Listings – Watermark and countermark library

This partial watermark, revealed under transmitted light, was found in the paper of The little pool, an etching published in 1871. The lower half of the watermark shows two prancing lions with the letters P and G, most likely the papermaker's initials.

A similar watermark is identified by Churchill in Watermarks in paper in Holland, England, France, etc., in the XVII and XVIII centuries and their interconnection as an 'Arms of Burgundy' watermark.¹

This variation of the 'Arms of Burgundy' dates back to the early 17th century. Although similar versions appear in numerous publications very little has been documented on its origin and history.

Similar watermarks in relatively large sheets of paper have been found by the Institute for advanced Technology in the Humanities at the University of Virginia (and can be viewed at iath.virginia.edu/gants/wm3-folio.html).

The paper on which The little pool was printed has been torn down to a smaller sheet, leaving a modest margin around the image. Fibre analysis shows that the paper is made of almost pure linen and contains visible shives (tiny wood fragments and other foreign material) typically caused by wooden stampers – which were out of use by the 19th century except in parts of France.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

Photographed in transmitted light, the 'Beehive' watermark with the initials DEDB (De Erven de Blauw) is enclosed by ornate scrollwork of leaves and flowers crowned with a fruit tree. Its execution is more sophisticated than many earlier versions. The lack of flocking along the visible chain lines indicates that the paper used is not an early Antique laid paper.

The 'Beehive' watermark originated with a family of Dutch papermakers by the name of Honig [honey], who owned mills in Zaandyk (1675–1902). The coat of arms of the Honig family (incorporating the beehive motif) became a watermark extensively copied throughout the Netherlands and abroad in places such as Russia and Scandinavia.¹ The 'Beehive' watermark became a common motif for Dutch papermakers and those who wished to allude to Dutch papermaking. Eventually it also came to represent a particular paper size.²

This watermark is a 'Beehive' variation belonging to the Dutch papermakers De Erven de Blauw c.1822. The papermakers founded by Dirk and Cornelis Blauw operated five wind-powered papermills in the Zaanstreek region, North Holland. The firm survived for more than 250 years under many different names.

Bill Hamilton and Kassandra Coghlan

This beguiling image of a curly-headed girl was drawn in 1859 by James McNeill Whistler (1834–1903) in the intaglio printing media of drypoint and etching. Bibi Lalouette was the daughter of a Parisian restaurant owner who had extended credit to the young artist on his first exploration of the world of art in France and the Netherlands.¹ The collection holds an etching by Whistler drawn also in 1859 of a child Bibi Valentin. ‘Bibi’ was a generic diminutive, fashionable then and until about 1930, but now little used, and L’alouette’ means ‘the lark’.

Whistler had a special affection for the richness of the ink deposit produced by the drypoint system. The steel or diamond-tipped burin used in drypoint cuts directly into the metal printing plate (rather than into a bituminous coating on an etching support). In doing so, the burin throws up a burr which holds the ink generously but, in its full beauty, only for the first five or so pulls. It was one of the reasons Whistler liked to use old papers, Dutch or Japanese, because of their ability to accept ink felicitously. The draughtsmanship throughout the Bibi image and notably in the richly described hair, demonstrates that at twenty-four years of age Whistler was already a master of the intaglio media. 

Seymour Haden, Whistler’s brother-in-law and fifteen years his senior, had amassed a substantial collection of prints, including a number of etchings by Rembrandt van Rijn (1606–1669).  Haden encouraged Whistler to study the print works of Rembrandt and those by other artists of the 17th-century Dutch school.² In consequence, a prime aim of Whistler’s Continental sally of 1858  was to view the holdings of Rembrandt’s work in the great Dutch collections, notably at Antwerp.

Whistler’s Bibi Lalouette is in the manner of the ‘unfinished print’, the non finito of art historians and the subject of debate in European art for more than four centuries.  It will be seen from the first illustration that whilst the head and clothing have been rendered in meticulous detail, place is accorded the merest of indications. Are such works to be read as incomplete? Doubts seem to have first arisen from the mountain of ‘unfinished’ works left at his death by Michaelangelo Buonarotti (1475–1564).  His earliest biographers and avid admirers Vasari and Condini were nonplussed as to how to interpret the artistic status of such works, uncertainties which to this day have never been resolved with any precision.³

Doubts were intensified by the highly experimental works of Rembrandt and were extended in assessing the work of Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641) and others.  Marshall reminds us that the printmakers responsible for the mid-19th century etching revival took their cue directly from Rembrandt and detailed portraits with incomplete figures became fashionable.⁴ Thus, in the mode of his times, Whistler has lavished great descriptive care on the portrait section of Bibi Lalouette but has given the setting no more indication than a few assured strokes of the drypoint burin. It is unnecessary here to pursue an objective definition of ‘completeness’. Instead, let us rest content with Rembrandt’s dictum: A work is finished when an artist realizes his intentions.⁵

Rembrandt as an intaglio printmaker customarily produced numerous states of a given print on different papers, rejecting uniformity and embracing the unique characteristics of his materials such as Japanese papers, of which European artists had a new and, as yet, limited awareness. That mode of working was entirely to the taste of Whistler and he made it a governing principle of his own processes, somewhat to the offence of print-lovers of the time.

