His neighbours added to the lustre of this period. In the same district at that time lived Rossetti, Swinburne, George Meredith and Carlyle, and Whistler was on friendly footing with all of them.
Exhibitions of his work were now a regular occurrence. In 1874 he held his first "one man's show" of thirteen paintings and fifty prints at number 48 Pall Mall, London. In 1877 he arranged an exhibition in the Grosvenor Gallery. Among the exhibits were "The Falling Rocket" (Nocturne in black and gold) which brought about the Ruskin attacks, and consequently the famous libel suit, Whistler v. Ruskin. One can hardly imagine, to-day, why the picture should have created so much commotion; but it was a decided innovation at that time, an event in a way ushering in a new era of art. Now this particular style of representation has any number of disciples, and we have accepted it as one of the principal assertions of modern art.
Strange, that history always repeats itself. We should know by this time that our tastes and the tastes of time are not absolute, and that our sense of beauty is likely to be affected by circumstances to an extent which we cannot realize. There was a time, and not so long ago, when Gothic buildings were regarded by the man of culture much as dandelions are regarded by the gardener. For years the very name Nocturne was a reproach. It was supposed to be the product of idiosyncrasy and nonchalant audacity, the work of a decadent period in art, which, because it was decadent, could not be good, for everything that looked like a Whistler was regarded as a note of decadence. It was an argument in a circle, no doubt; but such arguments seem most convincing when once a prejudice exists in the art world. Only gradually did people begin to see more than cleverness in his products.
Oscar Wilde was a constant friend of Whistler's at this time. The friendship was still young and, for a while, the two were inseparable. The author of "Dorian Gray" spent hours in Whistler's studio, came repeatedly to the Sunday breakfasts, and presided at Whistler's private views. Whistler went out and about with him everywhere. But Whistler gradually came to feel that Wilde, in spite of his brilliancy and wit, lacked fundamental purpose. Wilde talked constantly about art, but, in the end, Whistler concluded that Wilde, like most modern authors, knew very little about it.
The days of the Renaissance, of versatility, of talent and appreciation seem to have passed. Whistler easily tired of his friends and, although this friendship had lasted for years, he finally dropped Wilde without much ado. A critic of "The London Times" has summed up the difference between the two in the following words:
"With a mind not a jot less keen than Whistler's, Oscar Wilde had none of the convictions, the high faith for which Whistler found it worth while to defy the crowd. Wilde had posed to attract the crowd. And the difference was this, that, while Whistler was a prophet who liked to play Pierrot, Wilde grew into Pierrot who liked to play the prophet."
Like most artists who have suddenly sprung into fame, Whistler had lived beyond his means. He was fond of comfort and elegance, and allowed himself the fulfilment of any whim as long as it granted him genuine pleasure, as "art and joy should go together."
The auction sale of the contents of his home in 1879, and the sale of his paintings at Sotheby's in February, 1880, were perhaps not entirely caused by financial difficulties. They may have been prompted in an equal degree by a desire to make a change and break the routine of the studio life. He told, however, to his friends in his inimitable way how the sheriff's officer called upon him with a writ, and the last bottle of champagne was brought out of the cellar for that worthy's delectation. In Venice, where he went in September, 1879, he seems to have been in straitened circumstances for quite a while. He lived in modest quarters and dined in cheap, dingy places. These were his "polenta and macaroni days," and, in a way, a repetition of his Paris student's life, only much harder to bear as he was older (forty-five) and used to luxury.
No matter what his reason may have been for breaking up his bachelor establishment it was the second turning point in his career.
Painting did not play quite as important a part in Whistler's life after his Venetian sojourn. He still painted a number of portraits, among them the "Sarasate" and "Comte Montesquiou," but he was more active as an etcher, lithographer, pamphleteer, lecturer and teacher. Orders were scarce at all times. The only regular portrait orders he had in the first half of the eighties were those of Lady Archibald Campbell, wife of the Duke of Argyll; and of Lady Meux, who liked her first portrait, in a black evening gown with a white opera cloak against a black background, so well that she had herself painted three times in succession. Whistler's sense of beauty was a strong feature in his work. Maybe it was not the sense of beauty an Englishman would like. He looked for a pictorial aspect, rather than the "lady" in his sitter; and in England the "lady" is the thing to secure in a portrait of a woman.