Unmethodical to the last degree in all his affairs, always absorbed in what he had in hand, it is not surprising that he kept little track of the things he had done.
The first catalogue of his etchings was published in London in 1874. It contained about eighty etchings. In 1886 Mr. Frederick Wedmore catalogued two hundred and fourteen, and in 1899 increased the number to two hundred and sixty-eight.
In 1902 a supplement[11] to Wedmore’s catalogue brought the number of known prints up to three hundred and seventy-two.
The “Thames Set,” sixteen in number, did not appear publicly as a “set” until 1871, though made many years before; and the very rare early impressions made by Whistler himself are considered far superior to the prints of 1871 and after.
In 1880 the Fine Arts Society issued the “First Venice Set” of a dozen plates, and in 1886 Messrs. Dowdeswell issued a set of twenty-six, known as the “Twenty-six Etchings.”
One who knew him in his early Venice days gives the following reminiscences:[12]
“We were often invited to dine with Whistler, whose apartment was on the next flight above. He came to our rooms one day, and said, ‘A——, I would like you and B—— to dine with me to-day. You have such a supply of newspapers, please bring several with you, as I have neither papers nor table-cloth, and they will answer the purpose quite well.’ I did as he requested, and surprised and amused was our host when I called his attention to a column and a half of ‘Whistler stories’ in one of the Boston papers, which was serving as our table-cloth.
“One day I called on Whistler when he was engaged in decorating the interior of a house. He lay on his back on the floor, and the handle of the brush was a fish-pole which reached to the ceiling.
“Once a year, in the summer time, it is the custom of Venetians to go to the Lido, a surf-bathing resort, to see the sun rise. They leave in the evening, in gondolas, accompanied with the inevitable mandolin and guitar, and sometimes with an upright piano. The excursionists make a night of it, and Whistler was one of the number. Next day he wished to make a study from our window, the approach to the Grand Canal. Leaving him for a time by himself, upon my return there was a striking study of the view on the easel, and Whistler before the easel asleep. The brushes had fallen from his grasp, and, well charged with fresh paint, were resting in his lap. As he wore white duck trousers, the effect can well be imagined.
“I have often heard him use the word ‘pretty,’ when looking at a study that had no particular redeeming feature to recommend it. Not wishing to wound the feelings of the artist, he would remark, with that peculiar drawl of his, ‘That is pretty, yes, very pretty.’