Whistler came to know that Rembrandt occasionally (though rarely) used silk, rather than paper, as the support for prints. Ever willing to follow the great master and being himself a compulsive experimentalist, Whistler pulled in 1859 a copy of Bibi Lalouette  on silk satin. It is now in the Art Gallery of Ontario.⁶

We have another interest in showing the Bibi Lalouette print and that is because it bears a countermark, a device associated with, but distinct from, the watermark. The countermark does not usually take the form of an illustration but generally consists of a name, an initial (or a pair of initials) or a date, which is often presented in Roman numerals. All of these components are capable of being variously interpreted. A name is often that of the owner of the paper mill, but it might instead be the name of the mill or of its locality; similarly with initials, which could be those of the owner, or of an especially skilled and valued employee. (We speculate, on some slight indication that initials could even be an arcane supplication seeking a divine blessing of prosperity of the mill). A date as countermark cannot be read as the age of the paper support: it is likely to be the date of the establishment of the paper mill or merely the year of manufacture of the mould on which the sheet was formed.

Not all papers carrying a watermark have a countermark; conversely, a countermark is almost always associated with a watermark, though not necessarily adjacent to it. The layout of the sheet is partly dependent on its size and that can vary widely. In Britain alone a representative range is from 39 x 32 cm to 183 x 123 cm, the latter surpassing the irresistibly-named Double Elephant at 102 x 69 cm. Silvie Turner further reports a paper made by hand in 1930 at the Whatman Mill in Kent which measured 787 x 134 cm. It required a lifting device to bring the mould up from the vat and a crew of six to eight men for the dipping and couching processes.⁷

Often, but not invariably, the watermark was placed at the centre of one half of the whole sheet, with the countermark at the centre of the other half. Exceptions were common. In northern Italy, for example, countermarks were placed in one or more corners of the sheet. In others the countermark device may fill the whole of the half sheet. Heawood cites an 18th-century paper made in Italy for the Spanish market in which an image of a picador occupied all of the left half of a sheet, meeting and merging with that of the bull on the right half.⁸ 

Frederick Goulding, the London printer engaged by Whistler’s executrix for the posthumous editions, tended to cut his sheets to print size in ways which preserved a watermark entire. Whistler had no such regard and, like Rembrandt (in whose lifetime good paper was immensely expensive), cut his paper parsimoniously with narrow margins to the image. In consequence watermarks and countermarks were sliced through willy-nilly. In providing only narrow margins Whistler was, once again, flouting current fashion. Names in full became frequent after about the middle of the 18th-century following the adoption of this mode by papermakers in France and its borderlands.⁹

Examples of the one countermark can vary in style of execution. Large mills with a number of vats and an even larger number of paper-making moulds frequently show small variations in the countermark.¹⁰ Changes would also occur over time as the wire renditions of the watermark and countermark were formed by a succession of craftsmen. Thus, although the example of the Bouchet countermark in our Bibi Lalouette is in the style of the two illustrations given by Heawood,¹¹ and that shown by Stratis,¹² all four differ one from another in detail. Stratis remarks that her Chicago example was printed by Goulding on a sheet removed from a book, a source often exploited by Whistler.¹³

The portion of the paper sheet on which Bibi Lalouette is printed does not include a watermark, but there are indications that a rendering of a shell of the sea scallop, (also known as a fan shell), can be associated with the Bouchet countermark.  Heawood links the shell with the Bouchet countermark in his illustration 3797.^14,15 The same pairing occurs in the lithograph The Marketplace, Vitre drawn on the stone in 1893 and printed by Goulding in 1904.¹⁶

We take an opportunity to thank Gillian Currie of the National Gallery of Australia Research Library for her perceptive and productive acquisitions of monographs in the field of watermarks. We appreciate and enjoy her interest in our enterprise and see her as very much one of the team.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

The 'Bishop’s crosier' featured in the paper used for an early etching and drypoint Annie Haden 1860 appears to be one of the oldest watermarks yet found in the Whistler collection at the National Gallery of Australia, with a probable date in the 16th century.

The 'Bishop’s crosier' has been documented in various forms by Tschudin in The Ancient Paper-Mills of Basle and their Marks and does not seem to be previously recorded in relation to Whistler’s work. Although there are numerous versions of this watermark, a near identical illustration appears in Briquet’s Les Filigranes.¹ The variation that appears on Annie Haden, one of Whistler’s most cherished etchings, was used by the Düring papermill at Basel (also known as Basle) c.1565–1585.

