What Alice Knew: A Most Curious Tale of Henry James and Jack the Ripper

Chapter 46

Alphonse Legros greeted Henry in his office. There were no classes that day, and he was sitting, looking weary and a little sad, under the large painting by Poussin, that exemplar of the neoclassical style he was constantly exhorting his students to study and imitate.

Unlike his brother, Henry felt sympathy for Legros. It was hard work protecting the artistic establishment against the corrosive forces of the new. He himself sometimes felt prompted to say “no more” when he heard about some of the latest experiments in literary expression: the lady who decided to eschew use of the comma; the young man who insisted on describing fornication. An artist was an individual, but also part of a social system, and thus had a responsibility to stem the tide of vulgarity as far as it was possible to do so. Of course, the new always looked vulgar until one had moved on a bit. Who could tell, but the very things that seemed outrageous now might come to seem routine in time? Knowing this kept Henry from wagging his finger too vigorously, yet he could sympathize with, even envy, Legros for being without such foresight.

Legros proved far more congenial that day than during Henry’s last visit. Perhaps he was feeling lonely and was pleased by the distraction. Whatever it was, he shook his guest’s hand with enthusiasm, offered him a brandy, and bid him take the most comfortable armchair in the room. Best of all, he praised Henry’s work, making special mention of his early novel, Roderick Hudson, whose hero was an artist who had gone to Italy to paint. “I am a strong advocate of the Italian séjour,” said Legros. “I shall recommend your novel to my students.”

Henry felt himself swell with pleasure. He was as vain of his books as other people were of their children, and he could listen to them praised for hours. But not today. Alice had sent him on an errand, and there was no time to waste. He hurried to get to the point.

“I have come to ask about a statement you made when my brother and I visited you a few days ago. You said that Sickert was not the first difficult student Whistler had hired as an apprentice. You said that he had ‘taken the Slade’s leavings before,’ or something to that effect. What were the leavings you were referring to? Was there someone in particular?”

Legros shifted in his chair. “Yes,” he said carefully, “but it was a shocking case.”

“You can rely on my discretion,” Henry assured him.

“Well then,” said Legros, settling back to embark on the story with a certain prurient relish. “The student’s name was Peter Newsome, a boy of modest circumstances from East London. During his early months, he showed considerable promise, copying the head of a Raphael Madonna extremely well. I recall making a note of it.” He paused.

“Go on,” prompted Henry.

“There was no reason for concern until the life-drawing class during our winter term. It seemed to disturb his…équilibre.” Legros paused again.

“Yes?” prompted Henry.

“Some of our students are always unsettled at first.” Legros cleared his throat. “They have never seen a woman…uncovered. But a woman, a man—in the end, it is the same thing. We teach them to see the body as it has been rendered through the ages, as a matter of proportions and properties. Generally, they become…habituated.”

“But this Newsome did not become…habituated?”

“No,” said Legros.

Henry had begun to feel vaguely alarmed. “And?” he prompted again.

“And one day we found him…in an indecent posture after one of the classes.”

“An indecent posture with the model?”

“Mais non!” said Legros, as if this would have been far more acceptable. “An indecent posture…with himself!”

Henry drew a breath. It was as he had somehow expected. “And what was done to the student?”

“His belongings were removed from the premises, and he was asked to leave at once for fear of contamination. It was a great humiliation for the school, though we tried to keep it quiet. It would be assumed that the boy’s career would be over, but Whistler, as I said, took him on.”

“Whistler knew the circumstances?”

“It seems likely that he did. But then, it was Whistler’s way to court scandal and to thumb his nose at established ideas. But he could do nothing with Newsome.”

“Did Newsome…abuse himself again?”

Legros shook his head scornfully. “I have no doubt he continued on the course he had begun, but that was not the issue. Apparently the abuse began to affect the man’s brain and, with it, his art. Whistler wanted no part of him when he found he could no longer draw.”

“He ceased to be a ‘pupil of Whistler’?”

Legros nodded. “It was around this time that he took on Walter Sickert as an apprentice.”

“And what happened to Peter Newsome?”

Legros shrugged. “I cannot say. Perhaps he continues to live off his poor father. Or perhaps he is on the streets or in the workhouse. But as is well-known with regard to such cases, it is only a matter of time before he descends into madness and finds his way to the lunatic asylum.”