One day, when the pupils had been sketching from life, he came upon the work of one which, if it contained all of the truth, did not contain all of the beautiful.
After gazing at it for some time Whistler observed to the student:
"Ah, well! You can hardly expect me to teach you morals." And he walked away.
* * * * *
A carelessly kept palette was an abhorrence to the painter. He would inspect those used by his class, and on the discovery of untidiness uttered a reproof like this: "My friends, have you noticed the way in which a musician cares for his violin? How beautiful it is? How well kept? How tenderly handled? Your palette is your instrument, its colors the notes, and upon it you play your symphonies!"
* * * * *
The colloquies with the class were spirited, sarcastic, interesting.
Here is a characteristic one:
Question: "Do you know what I mean when I say tone, value, light, shade, quality, movement, construction, etc.?"
Chorus: "Oh, yes, Mr. Whistler!"
Mr. Whistler: "I'm glad, for it's more than I do myself!"