The design of the watermark (also known as the ‘Crosier of Basle’) derives from the richly-adorned staff of Saint Germanus, a divine born in 610 in Treves and appointed the first Abbot of a monastery in the Swiss Jura. He was martyred in 675 by flaying, but his stave survives in the church at Delsburg, south-west of Basel.²

The circles decorating the crook of the staff are representations of tendrils, a popular Gothic design element. The cross and the circles at the base are the personal mark of the papermaker, Hans Düring, who bought the Basel mill in 1550 and was admitted to the Saffron Guild (a guild of merchants) in the same year. The mill was held by his descendants until 1764.

Annie Haden is one of Whistler’s largest etchings, with an image size of 35.0 x 21.4 cm. It is printed on the wire side of a full sheet of antique laid paper, resulting in the watermark appearing inverted when viewed from the image side.

The appearance of darkened chain lines indicates that the paper was formed on a single-faced mould. The felt side of the paper has a distinct fibrous pattern, which often appears on paper created in France and regions nearby.

Bill Hamilton and Kassandra Coghlan

An ornate version of the 'Bishop’s crosier' watermark presents the staff surrounded by the escutcheons of the 12 Swiss cantons which were the foundation members of the Helvetian confederation. A fine example is in the National Gallery of Australia' collection, in Whistler’s transfer lithograph The Doctor 1894, a seated figure study of the artist’s brother William (younger by three years and held in life-long affection).

Tschudin illustrates 128 versions of the 'Bishop’s crosier' watermark and emblazons it in gold on the cover of The Ancient Paper-Mills of Basle and their Marks.¹ He lists the source papers bearing the 'bishop’s crosier' watermark as ranging in date from 1522 to 1830, emanating from mills in Switzerland, Germany, France and the Netherlands.²

The majority of mills using the 'Bishop’s crosier' watermark were of Basel, many in the St. Albantal enclave in the upper part of the grounds of the monastery of St. Alban (founded in 1083, a remnant of which survives). In these grounds 12 mills were operated by 22 generations of papermakers over roughly five centuries.

Early makers at St. Albantal included the Heuslers, the Dürrs and the Dürrings – dynasts all, who through intermarriage and multiple exchanges of mills, held centre stage on the Basel scene from the 16th to 18th centuries. The mills were powered by water from the upper St. Alban canal, fed from the Birs, a minor stream which flowed into the Rhine.

The papermakers of Basel (also known as Basle) occasionally protested against the use of ‘their’ crosier watermark by papermakers elsewhere; though the Basel papermakers were known to have appropriated motifs of makers in Berne and Frankfurt.³

The Art Institute of Chicago's publication The Lithographs of James McNeill Whistler includes a drawn illustration of the version of the 'bishop’s crosier' watermark (featuring the escutcheons of the cantons) that appears under The Doctor.⁴

The Doctor has a sad genesis. It was drawn by Whistler in Paris (where the Whistler's resided), when Doctor William Whistler came to call on the artist's wife Beatrix. He diagnosed cancer. Nonetheless, the artist came to admire the image, so much so that he asked his printer to increase the edition from 12 to 30 proofs.⁵

The Lithographs of James McNeill Whistler does not offer a maker of or a date for the paper on which The Doctor is printed, however it is evident from one of the publication's illustrations⁶ that fibre pulp has flocked along the chain lines, indicating the sheet was 'antique laid' (ie formed on a single-faced mould), therefore made before the introduction of double-faced moulds late in the 18th century.

Tschudin illustrates a version of the Swiss cantons watermark which is the same as that in The Doctor, except that two leafed branchlets sprout from the top of the watermark and there is a stylised hand at the centre of its base.⁷ He ascribes the type to a source document of 1759, made by the mill owned by the Dürrings at Saint Marie-aux-Mines.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

The countermark in the paper under the drypoint The Forge 1861 belonged to the firm De Erven de Blauw and was used c.1822. Another impression of this intaglio print, illustrated in the Whistler Online Catalogue from the Hunterian Art Gallery, University of Glasgow,¹ bears part of an elaborate ‘beehive’ watermark belonging to the same papermill, including the initials D.E.D.B.

The ‘beehive’ watermark appears in full in the paper under an impression of Eagle wharf 1859 in the National Gallery of Australia collection. This ‘beehive’ watermark and the countermark illustrated here may belong to paper made on the same mould. The countermark, which also appears horizontally in the lower left of The lime burner 1859, is often accompanied by a watermark of a Fleur-de-Lis within a crowned shield.

The name De Erven de Blauw derives from an imortant family of Dutch papermakers who began making paper in 1621. The papermakers founded by Dirk and Cornelis Blauw operated five wind-powered papermills in the Zaanstreek province of North Holland, and survived for over 250 years under many names.

