chairman of the Board-school in his own district," "Champion chess-player of Surrey," "A member of the Diocesan Council of Rochester," "Fellow of the Society of Cyclists," and "Public Orator of Noviomagus."

As chess-player he may have intuitively bethought himself of a move--possibly the happy one,--who knows?--which in the provinces obtained him a cup; as Diocesan Councilman he may have supposed Rochester indifferent to the means used for an end; but as Public Cyclist of the Royal Society of Noviomagus his experience must be opposed to any such bluff as going his entire pile on a left bower only!

When I recovered my courage--what did I find?--first my unimpaired intelligence, and then my memory.

Now, to my intelligence, it becomes patent that the chairman of a Clapham School-board, proposes by his figures to prove, that the income of the sacrificed Society had of late years steadily increased:--"In 1881, under £5000; 1882, under £6000; 1883, under £7000; 1884, under £8000," until, under the baneful reign of terror and Whistler in 1885--"the first year" of the sacrilegious era--the receipts fell to £4000--and have continued to decrease until, in this present year, they fall to the miserable sum of under a thousand pounds--a revelation! discreet, statesmanlike, and worthy the orator at his best!

Unfortunately for the triumph of such audacious demonstration, my revived memory points out that Mr. Whistler was only elected President in June 1886, and, in conformity with the ancient rules and amusing customs of the venerable body, only came into office six months afterwards--that is, practically, in January 1887. Again, with this last exhibition, he, as everybody knows, had nothing whatever to do.

Immediately, therefore, the conclusion is "quite other" than that put forth by the Cyclist of his suburb, and we arrive at the, for once, not unamusing "fact" that the disastrous and simple Painter Whistler only took in hand the reins of government at least a year after the former driver had been pitched from his box, and half the money-bags had been already lost!--from £8000 to £4000 at one fatal swoop! and the beginning of the end had set in! Indeed, this may have been one of the strong reasons for his own election by an overwhelming minority of hysterical and panic-stricken passengers.

Now, though he did his best, and cried aloud that the coach was safe, and called it Royal, and proposed to carry the mail, confidence, difficult to restore, waited for proof, and although fresh paint was spread upon the panels, and the President coachman wore his hat with knowing air, on one side and handled the ribbons lightly, and dandled the drag, inviting jauntily the passer-by, the public recognized the ramshackle old "conveyance," and scoffingly refused to trust themselves in the hearse.

"Four thousand pounds!" down it went--£3000--£2000--the figures are Wyke's--and this season, the ignominious "£1000 or under," is none of my booking! and when last I saw the mad machine it was still cycling down the hill.

_The New Dynasty_

[Sidenote: _The Morning Post._]

Sir--Pray accept my compliments, and be good enough to inform me at once by whose authority, and upon what pretence, the painting, designed and executed by myself, upon the panel at the entrance of the galleries of Suffolk Street, has been defaced. Tampering with the work of an artist, however obscure, is held to be, in what might be called the international laws of the whole Art world, so villainous an offence, that I must at present decline to entertain the responsibility of the very distinguished and Royal Society of British Artists, for what must be due to the rash, and ill-considered, zeal of some enthusiastic and untutored underling.

Awaiting your reply, I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient, humble servant,

[Sidenote: _Telegram to Council of Royal Society of
British Artists:_

"Congratulations upon dignity maintained as Artists left
in charge of a brother Artist's work, and upon graceful
bearing as officers toward their late
President."--WHISTLER.]

TO THE HON. SECRETARY
OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF BRITISH ARTISTS.
March 30, 1889.

_An Embroidered Interview_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, April 3, 1889.]

"Well, Mr. Whistler, they say they only painted out your butterfly from the signboard, and changed the date. What do you say?"

"What do I say? That they have been guilty of an act of villainous Vandalism."

"Will you tell me the history of the Board?"

"When I was elected to the presidency of the Society I offered to paint a signboard which should proclaim to the passer-by the name and nature of the Society. My offer was accepted, and the Board was sent down to my studio, where I treated it as I should a most distinguished sitter--as a picture or an etching--throwing my artistic soul into the Board, which gradually became a Board no longer, as it grew into a picture. You say they say it was only a butterfly. Mendacity could go no further. I painted a _lion_ and a butterfly. The lion lay with the butterfly--a harmony in gold and red, with which I had taken as much trouble as I did with the best picture I ever painted. And now they have clothed my golden lion clumsily, awkwardly, and timorously with a dirty coat of black. My butterfly has gone, the checks and lines, which I had treated decoratively, have disappeared. Am I not justified in calling it a piece of gross Vandalism?"

