Stories Pictures Tell. Book 8

by Flora L. Carpenter

When they lived in Stonington, they were a long distance from the church and, as there were no trains on Sunday, the father placed the body of a carriage on car wheels and, running it on the rails as he would a hand car, he was able to take his family to church regularly. This ride to church was the great event of the day for James.

James’s first teacher at school, though a fine man, had unfortunately a very long neck. In his wish to hide this peculiarity he wore unusually high collars. One day little James came in tardy, wearing a collar so high it completely covered his ears. He had made it of paper in imitation of the teacher’s. As he walked solemnly to his seat, the whole school was in an uproar. James sat down and went about his work as if unconscious both of commotion and of the angry glare of his teacher. It was not many minutes before the indignant man rushed upon him and administered the punishment he so richly deserved.

When James was nine years old the family moved to Russia. The Emperor Nicholas I wished to build a railroad from the city of St. Petersburg (now called Petrograd) to Moscow, and had sent all over Europe and America in search of the best man to undertake this work, at last choosing Major Whistler. It was a great honor, of course, and the salary was twelve thousand dollars a year. Here the family lived in great luxury until the father died. Then Mrs. Whistler brought her children back to America to educate them.

When only four years old James had shown considerable talent for drawing, but although his mother admired his sketches she always hoped and planned that her son should become a soldier like his father. So at the age of seventeen she sent him to West Point, where he remained three years before he was discharged for failure in chemistry.

Although he had failed in most of his other studies, too, he stood at the head of his class in drawing. He received much praise for the maps he drew in his geography class, and some of them are still preserved. Whistler himself tells us: “Had silicon been a gas, I would have been a major general.” It was during an oral examination, after repeated failures, that his definition, “Silicon is a gas,” finally caused his dismissal.

Another story is told of his examination in history. His professor said, “What! do you not know the date of the Battle of Buena Vista? Suppose you were to go out to dinner and the company began to talk of the Mexican War, and you, a West Point man, were asked the date of the battle, what would you do?”

“Do?” said Whistler. “Why, I should refuse to associate with people who could talk of such things at dinner.”

Whistler’s real name was James Abbott Whistler, but when he entered West Point he added his mother’s name, McNeill. He did this because he knew the habit at West Point of nicknaming students, and he feared the combination of initial letters would suggest one for him, so he substituted McNeill for Abbott. He was called Jimmie, Jemmie, Jamie, James, and Jim.

The older he grew the more Whistler seemed to enjoy playing practical jokes. Soon after he left West Point he was given a position in a government office, but was so careless in his work he was discharged. As he was going past his employer’s desk he caught sight of an unusually large magnifying glass which that official used only on the most important occasions and which was held in great awe by the employes. Whistler quickly painted a little demon in the center of this glass. It is said that when the official had occasion to use the great magnifying glass again he hurriedly dropped it thinking he must be out of his head, for all he could see was a wicked-looking demon grinning up at him.

When Whistler began to paint in earnest he was very successful, and soon became the idol of his friends. In fact, the admiration of his friends proved quite a misfortune, for it sometimes made him satisfied with poor work. A friend coming in would find a half-completed picture on his easel and go into raptures over it, saying, “Don’t touch it again. Leave it just as it is!” Whistler, pleased and delighted, would say he guessed it was rather good, and so the picture remained unfinished.