Whistler had a particular preference for Dutch 'antique laid' papers; he was aware that the rich quality they gave to ink could not be imitated with contemporary papers.²

Frederick Goulding (1842–1909) – who completed a posthumous edition of Whistler’s lithographs at the request of Birnie Philips (Whistler’s sister-in-law and executor of his estate) – often chose to print on D&C Blauw paper. Variations of the D&C Blauw watermark and countermark appear in the paper of eight works by Whistler in the National Gallery of Australia collection.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

The ‘Foolscap’ watermark was used frequently by European papermakers, from Britain to Russia. The name might conjure up a mental picture of a schoolboy in a dunce’s cap banished to a corner of the schoolroom, but the watermark represented a clown, fool or jester (Shakespeare uses the terms synonymously).

The watermark's popularity may be due to the charm of the merry image which, in the main, depicts a jester in a floppy cock’s comb cap and a collar with four, five or seven peaks, each bearing a jingle bell.

Though Russia may have been the periphery of the Fool’s far-flung dominions, the 'Foolscap' watermark was in use there from as early as 1575. Tromonin illustrates a rudimentary version, sans collar, with a twin-peaked-cap and bells, which he traces to the Vilnius Evangelie [Gospel] papers of that date.¹ He provides a five-peaked-cap example (at illustration 811), for which the source documents are the 1668 itinerary accounts of Czar Alexei Mikhailovich.²

Five examples of the ‘foolscap’ watermark are held by the National Gallery of Australia in its collection of 261 Whistler prints:

• Cocks and hens, Hotel Colbert 1891, lithograph
• Churchyard 1887, lithograph
• Fifth of November 1895, lithograph
• Portrait study, Miss Rosalind Birnie Philip 1896, lithograph
• The little velvet dress 1873, drypoint

The first four items conceal identical seven-pointed-collar versions of the ‘Foolscap’ watermark. The little velvet dress contains a five-pointed-collar version. Other details which differentiate this version are the thick braid of hair on the nape, the widely-divided peaks in the coxcomb cap and the protuberant nose.

All five prints are on antique laid paper, showing heavy flocking of pulp along the chain lines, indicating the sheets were formed on single-face moulds, which largely went out of use in the 18th century. This is germane in the case of Portrait study, Miss Rosalind Birnie Philip which was pulled posthumously in 1903, soon after Whistler died.

The London printer Frederick Goulding (1842–1909) was commissioned by Rosalind Birnie Philip, the executrix of Whistler’s estate, (and his sister-in-law), to print this and other plates. It was her practice to mark with a small rubber stamp the reverse of prints which passed through her hands. A square device declared the work to have been pulled during Whistler’s lifetime; a round one was assigned to prints made posthumously.

Goulding acquired a deserved reputation for the perceptive use of rare old papers from a stock he had built up. He knew of Whistler’s liking for such papers and so printed Portrait study on material which he felt would accord with Whistler’s tastes.³

The fool, in sundry guises, was known in western Europe from pre-Christian times, and is best known in the role of court jester. The being is best remembered in the role of court jester, but quite modest establishments – including taverns and brothels – flaunted a fool. In these place the role was often filled by a cripple or imbecile given shelter, clothed, fed and kept as a kind of capering house pet. Jesters were highly intelligent, perceptive and quick-witted. They were allowed great licence in their comments on persons and events and were expected to use it.

As Olivia says in Twelfth Night (Act I Scene V) in speaking of her clown-servant Feste, 'There is no slander in an allowed fool'. Shakespeare knew the fools and their cant and exploited his knowledge. He gives Touchstone, the clown, some of the best speeches in As You Like It and has Duke Senior observe of him (Act V Scene IV), 'He uses his folly like a stalking horse, and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit.'

The barbed banter between Beatrice and Benedict in Much Ado About Nothing might well reflect the Bard’s familiarity with the smart talk of the jesters. The world of the fool was not confined to courts and mansions. It was manifest in London playhouses and the wide-ranging troupes of strolling players which moved between towns not on the established theatre circuit. The clown was a usual member of the cast.

That role has withered in western Europe and the fashion of a fool-in-residence petered out in the 18th century, but the character lives on to this day through the medium of playing cards, where he appears in medieval motley as the Joker. It is customary to supply two such cards in the pack in addition to the basic 52-piece deck. Appropriately, the Joker is a ‘wild’ card, able to fill a number of roles.

The term ‘foolscap’ has also survived to modern times in Britain, its dominions and colonies as the name associated with a specific size of writing paper which, in imperial measurements, was 8 x 10 inches. Following Australia's adoption of the metric system in 1966 the ‘Foolscap’ sheet has been superseded by the slightly shorter and wider A4 sheet.

Aptly, the First Edition of Shakespeare’s plays, printed in London by Jaggard and Blount in 1623, is said to have been on paper bearing the 'Foolscap watermark'.⁴ At the time the ‘Foolscap’ watermark was a fairly new device, but it became enormously popular in a multitude of forms throughout the 17th century.