"What course would you have recommended? You had gone; the Board remained: perhaps it was weather-beaten--what could they do?"

"They should have taken the Board down, sir, taken the Board down, not dared to destroy my work--taken the Board down, returned it to me, and got another Board of their own to practise on. Good heavens! You say to my face it was only a Board. You say they _only_ painted out my butterfly. It is as if you were condoling with a man who had been robbed and stripped, and said to him, 'Never mind. It is well it is no worse. You have escaped easily. Why, you might have had your throat cut.'"

And Mr. Whistler's Mephistophelian form disappeared into the black of the night.

_The "Pall Mall" Puzzled_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, April 4, 1889.]

Mr. Whistler begs me to insert the following note exactly as it stands. I haven't the slightest idea what it means, but here it is with "_mes compliments_":--

"TO THE INTERVIEWER OF THE _Pall Mall Gazette_:

"Good! very good! Prettily put, as becomes the _Pall Mall_, and yet you cannot be reproached with being 'too fine for your audience!'

"I wish I _could_ say these things as you do for me, even at the risk of, at last, being understood. _Mes Compliments!_"

_Official Bumbledom_

[Sidenote: To the Editor of _The Morning Post_]

Sir--As you have considered Mr. Whistler's letter worthy of publication, I ask you to complete the publication by inserting this simple statement of the facts as they occurred. The notice board of the Royal Society of British Artists bears on a red ground, in letters of gold, the title of the Society. To this Mr. Whistler, during his presidency, added with his own hand a decorative device of a lion and a butterfly. On the eve of our private view it was found that, while the title of the Society, being in pure gold, remained untarnished, Mr. Whistler's designs, being executed in spurious metals, had nearly disappeared, and what little remained of them was of a dirty brown. The board could not be put up in that state. The lion, however, was not so badly drawn as to make it necessary to do anything more than restore it in permanent colour, and that has accordingly been done. But as the notice board was no longer the actual work of Mr. Whistler, it would manifestly have been improper to have left the butterfly (his well-known signature) attached to it, even if it had not appeared in so crushed a state. The soiled butterfly was therefore effaced.

Yours, &c.,
WYKE BAYLISS,
CLAPHAM.
April 1, 1889.

"_Aussi que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?_"

[Sidenote: _The Morning Post._]

Sir--I have read Mr. Bayliss's letter, and am disarmed. I feel the folly of kicking against the parish pricks. These things are right in Clapham, by the common.

"_V'là ce que c'est, c'est bien fait--
Fallait pas qu'il y aille! fallait pas qu'il y aille!_"

And when, one of these days, all traces of history shall, by dint of much turpentine, and more Bayliss, have been effaced from the board that "belongs to us," I shall be justified, and it will be boldly denied by some dainty student that the delicate butterfly was _ever_ "soiled" in Suffolk Street.

Yours, &c.,

_The Royal Society of British Artists and their Signboard_

[Sidenote: _The Athenæum_, April 27, 1889.]

Sir--The moment has now arrived when, it seems to me proper that, in your journal, one of the recognized Art organs of the country, should be recorded the details of an incident in which the element of grave offence is, not unnaturally, quite missed by the people in their indignation at the insignificance of the object to which public attention has so unwarrantably been drawn--a "notice board"!--the common sign of commerce!

Now, however slight might be the value of the work in question destroyed, it is surely of startling interest to know that _work may be destroyed_, or worse still, defaced and tampered with, at the present moment in full London, with the joyous approval of the major part of the popular press.

I leave to your comment the fact that in this instance the act is committed with the tacit consent of a body of gentlemen officially styled "artists," at the instigation of their president, as he unblushingly acknowledges, and will here distinctly state that the "notice board of the Royal Society of British Artists" _did not_ "bear on a red ground, in letters of gold, the title of the Society," and that "to this Mr. Whistler, during his presidency," _did not_ "add with his own hand a decorative device of a lion and a butterfly." This damning evidence, though in principle irrelevant--for what becomes of the soul of a "Diocesan member of the Council of Clapham" is, artistically, a matter of small moment--I nevertheless bring forward as the only one that will at present be at all considered or even understood.

The "notice board" was of the familiar blue enamel, well known in metropolitan use, with white lettering, announcing that the exhibition of the Incorporated Society of British Artists was held above, and that for the sum of one shilling the public might enter.

