II A Family of Soldiers — Grandfather Founded Chicago — Birth — St. Petersburg — West Point — Coast Survey — His Military Spirit
He came of a race of fighters. The family is found towards the end of the fifteenth century in Oxfordshire, at Goring and Whitechurch on the Thames; one branch was connected with the Websters of Battle-Abbey, and descendants still live in the vicinity; another branch is in Essex, and from this sprang Dr. Daniel Whistler, President of the College of Physicians in London in the time of Charles the Second, and described as “a quaint gentleman of rare humor,” and frequently mentioned in “Pepys’s Diary.”
From the Oxfordshire branch, one Ralph, a son of Hugh Whistler of Goring, went to Ireland and founded the Irish branch from which sprang Major John Whistler, the first representative of the family in America, and grandfather of the painter.
Major Whistler was a British soldier under Burgoyne, and was taken prisoner at the battle of Saratoga. At the close of the war he returned to England and made a runaway match with the daughter of a Sir Edward Bishop.
Returning to this country with his wife, he settled at Hagerstown, Maryland, and soon after enlisted in the American army.
“He was made a sergeant-major in a regiment that was called ‘the infantry regiment.’ Afterwards he was adjutant of Garther’s regiment of the levies of 1791, which brought him into General St. Glair’s command. He was severely wounded November 4, 1791, in a battle with the Indians on the Miami River. In 1792 ‘the regiment of infantry’ was, by Act of Congress, designated as the ‘First Regiment,’ and to this John Whistler was assigned as first lieutenant. In November, 1796, he was promoted to the adjutancy, and in July, 1797, he was commissioned a captain.”
While captain of the “First Regiment,” then stationed at Detroit, he was, in 1803, ordered to proceed to the present site of the city of Chicago and construct Fort Dearborn.
He and his command arrived on August 17, at two o’clock in the afternoon, and at once staked out the ground and began the erection of palisades for protection against the Indians.
The captain had with him at the time one son, William, who was a lieutenant in the army, and who was commander of Fort Dearborn in 1833, when the fort was finally abandoned as a military post. Another son, John, remained in the East.
On the completion of the fort the captain brought out the remaining members of his family,—his wife, five daughters, and his third son, George, then but three years old, and afterwards the father of the artist.
“The daughters were Sarah, who married James Abbott, of Detroit,—the ceremony took place in the fort, shortly after the family came; the wedding-trip was made to Detroit on horseback, over an Indian trail and the old territorial road; they had two nights of camping out; their effects were carried on pack-horses,—Ann, married Major Marsh, of the army; Catherine, married Major Hamilton, of the army; Harriet, married Captain Phelan, also of the army; Caroline—eight months old when her father built Fort Dearborn—was married in Detroit, in 1840, to William R. Wood, of Sandwich, Georgia.”
When the army was reduced in June, 1815, Major Whistler was retired, and in 1818 appointed military storekeeper at Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis. He died at Bellefontaine, Missouri, in 1827. “He was a brave officer and became the progenitor of a line of brave and efficient soldiers.”
To a visitor from Chicago the artist once said:
“Chicago, dear me, what a wonderful place! I really ought to visit it some day,—for, you know, my grandfather founded the city and my uncle was the last commander of Fort Dearborn.”
George Washington Whistler, the father of the painter, became an engineer of great reputation, rose to the rank of major, and in 1842 accepted the invitation of Czar Nicholas to superintend the construction of the St. Petersburg and Moscow Railroad, and it is said that, with the exception of John Quincy Adams, no American in Russia was held in such high estimation.
Major Whistler has been described as a very handsome man; he had rather long curling hair which framed a most agreeable face. “He might have been taken for an artist, rather than for a military engineer. Yet he was, in every sense, a manly man, with most attractive expression and ways.”
Whistler’s mother—his father’s second wife—was Anna Mathilda McNeill, a daughter of Dr. C. D. McNeill, of Wilmington, North Carolina.
So much for the stock from which Whistler sprang, a line of able men and good fighters. In a roundabout way he must have inherited some of the traits of that “quaint gentleman of rare humor” so frequently mentioned by garrulous Samuel Pepys, who says in one place, “Dr. Whistler told a pretty story.... Their discourse was very fine; and if I should be put out of my office, I do take great content in the liberty I shall be at of frequenting these gentlemen’s company.”