Heawood provides illustrations of 166 varieties of the ‘Foolscap’ watermark, which ring the changes on the number of collar points, the style of the coxcomb cap, the presence of a diadem or hair braid and variations in profiles.⁵ The origins of Heawood’s source papers range from 1610 to 1718, demonstrating that the ‘Foolscap' watermark was, essentially, a style of the 17th century.

As the papers for all five prints in the Gallery’s collection discussed above contain heavy flocking of pulp along the chain lines of the mould, it is guineas to gooseberries they were formed before about 1740. The watermark in the lithograph Portrait study, Miss Rosalind Birnie Philip closely resembles versions illustrated in Ash and Fletcher’s Watermarks in Rembrandt’s prints, from source documents dated 1659.⁶

The watermark in The little velvet dress appears to match that in the etching Christ Disputing with the Doctors 1652 by Rembrandt van Rijn (1606–1669).⁷ That sheet may have been formed earlier, as Rembrandt was known to have held a stock of papers he selected from to suit images he wished to print. Given Whistler’s predilection for papers of the time, it is reasonable to assign the sheet used for The little velvet dress to the second half of the 17th century.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

There are two kinds of Pro Patria watermark: the ‘Britannia’ form used by continental papermakers producing papers for the British market; and the 'Maid of Dort’ form, produced for general sale.

The Britannia motif was current in the late 18th century.¹ It is rendered in several ways – on the theme of a medallion, round or oval, surmounted by the British crown. In the centre of the motif is a traditional image of Britannia, robed, seated and seen in profile. In one hand she holds a spear; in the other a single stem of flowers or leaves. At her side is a shield emblazoned with the core of the British flag. A band within the circumference of the medallion carries a motto such as ‘EIESQUE … LIBERTATE … PRO PATRIA’, ‘PRO REGE … ET … PRO PATRIA’, or ‘RULE … BRITANNIA … RULE’.

The 'Maid of Dort' form of the Pro Patria watermark was more ornate, and was used over a wider geographic range. Churchill's Watermarks in paper in Holland, England, France etc., in the XVII and XVIII centuries and their interconnection includes images of 27 versions of the 'Maid of Dort'.² Heawood’s Watermarks, mainly of the 17th and 18th centuries includes 22 versions.³

The 'Maid of Dort' is a national symbol for Holland. ‘Dort’ is the Anglicised diminutive of Dordrecht, the oldest city in Holland. The seated maid, (holding a hat on the point of spear) and rampant lion (brandishing a sword and holding a bundle of arrows) – both located within a palisade – represent Holland, surrounded by her fortified frontiers, maintaining liberty by the force of arms.⁴

Amsterdam was the home base of the 'Maid of Dort' watermark throughout the 18th century. Given Whistler’s predilection for ‘old Dutch’ papers, it is unsurprising that more examples of it are found in the National Gallery of Australia's Whister print collection than any other watermark. Russian mills used the elements of the maid, the lion, the hat and the palisade in a variety of combinations, a few including the motto Pro Patria.⁶ The full image, with minor variations in detail, was used in Denmark at the Erikshaab Paper Mill, Hillerslev in Funen; the example cited by Voorn was still in use in 1835.⁷ Some of these renderings varied significantly in detail and spirit from the original, e.g. the droll version used by the Gransholm Paper Mill of Southern Sweden c.1790.

Papers in the National Gallery of Australia's Whistler print collection identified as bearing the Pro Patria watermark include:

• Palaces, Brussels 1887 etching
• High Street, Brussels 1887 etching
• Fleur de Lys Passage c.1886–1888 etching, London
• Grand' Place, Brussels 1887, etching
• Market, Calais no date, etching
• Maunder’s fish shop, Chelsea 1890 lithograph, London
• The little doorway, Lyme Regis 1895 lithograph, London
• The Priest’s house, Rouen 1895 lithograph
• Clothes-exchange, no.1 c.1886–88 etching, London
• The Smith’s yard 1895, lithograph London
• 'The Swan', Chelsea 1872, etching London

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

Two works in the National Gallery of Australia’s collection of Whistler prints show three watermark images of a lion rampant on a shield flanked by the letters M and C in Gothic script and a countermark MDCCCXXVIII (1828): the etching Millbank 1861 and the lithograph Nursemaids: Les Bonnes du Luxembourg 1894. The latter is unusual in that it incorporates two lion rampant watermarks, one a mirror image of the other.