I myself mixed the "red ground," and myself placed, "in letters of gold, the" _new_ "title" upon it--in proper relation to the decorative scheme of the whole design, of which it formed naturally an all-important feature. The date was that of the Society's Royal grant, and in commemoration of its new birth. With the offending Butterfly, it has now been effaced in one clean sweep of independence, while the lion, "not so badly drawn," was differently dealt with--it was found not "necessary to do anything more than restore it in permanent colour, and that," with a bottle of Brunswick black, "has accordingly been done;" and, as Mr. Bayliss adds, with unpremeditated truth, in the thoughtless pride of achievement, "the notice board was no longer the actual work of Mr. Whistler!"

This exposure of Mr. Bayliss's direct method I have wickedly withheld, in order that the Philistine impulse of the country should declare itself in all its freshness of execration before it could be checked by awkward discovery of mere mendacity, and a timid sense of danger, called justice.

Everything has taken place as I pleasantly foresaw, and there is by this time, with the silent exception of one or two cautious dailies, scarcely a lay paper in the land that has been able to refrain from joining in the hearty yell of delight at the rare chance of coarsely, publicly, and safely insulting an artist! In this eagerness to affront the man they have irretrievably and ridiculously committed themselves to open sympathy with the destruction of his work.

I wish coldly to chronicle this fact in the archives of the _Athenæum_ for the future consideration of the cultured New Zealander.

_An Official Letter_

Sir,--I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your letter, officially informing me that the Committee award me a second-class gold medal.

Pray convey my sentiments of tempered and respectable joy to the gentlemen of the Committee, and my complete appreciation of the second-hand compliment paid me.

And I have, Sir,
The honour to be
Your most humble, obedient servant,

J. MCNEILL WHISTLER.

TO THE 1ST SECRETARY,
CENTRAL COMMITTEE,
INTERNATIONAL ART EXHIBITION, MUNICH.

_The Home of Taste_

_The Ideas of Mr. Blankety Blank on House Decoration_

[Sidenote: _Pall Mall Gazette_, Dec. 1, 1888.]

The other day I happened to call on Mr. Blank,--Japanese Blank, you know, whose house is in far Fulham. The garden door flew open at my summons, and my eye was at once confronted with a house, the hue of whose face reminded me of a Venetian palazzo, for it was of a subdued pink.... If the exterior was Venetian, however, the interior was a compound of Blank and Japan. Attracted by the curiously pretty hall, I begged the artist to explain this--the newest style of house decoration.

I need not say that Blank, being a man of an _original_ turn of mind, with the decorative bump strongly developed, holds what are at present peculiar views upon wall papers, room tones, and so on. The day is dark and gloomy, yet once within the halls of Blank there is sweetness and light.

You must look through the open door into a luminous little chamber covered with a soft wash of lemon yellow.

From the antechamber we passed through the open door into a large drawing-room, of the same soft lemon-yellow hue. The blinds were down, the fog reigned without, and yet you would have thought that the sun was in the room.

Here let me pause in my description, and put on record the gist of our conversation concerning the Home of Taste.

"Now, Mr. Blank, would you tell me how you came to prefer tones to papers?"

"Here the walls used to be covered with a paper of a sombre green, which oppressed me and made me sad," said Blank. 'Why cannot I bring the sun into the house,' I said to myself, 'even in this land of fog and clouds?' Then I thought of my experiment and invoked the aid of the British house-painter. He brought his colours and his buckets, and I stood over him as he mixed his washes.

"One night, when the work was nearing completion, one of them caught sight of himself in the mirror, and remarked with astonishment upon the loveliness of his own features. It was the lemon-yellow beautifying the British workman's flesh tones.

"I assure you the effect of a room full of people in evening dress seen against the yellow ground is extraordinary, and," added Blank, "perhaps flattering."

"Then do I understand that you would remove all wall papers?"

"A good ground for distemper," chuckled Mr. Blank.

"But you propose to inaugurate a revolution."

"I don't go so far as that, but I am glad to be able to introduce my ideas of house furnishing and house decoration to the public," said Blank, "and I may tell you that when I go to America with my Paris pictures, I shall try and decorate a house according to my own ideas, and ask the Americans to think about the matter."

_Another Poacher in the Chelsea Preserves_

[Sidenote: _The World_, Dec. 26, 1888.]