It is reported that Whistler once stated he was born in St. Petersburg, and he certainly seemed to take delight in mystifying people as to the date and place of his birth,—part of his habitual indifference to the sober requirements of those solemn meta-physical entities Time and Space.
One friend has insisted in print upon Baltimore as his birthplace, another upon Stonington, Connecticut.
His model once asked him:
“Where were you born?”
“I never was born, my child; I came from on high.”
Quite unabashed, the model retorted:
“Now, that shows how easily we deceive ourselves in this world, for I should say you came from below.”
The Salon catalogue of 1882 referred to him as “McNeill Whistler, born in the United States.”
His aversion to discussing dates, the lapse of years, the time it would take to paint a portrait, or do anything else, amounted to a superstition.
For him time did not exist. He did not carry a watch, and no obtrusive clock was to be seen or heard anywhere about him. He did not believe in mechanical devices for nagging and prompting much-goaded humanity. If he were invited to dinner, it was always the better part of wisdom to order the dinner at least a half-hour later than the moment named in the invitation.
He once had an engagement to dine with some distinguished people in a distant part of London. A friend who wished to be on time was waiting for him in the studio. It was growing late, but Whistler kept on painting, more and more absorbed.
“My dear fellow,” his friend urged at last, “it is frightfully late, and you have to dine with Lady ——. Don’t you think you’d better stop?”
“Stop?” fairly shrieked Whistler. “Stop, when everything is going so beautifully? Go and stuff myself with food when I can paint like this? Never! Never! Besides, they won’t do anything until I get there,—they never do!”
An official connected with an international art exhibition was about to visit Paris to consult with the artists. To save time, he sent notes ahead making appointments at his hotel with the different men at different hours. To Whistler he sent a note fixing a day at “4.30 precisely,” whereupon Whistler regretfully replied:
“Dear Sir: I have received your letter announcing that you will arrive in Paris on the—th. I congratulate you. I never have been able, and never shall be able, to be anywhere at ‘4.30 precisely.’
“Yours most faithfully,
“J. McN. Whistler.”
To the stereotyped inquiry of the sitter:
“About how many sittings do you require, Mr. Whistler?”
“Dear me, how can I tell? Perhaps one, perhaps—more.”
“But—can’t you give me some idea, so I can arrange——”
“Bless me, but you must not permit the doing of so trivial a thing as a portrait to interfere with the important affairs of life. We will just paint in those odd moments when you have nothing better to do.”
“Suppose I am compelled to leave the city before it is finished?”
“You will return next summer, and we will resume where we left off, as the continued-story-teller says.”
And no amount of persuasion could get him to say when he expected to finish a work.
He would frequently say:
“We will just go ahead as if there were one long holiday before us, without thinking of the end, and some day, when we least expect it, the picture is finished; but if we keep thinking of the hours instead of the work, it may never come to an end.”
This indifference to time kept him young—to the very last. He persistently refused to note the flight of years.
There was once a very old Indian, how old no one knew, in Northern Michigan who, when asked his age by the pertinaciously curious, always replied, “I do not count the years; white people do—and die.”
His father went to Lowell, Massachusetts, in 1834 to take charge of the construction of the canals and locks. He resided in a house on Worthen Street, and there Whistler was born on July 10.
In a history of Lowell it is stated that Whistler was probably born in what was known as the Paul Moody house, a fine old house which stood on the site of the present city hall; but quite possibly the family occupied a house owned by the proprietors of the locks and canals, which still stands and is pointed out as the “Locks and Canal house.”
The old parish book of St. Anne’s Episcopal Church contains the following entry under 1834:
“Nov. 9, Baptized James Abbott, infant son of George Washington and Anna Mathilda Whistler. Sponsors, the parents. T. Edson.”
Rev. Theodore Edson was the rector of the church.
The adoption of his mother’s maiden name, McNeill, as part of his own was apparently an afterthought.
He had two brothers, William and Kirke, a half-brother, George, and a half-sister, Deborah, who married Seymour Haden, the well-known physician and etcher, who figures in “Gentle Art” as the “Surgeon-etcher.” Of the brothers, Kirke died young, George remained in this country, William became a well-known physician in London, dying a few years ago.
