DOI Heft:
April 16, 1892
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17693#0190
April 16, 1892.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. 181
WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS.
(A Reminiscence of a Recent Exhibition.)
Scene—The Goupil Gallery. Groups of more or less puzzled Britons
discovered, conscientiously endeavouring to do justice to the
Collection, having realised that Mr. whistler's work is now
considered entitled to serious consideration, out feeling themselves
unable to get beyond a timid tolerance. In addition to these,
there are Frank Philistines ivho are here icith a fixed intention
of being funny, Matrons tvith a strongly domesticated taste in
Art, Serious Elderly Ladies, Literal Persons, #c, fyc.
A Lady {after looking at a representation of Old Battersea Bridge
—in the tone of a person who feels she is making a liberal concession).
Well, do you know, I must say that isn't so bad. I shouldn't so
much mind having that in the room, should you ?
Her Companion [dubiously). Well, I don't
»» -II know. He's put a steamer in. Should you
SfV *--- J'J I think there were steamers in—a—[vaguely)
f yr II i -those days ?
' K\ I First Lady {evidently considering Mr.
Whistles, capable of any eccentricity). Oh,
I don't suppose he would mind that much.
First Literal Person {coming to the por-
trait of Miss Alexander). Well—{plain-
tively)—-he might have put a nicer expression
on the child!
Second Do. Do. Yes—very unpleasing.
[Refers to Catalogue.) Oh, I see it says—
A Brother Brush. 'li f. simply a disagreeable presentment
oi a disagreeable young lady.
First Do. Do. {rejoicing that the painter has vindicated himself
this time). Ah—that explains it, then. Of course if he meant it-!
A Serious Elderly Lady. There's one thing I must say I do like,
my dear, and that's the way he puts down all the unfavourable
criticisms on his pictures. So straightforward and honest of him, I
call it.
Her Companion. Yes, but I expect he can't help seeing how right
and sensible the critics are, you know. Still—{charitably)—it shows
he would do better if he could !
An Advanced Nephew {who is endeavouring to convert a Philistine
Uncle to the superiority of the Modern School). Now here, Uncle,
look at this. Look at the way the figure looms out of the canvas,
look at the learning in the simple sweep of the drapery, the drawing
of it, and the masterly grace of the pose—you don't mean to tell me
you don't call that a magnificent portrait ?
His Uncle. Who's it of ? That's what J want to know first.
Nephew {coldly). You will find it in the Catalogue, no doubt—
No. 41.
Uncle {loolcing it up). " Arrangement in Black. La Dame au
Brodequin Jaime."—the lady in a yellow something or other.
Tchah! And_ not a word to tell you who she's supposed to be f If
I pay a shilling for a Catalogue, I expect to find information in
it. And let me ask you—where 's the interest in looking at a
portrait when you're not told who it's intended for ?
[The Nephew, not being prepared to answer this difficult query,
leads his relative gently up to a "Nocturne in Opal and
Silver." The Uncle conveys his opinion of it by a loud
and expressive snort.
First Prosaic Person {before No. 28). Valparaiso, is it?
{Hopefully.) Well, come, I ought to recognise this—I've been
there often enough. {Lnspecting it closely.) Ha—um !
Second P. P. {with languid interest), Is it like ?
First P. P. I could tell you better if he'd done it by daylight.
I can't make out this in the front—looks to me like the top of a
house, or something. Don't remember that.
Second P. P. I think it's meant for a jetty, landing-stage, or
that sort of thing, and, when you look into it, there's something
that seems intended for people—most extraordinary, isn't it ?
The Domesticated Matron {who is searching for a picture with a
subject to it). There, Caroline, it's evidently a harbour, you see,
and ships, and they 're letting off fireworks—probably for a regatta,
Does it tell you what it is in the Catalogue ?
Caroline {after consulting it). It only says, " A Nocturne in Blue
and Gold"—oh yes—{reading)—" a splash and splutter of bright-
ness, on a black ground, to depict a display of fireworks."
Her Mother {gratified at her own intelligence). I thought it must
be fireworks. He seems quite fond of fireworks, doesn't he ?
First Facetious Philistine. Hullo, what have we got here?
" Crepusetile, in Flesh-colour and Green." Very like one, too, I
daresay—when you know what it is.
Second F. P. As far as I can make it out, a Crepuscule's either
a Harmony inside out, or a Symphony upside down—it don't much
matter.
A Lady {who is laboriously trying to catch the right spirit). " The
Blue Wave at Biarritz." Now I do admire that. And what I like
even better than the Blue wave is this great Brown one breaking in
the foreground—so exactly like water, isn't it, Dick ?