Atlas--Nothing matters but the unimportant; so, at the risk of advertising an Australian immigrant of Fulham--who, like the Kangaroo of his country, is born with a pocket and puts everything into it--and, in spite of much wise advice, we ought not to resist the joy of noticing how readily a hurried contemporary has fallen a prey to its superficial knowledge of its various departments, and, culminating in a "Special Edition" last week to embody a lengthy interview headed "The Home of Taste," has discovered again the nest of the mare that was foaled years ago!

How, by the way, so smart a paper should have printed its _naïf_ emotions of ecstasy before the false colours which the "Kangaroo" has hoisted over his bush, defies all usual explanation, but clearly the jaunty reporter whose impudent familiarity, on a former memorable occasion, achieved my wondering admiration, must have been, in stress of business, replaced by a novice who had never breakfasted with you and me, Atlas, and the rest of the world, in the "lemon-yellow," of whose beautiful tone he now, for the first time, is so completely convinced.

The "hue" on the "face" of the Fulham "Palazzo" he moreover calls "Venetian," and is pleased with it--and so was I, Atlas--_for I mixed it myself_!

And yet, O Atlas, they say that I cannot keep a friend--my dear, I cannot afford it--and _you_ only keep for me their scalps!

"Many, when a thing was lent them, reckoned it to be found, and put them to trouble that helped them."

_A Suggestion_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, March 28, 1889.]

A certain painter has given himself away to an American journalist, unless that gentleman has romanced, in the _Philadelphia Daily News_. According to him this person explained how he managed the press, and how he claimed to be the inventor of the system associated with the name of Mr. Whistler. The Art clubs and the studios have been flooded with the _Philadelphia Daily News_. Mr. Whistler sent on his own copy to the pretender, with the following note:--

"You will blow your brains out, of course. Pigott has shown you
what to do under the circumstances, and you know your way to
Spain. Good-bye!"

_The Habit of Second Natures_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, Jan. 2, 1890.]

Most Valiant _Truth_--Among your ruthless exposures of the shams of to-day, nothing, I confess, have I enjoyed with keener relish than your late tilt at that arch-impostor and pest of the period--the all-pervading plagiarist!

I learn, by the way, that in America he may, under the "Law of '84," as it is called, be criminally prosecuted, incarcerated, and made to pick oakum, as he has hitherto picked brains--and pockets!

How was it that, in your list of culprits, you omitted that fattest of offenders--our own Oscar?

His methods are brought again freshly to my mind, by the indefatigable and tardy Romeike, who sends me newspaper cuttings of "Mr. Herbert Vivian's Reminiscences," in which, among other entertaining anecdotes, is told at length, the story of Oscar simulating the becoming pride of author, upon a certain evening, in the club of the Academy students, and arrogating to himself the responsibility of the lecture, with which, at his earnest prayer, I had, in good fellowship, crammed him, that he might not add deplorable failure to foolish appearance, in his anomalous position, as art expounder, before his clear-headed audience.

He went forth, on that occasion, as my St. John--but, forgetting that humility should be his chief characteristic, and unable to withstand the unaccustomed respect with which his utterances were received, he not only trifled with my shoe, but bolted with the latchet!

Mr. Vivian, in his book, tells us, further on, that lately, in an article in the _Nineteenth Century_ on the "Decay of Lying," Mr. Wilde has deliberately and incautiously incorporated, "without a word of comment," a portion of the well-remembered letter in which, after admitting his rare appreciation and amazing memory, I acknowledge that "Oscar has the courage of the opinions ... of others!"

My recognition of this, his latest proof of open admiration, I send him in the following little note, which I fancy you may think _à propos_ to publish, as an example to your readers, in similar circumstances, of noble generosity in sweet reproof, tempered, as it should be, to the lamb in his condition:--

"Oscar, you have been down the area again, I see!

"I had forgotten you, and so allowed your hair to grow over the sore place. And now, while I looked the other way, you have stolen _your own scalp_! and potted it in more of your pudding.

"Labby has pointed out that, for the detected plagiarist, there is still one way to self-respect (besides hanging himself, of course), and that is for him boldly to declare, 'Je prends mon bien là où je le trouve.'

"You, Oscar, can go further, and with fresh effrontery, that will bring you the envy of all criminal _confrères_, unblushingly boast, 'Moi, je prends _son_ bien là où je le trouve!'"

Chelsea.

_In the Market Place_

[Sidenote: _Truth_, Jan. 9, 1890.]

Sir--I can hardly imagine that the public are in the very smallest degree interested in the shrill shrieks of "Plagiarism" that proceed from time to time out of the lips of silly vanity or incompetent mediocrity.