Over the following week they saw more of each other.51 Blanche even extended his stay so that he could cross over to Dieppe with Sickert – who was taking Ellen there, probably along with the rest of his family, for the holidays. Blanche rather rued this act of courtesy when he caught a chill on the crossing and was unable to go on to Bayreuth for the premiere of Parsifal as he had planned. His misfortune, however, did mean that the friendship begun in London could continue and ripen further over the summer.52
It was to prove one of the most productive and enduring of all Sickert’s friendships. Sickert relished Blanche’s intelligence, his worldliness, his knowledge of contemporary art, his genius for gossip, his helpfulness, his passion for painting. Blanche opened up for Sickert a new side of Dieppe life. His family’s house, the Bas Fort Blanc, a hideous half-timbered villa in the modern ‘Norman’ style, was a centre of intellectual and artistic life. Sickert spent time in Blanche’s studio room, which had been decorated with scenes from Tannhäuser by Renoir – indeed Renoir was staying just up the coast and was also an occasional visitor.53 Even if Sickert did not meet him, he certainly heard of his doings from Blanche. It was a further taste of the Impressionist milieu.
Through Blanche, Sickert met Olga, daughter of the Duchesse de Caracciolo, whose villa abutted the Bas Fort Blanc. Olga, though barely into her teens, already possessed a dreamy, fawn-like beauty dominated by great almond eyes set in a pale face. The question of who her father might be remained a matter of excited debate amongst the English and French communities (the Duchesse had numerous lovers and admirers). Many liked to promote the claims of the Prince of Wales. He was the girl’s godfather; might he not be her father too?54 Sickert was amused by such tales, and struck by Olga’s peculiar grace. They established a happy, and in due course flirtatious, friendship.55
Sickert returned to London exhilarated. He was, as Maggie Cobden reported, ‘blooming’.56 Under Whistler’s tutelage he had at last discovered an outlet for his energies. Not that he was entirely free from constraints. He still had no source of income, and perhaps it was to earn money that he undertook several days’ work for E. W. Godwin, researching historical costume designs at the British Museum.57 And it may have been for the same reason that, later in the year, he gave some home tuition to the children of Henry Irving.58
If things were going well for him, they were faring poorly for Nellie. She was ill again in the autumn, suffering what seems to have been a regular seasonal relapse.59 She went down to Margate to recuperate, lodging in the smart Cliftonville area of the town.60 Sickert visited her there and loved the place. The Kentish resort with its mid-Victorian flavour, its bracing seawater baths and no less bracing taint of cockney vulgarity – not to mention its associations with Turner – became one of his favoured sites. It also proved beneficial for Nellie. She rallied enough to return to London by the end of the year and throw herself into arrangements for the Suffrage Ball in the coming spring.61
Sickert had his own arranging to do. All his time was taken up with the preparations for Whistler’s forthcoming exhibition at the Fine Art Society, a second showing of Venice etchings.62 There was a mad dash to get everything ready on time. For Sickert, it was an accelerated apprenticeship in the art of printing, as Whistler, through selective inking and wiping and other tricks of the trade, strove to imbue each individual print with its own unique character. The work, though hard, was not without its moments of humour. Sickert recalled once dropping the copper plate he was working on. “‘How like you!” said Whistler. Five minutes afterwards the improbable happened. Whistler, who was never clumsy, dropped one himself. There was a pause. “How unlike me!”’*63 In their work they were distracted by the reappearance of Oscar Wilde, who returned from his American tour at the beginning of January 1883 and was much at Tite Street, before he headed off at the end of the month to spend his earnings on a three-month stay in Paris.64
Despite such diversions, all was ready for the show’s opening on 17 February. For Whistler, an exhibition was not merely a gathering of pictures but a quasi-theatrical event. Every detail had to be addressed. An ‘amazing’ catalogue was produced that quoted some of his critics’ most hostile comments, and the Fine Art Society was redecorated in shades of yellow. For the private view the colour scheme extended to the flowers, the assistants’ neckties, and even Whistler’s socks.65 It is not known what sartorial concession Sickert made to the occasion, but he was, of course, there. He introduced Brandon Thomas to Whistler, and was thrilled when the actor commissioned a painting from his master.66
The opening of the show brought Sickert relief from his studio duties. He was, as his mother put it, ‘somewhat free again and able to get on with his own work’.67 Inspired by Whistler’s example he began to etch his own series of London scenes.† And though he continued to attend regularly at Tite Street, he took a room nearby at 38 Markham Square in order to have some measure of independence.68
Whistler was not entirely approving. He soon found new work for his pupil to do. At the end of April he entrusted Sickert with the task of escorting his painting Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Artist’s Mother over to Paris for exhibition at the Salon. Besides the picture, Sickert also took with him copies of the ‘amazing’ catalogue and letters of introduction to Manet and Degas. He was to say to them that Whistler, too, was ‘amazing’. The route was via Dieppe. Sickert retained a clear recollection of ‘the little deal case’ containing his precious charge being hoisted from the hold of the boat and ‘swinging from a crane against the starlit night and the sleeping houses of the Pollet’.69 In Paris, he lodged at the Hôtel Voltaire as the guest of Oscar Wilde, to whom he had also been instructed to show the catalogue. ‘Remember,’ Whistler informed Wilde in a covering note, ‘he travels no longer as Walter Sickert – of course he is amazing – for does he not represent the Amazing One.’70 Such magisterial condescension was not entirely apt. Sickert, naturally gifted with a remarkable degree of social confidence, had learnt even more poise at Tite Street. He was no mere cipher.
Having seen Whistler’s painting safely delivered to the Salon, he called on Manet but found the artist too ill to receive visitors. Standing in