Dick {not a Whistlerite). Y—yes—just. Only it's a rock, you
know.
The Lady. But if that's the way he saw it, Dick !
Dick. Here's a thing! " St. Mark's, Venice." I '11 trouble you !
What's he done with the flagstaffs and the bronze horses and the
pigeons ? I never saw the place look like that.
The Lady. Because it didn't happen to be 'oggy while we were
there, that's all.
First Pros. Person. Ah, there 's old Carlyle, you see ! Dear me,
what a very badly fitting coat—see how it bulges over his chest!
Second P. P. Yes. I daresay he buttoned the wrong button—
philosopher and all that sort o' thing, y'know.
First P. P. {sympathetically). Well, I do think Whistler might
have told him of it!
In the Second Room.
The Matron in Search of a Subject. Ah, now, this really is more
my idea of a picture. Quite a pretty cretonne those curtains, and
there's a little girl reading a book, and a looking-glass with reflections
and all, and a young lady in a riding-habit—just going out for a ride.
Caroline. Yes, Mother. Or just come in from one.
Her Mother. Do see what it's called. " The Morning Canter" or
'' Back from the Row "—something of that kind, I expect it would be.
Caroline. All it says is, " A Harmony in Green and Rose."
The Mother {disappointed). Now, why can't he give it some sensible
name, instead of talcing away all one's interest!
The Phil. Uncle {whom a succession of Symphonies and Harmonies
has irritated to the verge of fury). Don't talk to me, Sir! Don't tell
me any of these things are pictures. Look at this—a young woman
in an outlandish dress sitting on the floor—on the bare floor!—in a
litter of Japanese sketches ! And he has the confounded impertinence
to call it a " Caprice"—a " Caprice in Purple and Gold." J'd
purple and gold him, Sir, if I had my way! Where's the sense in
such things ? What do they teach you ? What story do they tell ?
Where's the human interest in them ? Depend upon it, Sir, these
things are rubbish—sheer rubbish, according to all_ my notions of
Art, and I think you'll allow I ought to know something about it?
His Nephew {provoked beyond prudence). You certainly ought to
know more than that, my dear Unc- Areyou going ?
The Uncle {grimly). Yes—to see my Solicitor, Sir. {To himself,
savagely.) That confounded young prig will find he's paid dear
enough for his precious Whistlers—if I don't have a fit in the cab!
[He goes ; the Nephew wonders whether his attempt at proselyt-
ising was quite worth while.
A Seriously Elderly Lady. I 've no patience with the man. _ Look
at Gtjstave Dore, now. I'm sure he was a beautiful artist, if you
like. Did he go and call his "Leaving the Pra>torium" a
" Symphony" or a " Harmony," or any nonsense of that kind? Of
course not—and yet look at the difference 1
An Lmpressionable Person {carried away by the local influence—to
the Man at the wicket, blandly). Could you kindly oblige me by
exchanging this "Note in Black and White " for an " Arrangement
in Silver and Gold" ?
[Finds himself cruelly misunderstood, and suspected of
frivolity.
PERSONAL PARAGRAPHS.
The Rev. No. 354, writing from Dartmoor, requests us to inform
his numerous friends in Bath and elsewhere that his health is much
improved by the bracing air, and that he is occupied in revising for the
press his course of Sermons to the Young on the Moral Virtues. He
is also anxious to inform his creditors that his accounts are now com-
pletely in order. It is a source of great comfort to him to reflect
that he was able to obtain considerable sums of money from his
friends in Bath, before he was obliged to leave that city, and that,
with the residue of this money, obtained so to speak from Peter, he
will now have the satisfaction of paying a farthing in the pound to
Paul, in other words, to his creditors.
Mrs. Brinvilliers was yesterday visited by her friends. Our
readers will be glad to know that she is quite well and has escaped
the influenza epidemic.
Mr. St. Leonards, with the consent of the Governor, takes this
opportunity of thanking the friends who have so kindly condoled
with him on the unavoidable interruption to his long and arduous
work ;in the service of his country. He hopes that nothing will
prevent him from displaying equal zeal in the still more arduous
labour, which, also for the benefit of his country, he is now
compelled to undertake for a certain period.
Miss Dodger is still unwell. The Home Secretary has not yet
sent instructions for a special drawing-room to be fitted up in the
prison, nor has he, up till now, given any permission for Miss
Dodger's afternoon receptions, and five o'clock teas. It is generally
considered that the probability of his doing so, without a Special Act
of Parliament, is still very re-mote.
vol. cn.
r
WRESTLING WITH WHISTLERS.