The family afterwards spent a short time in Stonington, where Major Whistler had charge of the construction of the railroad to Providence. They used to drive to church in Westerly in a chaise fitted with railway wheels, so as to travel on the tracks. There were no Sunday trains in those days, so the track was clear. An ingenious device enabled the horse to cross the culverts.
A locomotive named “Whistler” after the distinguished engineer—a felicitous name—was in use until comparatively few years ago.
In the spring of 1840 Major Whistler was appointed consulting engineer for the Western Railroad, running from Springfield to Albany, and the family moved to Springfield and lived in what “is now known as Ethan Chapin homestead, on Chestnut Street, north of Edwards Street.”
Old residents of the vicinity claim to remember “well the curly locks and bright, animated countenance of the boy,” and that the three boys “were always full of mischief,”—not an uncommon trait in youngsters, probably still less uncommon in Whistlers.
Shortly after the railroad to Albany was opened a wreck occurred, and a niece of Major Whistler, who was on her way to visit him, was badly injured. She was taken to his house, and it was a long time before she recovered.
The accident made a strong impression on Whistler, and possibly accounts for some of the dislike he often showed towards travelling alone. It was only in crossing crowded streets and in the confusion and bustle of travel that he showed what might be called nervousness.
With characteristic gallantry he would offer a lady his arm to aid her in crossing the Strand or the Boulevard, but he made sure of the places of refuge and took no chances; if in a hurry, she would better cross alone.
Once, not many years ago, he was at Dieppe, and wrote a friend in Paris almost daily that he would be in the city to see him. A week passed, and the friend, fearing he would be obliged to leave without seeing Whistler, wrote him he would come to Dieppe and see the work he was doing there, to which suggestion Whistler replied most cordially by wire.
The friend packed and went, expecting to stay a night or two at least; but, lo! Whistler, bag in hand, met him in the village to take the next train back; whereupon the friend, much surprised, said:
“If you intended going to Paris to-day, why under the sun did you let me ride half a day to get here?”
“Well, you see, I don’t like to travel alone; happy thought yours to come down after me.”
And back they went, after a delightful luncheon in that little old restaurant near the cathedral, where there is an ancient stone trough filled with water for cooling and cleaning vegetables. The luncheon, the way it was ordered, and the running fire of comment and directions by Whistler to the stout old woman who did it all, were worth the journey to Dieppe.
Whistler will be mourned more by these lowly people who used to serve him with pleasure, because he took such a vital interest in what they did, than by many who own his works.
A diary kept by the artist’s mother contains this entry, under date of July 10, 1844:
“A poem selected by my darling Jamie, and put under my plate at the breakfast-table, as a surprise on his tenth birthday.”
The little poem of twelve lines was addressed “To My Mother,” and subscribed “Your Little James.”
When the boy was eleven years old, Sir William Allen, a Scotch painter, visited the family. Mrs. Whistler’s diary contains the following entry:
“The chat then turned upon the subject of Sir William Allen’s painting of Peter the Great teaching the majiks to make ships. This made Jimmie’s eyes express so much interest that his love for the art was discovered, and Sir William must needs see his attempts. When my boys had said good-night, the great artist remarked to me, ‘Your little boy has uncommon genius, but do not urge him beyond his inclination.’ I told him his gift had only been cultivated as an amusement, and that I was obliged to interfere, or his application would confine him more than we approved.”
The diary records the same year a visit to the old palace at Peterhoff, where “our Jimmie was so saucy as to laugh” at Peter’s own paintings.
When Major Whistler first went to Russia he left “Jamie” for a time in Stonington with his aunt, and the two older children, George and Deborah, in England.
After the death of Major Whistler, in St. Petersburg, in 1849, the wife and children returned to this country, and lived for a time in Connecticut.
Whistler wished to enter West Point, and he persuaded his half-brother to write Daniel Webster, to enlist his sympathy. The letter was dated February 19, 1851. It referred to the father’s career and services and asked that James be appointed to the Academy.
He was appointed by President Fillmore, and entered July 1, 1851, registering from Pomfret, Windham County, Connecticut, where his mother was then living.
Whistler was so small in stature and physique that it is surprising he was received; the military record of his family was no doubt the controlling consideration.
He possessed all the pugnacity and courage required for a soldier, and the military spirit was strong in him, yet such was his bent towards art that his career at the Academy was not one of glory; but he became very popular with his comrades and probably led in all their mischievous pranks.
