"Carmen" was then thirty years old; weight, one hundred and ninety
pounds. But she once had been his child-model.

* * * * *

A Scotch student in the class had worked out the face of an old
peasant woman illuminated by a candle. "How beautifully you have
painted the candle!" Whistler commended. "Good morning, gentlemen!"

* * * * *

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!"

* * * * *