(A Reminiscence of a Recent Exhibition.)
Scene—The Goupil Gallery. Groups of more or less puzzled Britons
discovered, conscientiously endeavouring to do justice to the
Collection, having realised that Mr. whistler's work is now
considered entitled to serious consideration, out feeling themselves
unable to get beyond a timid tolerance. In addition to these,
there are Frank Philistines ivho are here icith a fixed intention
of being funny, Matrons tvith a strongly domesticated taste in
Art, Serious Elderly Ladies, Literal Persons, #c, fyc.
A Lady {after looking at a representation of Old Battersea Bridge
—in the tone of a person who feels she is making a liberal concession).
Well, do you know, I must say that isn't so bad. I shouldn't so
much mind having that in the room, should you ?
Her Companion [dubiously). Well, I don't
»» -II know. He's put a steamer in. Should you
SfV *--- J'J I think there were steamers in—a—[vaguely)
f yr II i -those days ?
' K\ I First Lady {evidently considering Mr.
Whistles, capable of any eccentricity). Oh,
I don't suppose he would mind that much.
First Literal Person {coming to the por-
trait of Miss Alexander). Well—{plain-
tively)—-he might have put a nicer expression
on the child!
Second Do. Do. Yes—very unpleasing.
[Refers to Catalogue.) Oh, I see it says—
A Brother Brush. 'li f. simply a disagreeable presentment
oi a disagreeable young lady.
First Do. Do. {rejoicing that the painter has vindicated himself
this time). Ah—that explains it, then. Of course if he meant it-!
A Serious Elderly Lady. There's one thing I must say I do like,
my dear, and that's the way he puts down all the unfavourable
criticisms on his pictures. So straightforward and honest of him, I
call it.
Her Companion. Yes, but I expect he can't help seeing how right
and sensible the critics are, you know. Still—{charitably)—it shows
he would do better if he could !
An Advanced Nephew {who is endeavouring to convert a Philistine
Uncle to the superiority of the Modern School). Now here, Uncle,
look at this. Look at the way the figure looms out of the canvas,
look at the learning in the simple sweep of the drapery, the drawing
of it, and the masterly grace of the pose—you don't mean to tell me
you don't call that a magnificent portrait ?
His Uncle. Who's it of ? That's what J want to know first.
Nephew {coldly). You will find it in the Catalogue, no doubt—
No. 41.
Uncle {loolcing it up). " Arrangement in Black. La Dame au
Brodequin Jaime."—the lady in a yellow something or other.
Tchah! And_ not a word to tell you who she's supposed to be f If
I pay a shilling for a Catalogue, I expect to find information in
it. And let me ask you—where 's the interest in looking at a
portrait when you're not told who it's intended for ?
[The Nephew, not being prepared to answer this difficult query,
leads his relative gently up to a "Nocturne in Opal and
Silver." The Uncle conveys his opinion of it by a loud
and expressive snort.
First Prosaic Person {before No. 28). Valparaiso, is it?
{Hopefully.) Well, come, I ought to recognise this—I've been
there often enough. {Lnspecting it closely.) Ha—um !
Second P. P. {with languid interest), Is it like ?
First P. P. I could tell you better if he'd done it by daylight.
I can't make out this in the front—looks to me like the top of a
house, or something. Don't remember that.
Second P. P. I think it's meant for a jetty, landing-stage, or
that sort of thing, and, when you look into it, there's something
that seems intended for people—most extraordinary, isn't it ?
The Domesticated Matron {who is searching for a picture with a
subject to it). There, Caroline, it's evidently a harbour, you see,
and ships, and they 're letting off fireworks—probably for a regatta,
Does it tell you what it is in the Catalogue ?
Caroline {after consulting it). It only says, " A Nocturne in Blue
and Gold"—oh yes—{reading)—" a splash and splutter of bright-
ness, on a black ground, to depict a display of fireworks."
Her Mother {gratified at her own intelligence). I thought it must
be fireworks. He seems quite fond of fireworks, doesn't he ?
First Facetious Philistine. Hullo, what have we got here?
" Crepusetile, in Flesh-colour and Green." Very like one, too, I
daresay—when you know what it is.
Second F. P. As far as I can make it out, a Crepuscule's either
a Harmony inside out, or a Symphony upside down—it don't much
matter.
A Lady {who is laboriously trying to catch the right spirit). " The
Blue Wave at Biarritz." Now I do admire that. And what I like
even better than the Blue wave is this great Brown one breaking in
the foreground—so exactly like water, isn't it, Dick ?