The official records show that at the end of the first year, in 1852, he stood forty-one in a class of fifty-two,—his standing in the different studies being as follows: Mathematics 47, English studies 51, French 9. At the end of his second year he stood number one in drawing, but was not examined in other studies, being absent with leave on account of ill health. In 1854 his standing was as follows: Philosophy 39, Drawing 1, Chemistry deficient. For his deficiency in chemistry he was discharged from the Academy on June 16, 1854.
A lady once asked him why he left the Academy, and he replied:
“If silicon had been a gas, madame, I should have been a soldier.”
On leaving West Point he took it into his head that Fate had intended him for a sailor, and he tried to enter the Naval Academy at Annapolis, but he could not get the appointment.
Through an old friend of the family, Captain Benham, of the Coast and Geodetic Survey, he was employed as draughtsman in that department in Washington from November 7, 1854, to February 12, 1855, at one dollar and a half a day. In these days he signed himself James A. Whistler. His lodgings were in an old house still standing on the northeast corner of E and Twelfth Streets. He was always late to breakfast, and scribbled pictures on the unpapered walls. When the landlord objected, he said:
“Now, now, never mind; I’ll not charge you anything for the decoration.”
Neither time nor the rules of the department had any terrors for him. Even in those early days he was a law unto himself. In one instance the following entry appears against his name:
“Two days absent and two days deducted from monthly pay for time lost by coming late to office.”
To correct these dilatory habits Captain Benham conceived the brilliant idea of having a fellow-clerk of punctual habits call each morning for Whistler and bring him to the office on time. The captain believed that the example and influence of a more methodical companion would reform the erring one and get him to the office at nine o’clock; but it turned out quite otherwise, for Whistler proved so charming a host each morning that both were late.
At the end of a week the mentor reported that his efforts were wasted and unless relieved he, too, would acquire the obnoxious habit, for each morning Whistler managed to so interest him in the mysteries of coffee-making and the advantages of late breakfasts that it was impossible to get away.
Of him and his habits in those days a fellow-draughtsman,1 who is still in the service, says:
“He was about one year younger than myself, and therefore about twenty years old at that time. He stayed but a little over three months, and I have not met him since, but retain a more vivid recollection of his sojourn than of that of many other draughtsmen who succeeded him and remained much longer. This may be partly for the reason that Captain Benham, who was then in charge of the office, told me that Whistler’s father had been a star graduate of West Point and a distinguished engineer, and requested me to be attentive to the new appointee; it may also be for the reason that there was something peculiar about Whistler’s person and actions quite at variance with the ordinary run of my experience.
“His style of dress indicated an indifference to fashion which, under circumstances, might be changed into emancipation when fashion, for instance, went into extremes and exacted personal discomforts. I certainly cannot remember Whistler with a high-standing collar and silk hat, which was then the universal custom. Classical models seemed to be his preference, a short circular cloak and broad-brimmed felt hat gave him a finish which reminded one of some of Rembrandt’s celebrated portraits. His tout ensemble had a strong tinge of Bohemianism which suggested that his tastes and habits had been acquired in Paris, or, more concisely speaking, in the Quartier Latin; indeed, he always spoke of Paris with enthusiasm. His manners were those of an easy self-reliance which conveyed the impression that he was a man who minded his own business, but that it would not be exactly safe to cross his paths.
“At the time of his engagement as draughtsman at the office not the slightest doubt was entertained of his skill and ability to fill his post, and it was the principal concern of Captain Benham to get him sufficiently interested in his work to engage his serious attention. It was, however, soon apparent that he considered topographical drawing as a tiresome drudgery, and when he was put on etching views on copper plate, this occupation, although more congenial to his tastes, was yet too monotonous and mechanical and did not afford sufficient scope to his peculiar talent for sketching off-hand figures and to make him feel contented. Any odd moment he could snatch from his work he was busy in throwing off his impromptu compositions on the margins of his drawings or plate; odd characters, such as monks, knights, beggars, seemed to be his favorites. He was equally skilful with pen and ink, pencil, brush and sepia after the Spanish style, or dry point in the English, and often I was struck by the facility and rapidity with which he evolved his inventions, there never was the shadow of a dilemma or even hesitancy.
