In 1879 he made his first trip to Venice, stayed fourteen months and made forty-four etchings during the time, including "Little Venice," "San Biagio," and "The Garden." In later years Holland attracted him almost as much as the city of the Adriatic. It is interesting to note his absolute disdain of literary associations. To him Venice was not, as to Heine, the city of Shakespeare. When he crossed the Rialto and Piazzetta he did not hear the voice of Shylock lamenting for his daughter, nor did he conjure up splendid visions of decayed power, as did Ruskin in his "Stones of Venice." The Venice of Claude Lorraine and Turner existed for him as little as the panoramic suavity of a Canaletto. He was satisfied with sitting at a little trattoria near the old Post Office, at Florian's, or in his simple sitting room at San Barnaba, dreaming of some linear expression of an old bridge or archway, of some enchanted fragment of vision, or a peculiar flush of colour over the Grand Canal. To him Venice was a modern city. He only saw what was actually there, and when it fascinated him, he seized his burin or crayon and endeavoured, with frank directness, to record the pictorial event. He invariably chose subjects that appealed to the experienced collector rather than the general public. He never idealized or conventionalized, nor did he belong to those who only see the ugly side of life, its squalor and unpicturesqueness.
Some of Whistler's admirers have pronounced him not only the greatest etcher of the day, but of all times, and compared him to Rembrandt. This comparison is not without justification, inasmuch as Whistler was not a professional etcher but a great artist who, like Rembrandt, took up the etching point as an instrument for new expression. They both sketched with wonderful freedom. They were no mechanics; under their hands the point lost the engraving look and became wonderfully free. Still, to say that Whistler was the best etcher of the day is rather a sweeping expression. Lalanne, Jacquemart, Appian, Veyrasset, Meyrion, Zorn, Pennell, Raffaelli, Rops and Klinger are all wonderful etchers. In painting, his mastership is indisputable. In etching I do not feel it quite as keenly. There is not the slightest doubt that etchings like "Jo," "The Adam and Eve Tavern," "Chelsea," "Soupe à Trois Sous," "The Lion's Wharf," the beautiful little still life "The Wine Glass," the portrait of "Becquet," "Unsafe Tenement," the "Battersea Bridge" of 1879—"a masterpiece of masterpieces"—show uncommon ability, which gives up everything to the right point and never beyond it. One of the most ravishing designs is his "Girl on a Couch." "The Model Resting," quite different in execution, is scarcely less captivating. But much of his work seems to be a little too elaborate, too overcrowded with line work. I do not particularly admire prints like his "Southampton Docks," "Portrait of Drouet" or "The Silent Canal." This is more astonishing when one compares them with the frugal technique of his paintings.
PORTRAIT OF DROUET (ETCHING).
A rather just, though somewhat pedantic, criticism came from the pen of Hamerton in 1881:
"Amongst living men Whistler may be cited as an etcher of rare quality in one important respect, the management of lines, but his etchings owe much of strange charm which they possess to Chinese disdain of tonal values, and to wayward caprice, loving it here and scorning it there, which, being strictly personal, can only be of use as an example in one sense, that it shows how valuable in art is genuine personal feeling. Whistler is an admirably delicate draughtsman when he likes; there are passages in his etchings which are as striking in their way as feats of execution, as the most wonderful passages of Meyrion."
There can be little fault found with this statement. I take objection only to the "wayward caprice" and the "Chinese disdain." I think that Whistler learned "loving detail here and scorning it there" only in his later works. It came out strongly in compositions like "The Balcony," "Doorway," and "Palace" and obtained full mastery in his "Dutch" series, above all the fascinating "Amsterdam Canal" piece, when the lines were so vague and subtle that deep biting was impossible and a few impressions would efface the design. As for the Chinese disdain of tonal values, I think it is Whistler's particular merit that he gradually abolished tonality altogether, and, in his later work, rarely resorted to cross-hatching. He laid more stress upon the simplification of line. Etchings can produce tonal sensations, but it is surely not the main object to strive for. Whistler followed Haden's doctrine that the line ought to be preserved as much as possible, and made the most of it. If the linear expression is sacrificed in etching there is no executive expression left; there is no brushwork to take its place; the etcher is working with a point and not with a brush, and there must be primarily point expression, that is line expression, or none.