It is curious that the lion, extinct in Europe since prehistoric times, has had a starring role in heraldry over many centuries. Its first known appearance is in an enamel now in the Musée de Tessé at Le Mans made not later than 1151. The piece depicts Geoffrey, Count of Anjou, bearing a blue shield with three, (possibly four) rampant golden lions. The Count was the son-in-law of Henry I of England (reigned 1100–1135). It is believed that in knighting Geoffrey, Henry bestowed upon him a shield bearing painted lions. Very soon afterwards, Richard the Lionheart (1157–1199) became the first English king to bear arms and three golden lions (or leopards) have been used in the arms of every English dynasty since that time.¹

Heraldic lions are often pussycats; but the lion-on-a-shield image used widely in watermarks is of a different mien. This creature is rampant, with a fearsome protruding tongue and three paws in the air ready to attack or defend. It is a device that has also been remarkably enduring. Don Francisco de Bofarull y Sans shows a drawing of a watermark displaying a lion on a shield found in Venetian documents of 1480 and 1481 which is related to the three watermarks in the two prints under consideration.² At this point we assume these watermarks to be on papers made in the 19th and very early in the 20th century; but this same lion has served in sundry metiers from as early as the second half of the 14th century. These have included the watermarks ‘Arms of Amsterdam’, current from the middle of the 17th century until the end of the 18th century; a lion defends the Maid of Dort in the ‘Pro Patria’ watermark of the 18th century; and, such is his longevity, the lion rampant continues as the badge of Peugeot cars in the 21st century.

Whistler thought highly of his Millbank image and intended to use it (with that of The Little Pool) as an announcement of an 1861 London exhibition. Early states of both prints bear the inscription: The Works of James Whistler: Etchings and Drypoints are on view at E.Thomas, Publishers, 39 Old Bond Street. From 1873 Whistler’s prints often displayed a monogram, which at first consisted of his interlocked initials but evolved into a stylised butterfly. The monogram frequently appears on a tab at the foot of Whistler’s prints initialled in pencil and sometimes is placed within the composition as an etched ‘butterfly’.

Neither the Millbank etching nor the Nursemaids lithograph is signed in pencil. Both could be posthumous. Nursemaids is almost assuredly so and there are reasons for proposing that Millbank is also posthumous. Some 71 lithographs in the collection of the National Gallery of Australia had previously been owned by Whistler’s sister-in-law and executrix of his artistic estate, Rosalind Birnie Philip. It was her practice to mark with a small rubber stamp the reverse of prints that passed through her hands. A square stamp in red ink declared the print to have been pulled during Whistler’s lifetime; a circular one in blue was assigned to prints made posthumously. The reverse of Nursemaids bears the circular stamp and is, presumably, posthumous. Nonetheless, there is need for some reservation because occasionally Philip applied both stamps to a single print.

There are grounds for suggesting that Millbank is also posthumous. Both it and Nursemaids bear indications of the approach and techniques of Frederick Goulding (1842–1908), a highly regarded English printer (though not favoured by Whistler), who was commissioned by Rosalind Birnie Philip to print posthumous editions of Whistler’s lithographs. Goulding was also known to have made posthumous editions of some of Whistler’s etchings such as Millbank.

Goulding’s printing style was meticulous: the image was centred precisely on the support, the ink was carefully managed and the sheet was kept immaculately clean. As a printer of another artist’s work Goulding did not have the licence to employ experimental techniques. In contrast, Whistler had a wilful ‘artistic’ approach that lead him to favour old, even dirty, papers, to position the image so as to protect pre-existing marks such as writing or binder’s sewing holes and to mix paper types within a single edition. He relished areas of degraded size. In that spirit Whistler wrote to his printer Thomas Way in 1893: "I am delighted with the proofs … I don’t know what you mean by finding the paper dreadfully stained – I like it."³

For Whistler, Goulding’s work was overly neat. Intriguingly, given Whistler’s interest in Japanese art and his desire to preserve dirt and old sewing holes, it is not inconceivable that Whistler would have been aware of wabi-sabi, a Japanese concept relating to aesthetic value derived from the principles of Taoism and Zen Buddhism and found in music, tea ceremony and Japanese garden design. A feature of wabi-sabi is that an object should be allowed to retain some evidence of the travails of its past history.

It may seem strange that Whistler’s sister-in-law commissioned Goulding for the posthumous printings, but she knew he was sensitive to Whistler’s predilection for old or rare papers and Goulding did marshal a variety of old papers which he believed would be in sympathy with Whistler’s quirks. Millbank in the National Gallery's collection bears the hallmarks of Goulding’s techniques.

Nursemaids, printed in l894 during Whistler’s lifetime and again posthumously in 1904, bears two lion-on-a-shield watermarks in facing mirror images and the initials M and C and the countermark MDCCCXXVIII (1828). Peter Bower, who has written extensively on the subject, has indicated that despite the date 1828 in the countermark, the paper was made about 1900. The earlier date, which appears in a few papers of that time, is usually the year in which a company started in business, rather than the year of manufacture. There was quite a fashion for reversed marks, (particularly in the United Kingdom), from the 1890s until the First World War and they were primarily designed for fine-book printing.