“From the very start he never was punctual in attendance, and as time wore on he would absent himself for days and weeks without tendering any excuse. As far as I remember, nobody, except Captain Benham, cared to speak to Whistler about his irregularity, for the reason that it was certain that no thanks would be earned and that it would not have made the slightest difference in his habits. Howsoever that may have been, Colonel Porterfield, the clerk, was a strict accountant, and his monthly reports told the whole story. Thus in one month two days were deducted from Whistler’s pay for time lost in coming late to office, and in January, 1855, he was credited with but six and one-half days’ work, which reduced his scant pay to a mere pittance.
“Under these circumstances three months were quite sufficient length of time for Whistler and the office to realize that the employment of Whistler as a draughtsman was an experiment destined to be a failure, and I do not think that a trace of ill feeling was retained when it was concluded by both parties to effect a separation and let each one go his own way.”
At that time Edward de Stoeckl was charge d’affaires of the Russian embassy. He had known Major Whistler in St. Petersburg, and he took a great fancy to his son.
One day Whistler invited him to dinner, and this is the account of what happened:
“Whistler engaged a carriage and called for his distinguished friend. As they drove on, Whistler turned to the diplomat and asked him if he would object to their stopping at several places on the way. M. de Stoeckl, amused at the unconventionality of the request, assented, and his young host then directed the coachman to a greengrocer’s, a confectioner’s, a tobacconist’s, and to several other tradesmen.
“After visiting each of these he would reappear with his arms filled with packages, which he deposited on the vacant seat of the carriage. At last the two brought up at Whistler’s lodgings. After a climb up many stairs the representative of the Czar of all the Russias found himself in Whistler’s attic.
“Quite out of breath, he was obliged to sit down, too exhausted to speak, during which time Whistler flitted hither and thither, snipping a lettuce into shape for the salad, drying the oysters, browning the biscuit, preparing the cheese, and in an incredibly short time setting a sumptuous repast before his astonished guest, who was delighted with the unique hospitality of the host.”
A comrade in office describes Whistler’s appearance in those days:
“He was very handsome, graceful, dressed in good taste, with a leaning towards the style of the artist in the selection of his clothing. His hair was a blue-black and worn very long, and the bushy appearance seemed to give one the impression that each separate hair was curled. Always at this time he wore a large slouch hat and a loose coat, generally unbuttoned, and thrown back so that the waistcoat was plainly seen.”
He never changed very much from that description, save that his hair became slightly gray, and one lock directly over the forehead turned completely white very prematurely. To this white lock Whistler took a great fancy, and it is visible in the portraits and drawings he made of himself. His hair was naturally very curly,—an inheritance from his father,—and out of the mass of black curls the white lock would spring with almost uncanny effect.
To the very end he was extremely fastidious in his dress. In the days when threadbare coats were a luxury he wore them spotlessly clean, and carried old and worn garments in such a manner that they appeared as if made for the occasion.
In his studio and while at work he was never mussy or untidy; he had more than a woman’s notion of neatness.
He was not only very careful of his clothes, but they must be buttoned and adjusted just so before he would make his appearance. On him a frock coat was never stiff and ungraceful, and somehow he managed to dissipate the dreary formality of evening dress. It was always a pleasure to see him enter a room; while on the street he was, in his earlier London days, exceedingly picturesque.
He was very particular concerning his hats. In the latter Paris days he always wore a most carefully-brushed silk hat with flat brim,—the Quartier-Latin type. This, with his monocle—for on the street he wore a monocle—and his long overcoat, made him an exceedingly striking figure.
One day he was in a shop, trying on a hat, when a dissatisfied customer rushed in, and, mistaking him for some one in charge, said:
“I say, this ’at doesn’t fit.”
Eyeing him critically a moment, Whistler said:
“Neither does your coat.”
Whistler was thoroughly imbued with the military spirit; and if he had not been a great artist he would have made a good officer. He was born to command, and possessed physical courage of a high order.
In stature and physique he was short and very slight,—could not have weighed more than one hundred and thirty pounds; but he was so perfectly proportioned that one did not notice his size except when in sharp contrast with others. Notwithstanding his inferiority in size and strength, he never in his life had the slightest hesitation in striking a man—even at the risk of annihilation—if he deemed the occasion required it.
A good many years ago the editor of a gossipy sheet in London, called the Hawk, printed some items of a personal nature which Whistler resented. Not knowing the editor by sight, Whistler took a friend to point him out in the foyer of one of the London theatres. Although the man was a giant compared with Whistler, the latter, without a moment’s hesitation, went up to him and struck him across the face with a cane, saying with each blow, “Hawk, Hawk, Hawk.”