Dick {not a Whistlerite). Y—yes—just. Only it's a rock, you
know.
The Lady. But if that's the way he saw it, Dick !
Dick. Here's a thing! " St. Mark's, Venice." I '11 trouble you !
What's he done with the flagstaffs and the bronze horses and the
pigeons ? I never saw the place look like that.
The Lady. Because it didn't happen to be 'oggy while we were
there, that's all.
First Pros. Person. Ah, there 's old Carlyle, you see ! Dear me,
what a very badly fitting coat—see how it bulges over his chest!
Second P. P. Yes. I daresay he buttoned the wrong button—
philosopher and all that sort o' thing, y'know.
First P. P. {sympathetically). Well, I do think Whistler might
have told him of it!
In the Second Room.
The Matron in Search of a Subject. Ah, now, this really is more
my idea of a picture. Quite a pretty cretonne those curtains, and
there's a little girl reading a book, and a looking-glass with reflections
and all, and a young lady in a riding-habit—just going out for a ride.
Caroline. Yes, Mother. Or just come in from one.
Her Mother. Do see what it's called. " The Morning Canter" or
'' Back from the Row "—something of that kind, I expect it would be.
Caroline. All it says is, " A Harmony in Green and Rose."
The Mother {disappointed). Now, why can't he give it some sensible
name, instead of talcing away all one's interest!
The Phil. Uncle {whom a succession of Symphonies and Harmonies
has irritated to the verge of fury). Don't talk to me, Sir! Don't tell
me any of these things are pictures. Look at this—a young woman
in an outlandish dress sitting on the floor—on the bare floor!—in a
litter of Japanese sketches ! And he has the confounded impertinence
to call it a " Caprice"—a " Caprice in Purple and Gold." J'd
purple and gold him, Sir, if I had my way! Where's the sense in
such things ? What do they teach you ? What story do they tell ?
Where's the human interest in them ? Depend upon it, Sir, these
things are rubbish—sheer rubbish, according to all_ my notions of
Art, and I think you'll allow I ought to know something about it?
His Nephew {provoked beyond prudence). You certainly ought to
know more than that, my dear Unc- Areyou going ?
The Uncle {grimly). Yes—to see my Solicitor, Sir. {To himself,
savagely.) That confounded young prig will find he's paid dear
enough for his precious Whistlers—if I don't have a fit in the cab!
[He goes ; the Nephew wonders whether his attempt at proselyt-
ising was quite worth while.
A Seriously Elderly Lady. I 've no patience with the man. _ Look
at Gtjstave Dore, now. I'm sure he was a beautiful artist, if you
like. Did he go and call his "Leaving the Pra>torium" a
" Symphony" or a " Harmony," or any nonsense of that kind? Of
course not—and yet look at the difference 1
An Lmpressionable Person {carried away by the local influence—to
the Man at the wicket, blandly). Could you kindly oblige me by
exchanging this "Note in Black and White " for an " Arrangement
in Silver and Gold" ?
[Finds himself cruelly misunderstood, and suspected of
frivolity.
PERSONAL PARAGRAPHS.
The Rev. No. 354, writing from Dartmoor, requests us to inform
his numerous friends in Bath and elsewhere that his health is much
improved by the bracing air, and that he is occupied in revising for the
press his course of Sermons to the Young on the Moral Virtues. He
is also anxious to inform his creditors that his accounts are now com-
pletely in order. It is a source of great comfort to him to reflect
that he was able to obtain considerable sums of money from his
friends in Bath, before he was obliged to leave that city, and that,
with the residue of this money, obtained so to speak from Peter, he
will now have the satisfaction of paying a farthing in the pound to
Paul, in other words, to his creditors.
Mrs. Brinvilliers was yesterday visited by her friends. Our
readers will be glad to know that she is quite well and has escaped
the influenza epidemic.
Mr. St. Leonards, with the consent of the Governor, takes this
opportunity of thanking the friends who have so kindly condoled
with him on the unavoidable interruption to his long and arduous
work ;in the service of his country. He hopes that nothing will
prevent him from displaying equal zeal in the still more arduous
labour, which, also for the benefit of his country, he is now
compelled to undertake for a certain period.
Miss Dodger is still unwell. The Home Secretary has not yet
sent instructions for a special drawing-room to be fitted up in the
prison, nor has he, up till now, given any permission for Miss
Dodger's afternoon receptions, and five o'clock teas. It is generally
considered that the probability of his doing so, without a Special Act
of Parliament, is still very re-mote.
vol. cn.
r