Bower has remarked further that the sheet on which Nursemaids is printed is a trimmed (416 x 270mm) half-sheet of large post quarto divided longways, rather than through the more usual shorter dimension. The whole sheet would have had four marks so aligned that, when folded for the book, the watermark in each page would read the same way. The watermark being at 90 degrees to the chain lines suggests that the resultant book would be in landscape format rather than portrait. To meet book production requirements, the paper would have been machine-made.⁴

A fibre analysis was undertaken on the etching Millbank. Three minimal fibre samples from the support paper were mounted on glass slides and stained respectively with Hertzberg Reagent, Phloroglucinol and Toluedine Blue, the last being mounted in DPX.RI. = 1.55. The samples were viewed at x100 magnification using an Olympus BX60 polarising microscope.

All the fibres appeared slightly chopped and some were clearly fibrillated. Some fibres exhibited features such as x, y, and v striations and swollen nodes with a narrow lumen characteristic of bast fibres such as linen. The remaining fibres exhibited features more closely associated with a hardwood pulp. The fibres stained with Phloroglucinol remained yellow, indicating that no lignin was present and, thus, no mechanical woodpulp. The samples treated with Hertzberg Reagent exhibited approximately 50% red staining and 50% blue staining

These results enabled a diagnosis that the paper is a mixture of linen and chemically-processed woodpulp. These findings are not inconsistent with Bower’s assessment that the paper was made about 1900.

There was a temptation to assume the letters M and C flanking the shields were the initials of a paper-mill owner or indicated the location of the mill. However, Briquet in Les Filigranes: Dictionnaire Historique des Marques du Papier cautions that initials have other usages such as those of an employee; the name of a nearby town or the local district; or indicate the period during which the sheet was manufactured or the mill flourished. Letters associated with watermarks were much in vogue early in the 14th century, then gradually became used only as the initials of paper-mill owners.⁵

The coupling M and C has made appearances in the watermarks of a range of mills in sundry locations over many years sufficiently frequently as to suggest it has a particular significance. Briquet illustrates an example in which the initials flank a cross, the whole surmounting a water wheel, in a source paper from Lessay dated 1512.⁶ Heawood in Watermarks: mainly of the 17th and 18th Centuries shows examples from a London paper of 1607 associated with a ‘grapes’ watermark, in an ‘Arms of Amsterdam’ watermark of a paper datable to 1676 (from an unidentified location), in a ‘fleur-de-lis’ watermark from Bern 1787; and with a hunting horn on a shield from a Coventry letter-book of 1675.⁷

Heawood’s compendium is of watermarks of the 17th and 18th centuries, yet the same coupling is present in the sheet used for Nursemaids made about 1900. So long a life and so wide a geographical spread of manufacture suggest that the coupling M and C has a specific and enduring meaning not deriving from the names of a paper-mill, the owner or a location. This proposition is reinforced by Eineder’s illustration of the coupling with a ‘fleur de lis’ watermark in Italian papers of 1780 and 1781 and with a version of the fleur de lis embracing a scroll, the whole surmounted by a five-pointed coronet.⁸

Briquet illustrates numerous examples of the letter M standing alone in watermarks. We note that 22 of these are surmounted by a Christian cross which we take to indicate a frequent religious component in watermarks of the time.⁹ There is a further entry of likely significance: Briquet illustrates an example of letter M and gives the annotation: Sta-Maria della Virgini. Catastro vecchio, from a paper dated 1350 sourced to Verona. ‘Castrato vecchio’ is an old locality on Lake Garda near Verona.¹⁰Our interest centres on the ascription to the Holy Virgin Mary. Could the letter C, so often joined with M in watermarks, signify Christus, the Christ? We speculate that M C could be a salute to the Holy couple, or an invocation seeking a blessing for the continued prosperity of the mill, or perhaps simply an assurance of high quality in the product. Still, these initials remain a mystery to us; help would be welcome!

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

There are many variations of the 'Strasburg lily' watermark. It has also been known, more prosaically, as the Fleur-de-Lis on a Crowned Shield, or simply as the Fleur-de-Lis, (a term derived from the central element of the design).

The watermark – in use from 1600 through to the 19th century – was not limited to papers made in Strasburg, but was also used in Basle, about 120km upstream in Switzerland. It appears widely in the Netherlands (notably in Amsterdam) and, to an extent, in England and Germany.¹ Variations had currency in Russia and Scandinavia. Many of these places used a less florid version which preserved the basic components – the crowned shield enclosing the lily.

Some variations of the mark came to be associated with specific sizes of paper. In Britain the 'Strasburg lily' came to represent Demy (40 x 51cm); with a slight alteration in the crown section, the emblem signifies Imperial (standard size 56 x 76cm).

The Russian version of the 'Strasburg lily' was used by mills in and near Uglich, Veliko Selo and River Yukhot.² Papermaking burgeoned in Russia following the active encouragement of Peter the Great (1689–1725). Peter made an extended visit to western Europe early in his reign, and was intent on bringing his empire to Europe and transforming much of its medieval serf economy into an industrialised state.