The editor afterwards boasted that he immediately knocked Whistler down. Whistler claimed he slipped and fell; but, he said:
“What difference does it make whether he knocked me down or whether I slipped? The fact is he was publicly caned, and what happened afterwards could not offset the publicity and nature of this chastisement. A gentleman lightly strikes another in the face with a glove; the bully thinks the insult is wiped out if he knocks some one down—the ethics of the prize ring; but according to the older notions the gentleman knows that the soft touch of the glove cannot be effaced by a blow of the fist,—for if it could, superiority in weight would render the cad and the bully immune. The historical fact is that I publicly drew my cane across his face; no one cares anything about his subsequent ragings, or whether I slipped and fell, or whether he trampled upon me.”
Again, when an artist went up to him in the Hogarth Club in London and called him a liar and a coward, Whistler promptly slapped his face.
So far as controversies with opponents were concerned, he was courageous to the point of indifference; but, as already noted, in crossing busy streets and making his way through the hurly-burly of city life he was as careful, not to say timid, as a woman; he had many superstitions which influenced his actions.
One afternoon he said to a sitter:
“To-morrow, you know, we won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, it’s Friday; and last Friday, you remember, what a bad time we had,—accomplished nothing. An unlucky day anyway. We’ll take a holiday to-morrow.”
The military spirit clung to him through life, and he was ever in the habit of referring to his experience at West Point as if it were the one entirely satisfactory episode in his career. He called himself a “West-Pointer,” and insisted that the Academy was the one institution in the country the superiority of which to everything of its kind in the world was universally admitted.
“Why, you know, West Point is America.”
Though living in Paris at the time and the sympathy of all France was with Spain, he lost no opportunity for upholding the United States in the war. He could see no flaw in the attitude or the diplomacy of this country, and was especially eloquent over the treatment of Admiral Cervera after his defeat.
On the other hand, such was his ingrained dislike for England that he lost no opportunity for declaiming against her war in South Africa. He delighted in berating the English and in prodding any English sympathizer who happened in his way.
One day a friend from this side, of Irish birth, but who sided with England, was in his studio, and the discussion waxed warm until the visitor said:
“I’ll be dashed if I’ll talk with you, Whistler. What do you know about the matter? Nothing at all.”
After a short silence, Whistler said:
“But, I say, C——, do you remember how the Boers whipped the Dublin Fusileers?”
Whereupon the air became sulphurous.
The friend afterwards remarked:
“There was nothing in the malicious innuendo anyway, for, you know, those regiments are recruited from all quarters, and there may not have been a single Irishman in the Fusileers at the time of the fight.”
Whistler held some extraordinary opinions concerning the Dreyfus case, the outcome of his strong military bias.
It did not matter to him whether the accused was guilty or not, the prestige of the army must be maintained, even at the sacrifice of the innocent,—the view which led the military section of France to such violent extremes against Dreyfus,—and Whistler resented the assaults upon the army as treachery to the most sacred institution of the state.
To the civilian this military bias which leads men in all countries to such extremes in judgments and actions is incomprehensible. The attitude of the military mind towards the ordinary problems of life, towards the faults and failings of men, towards petty transgressions and disobediences, towards rank, routine, and discipline, towards the courtesies and sympathies and affections which are the leavening influences of life, cannot be understood by the lay mind. The soldier’s training and occupation are such that he does not think, feel, and act as an ordinary man; his standards, convictions, and ethics are fundamentally different; so different that he requires his own territory, his own laws, and his own tribunals. With the soldier the maxim of ordinary justice that it is better that ten guilty should go free than one innocent be condemned is reversed.
By birth, by tradition, by association, Whistler was thoroughly saturated with this spirit; and it affected his conduct and his attitude towards people throughout his life. It accounts for much of the impatience, the arrogance, the intolerance, the combativeness, the indifference to the feelings of others with which he is charged, or rather overcharged, for much of what is said is exaggeration.
No man can be reared in an atmosphere of authority and blind obedience to authority without losing something of that give-and-take spirit which softens life’s asperities.
Therefore, in any estimate of Whistler’s character and of his conduct towards others, the influence of these very unusual early associations and conditions must be taken into account and due allowance made.