In 1697 Peter spent time at Zaandam in the Netherlands (see the De Erven de Blauw countermark), where he carefully investigated techniques of shipbuilding and papermaking. Thereafter he was instrumental in the establishment of paper mills at a number of centres.³ By the early 19th century Russian paper mills had grown into large enterprises. In 1826 the Veliko Selo paper mill employed 530 people (of whom 143 were children between six and fourteen years of age).⁴

In Denmark the pared-down version of the 'Strasburg lily' was in use in the 18th century at a paper mill at Engelsholm, near Horsens, in Jutland. The form is described by Voorn as a ‘Crowned shield with figure representing a Lily’.⁵ The watermark in Whistler’s The palaces bears the date ‘1814’ below the design. This date can only be used to verify the initial year of the watermark’s use. Under transmitted light the image shows flocking of pulp along the chain lines, which occurred when the sheet was still in the wet state on the mould.

This condition is characteristic of single-faced moulds, which were mostly superseded by double-faced moulds late in the 18th century, but could have still been in use by mills in 1814. While this date cannot substantiate the year of manufacture, it indicates the sheet was produced in the early part of the 19th century.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

After the visual extravaganzas of the Strasburg lily and Beehive watermarks, it is a relief to contemplate the graphic simplicity of the 'Fortune figure' (also known as Fortuna and Fortune).

A deity predating Roman civilisation, Fortuna was initially a fertility goddess¹ and was kindred to her probable Greek precursor Tyche, to the Hindu personage Laksmi and to the Buddhist Chinese Kuan Yin, answerer of pleas for mercy and for fertility. Fortuna came to be revered as the arbiter of chance and destiny.

She is represented as a nude standing tiptoe on a globe, the whole, in the manner of much classical statuary, set upon a plinth. The figure holds in each hand the ends of a strip of textile floating above her head. The circular object on which the figure teeters may denote a ball, the instability of the pose representing the uncertainty of fortune.

What may seem a naive rendering of fingers, toes and hair is characteristic of the limitations of wire (forming the watermark) as a graphic medium. Another consequence of the limitations of the medium is that the figure is androgynous. Isolated anatomical features such as breasts are omitted and this Fortuna, like Eve, is navel-free.

Four lithographs in the National Gallery of Australia's Whistler print collection carry the Fortuna watermark – The fair, Girl with bowl, The little steps, Lyme Regis and Mother and Child, no.2. More precisely, each sheet shows either the upper or lower half of the 'Fortune figure'.

Joining the prints in transmitted light demonstrates that the halves of the figure are from very similar sheets of paper, likely to have been formed on one or a pair of moulds (such as might be used by a vatman and coucher working in tandem). The half-figures could be from the one sheet. The laid line count is 1cm=8 in both pieces; the chain line spacing varies from 20mm to 30mm across the lateral span and match when joined vertically.

Heawood's Watermarks, mainly of the 17th and 18th centuries includes two tracings of the figure which differ from the Gallery's examples only in details of hair and profile; these departures may merely represent the intractability of wire. The figures (nos. 1364 and 1365), are in association with the countermark ‘VD L Van Gelder’. The figure appears again in a naïve form mounted on a shield, rather than the globe/ball and plinth, in illustration 1366.² Here the countermark is given as ‘VGZ’, in script below a Fleur-de-Lis.

According to Heawood, Van der Ley and the Blauws were Dutch papermakers who made great strides in the 18th century, followed a little later by the Van Gelder firm; he also states that the 'Fortune figure' was used by Van der Ley and Van Gelder at the ‘Fortuyn’ mill.³

An example of a Russian 'Fortune figure' is included in Tromonins's watermark album. Whereas the Dutch figures face to the right, the Russian variant faces left. The figure sports breasts and the loins are swathed; there is no plinth, but the edifice is supported by a pair of wings sprouting from a globe. The source document is dated as 1708.⁴

The Fortuyn paper mill was owned by Van der Lay and his family from 1774 to 1837, during which time the mill used the 'Fortune figure' and similar watermarks. The papers in the Gallery's collection bearing the 'Fortune figure' watermark were probably made at the Fortuyn mill during that period.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton

Whatman paper is considered to be one of the finest English handmade papers of the 18th century. The elder James Whatman began to produce good quality white paper at his Turkey Mill in Kent around 1740. Until this time England was largely dependent on the importation of paper from neighbouring countries such as Holland, France and Germany.

James Whatman was born in 1702, in Loose, a village just outside Maidstone in Kent. The Maidstone area was one of the most important papermaking centres in England.¹ Whatman built Old Mill Hollingbourne in 1733, but did not become well known as a papermaker until 1740, when he acquired Turkey Mill, through marriage to Ann Harris, the widow of Richard Harris.

Whatman’s initial trade, passed on from his father, was as a tanner. Balston explains in The elder James Whatman: England’s greatest papermaker (1702–1759) that the Whatman family was connected to the Harris family of ancient papermakers for several generations, not by blood but through friendship.²

There were two James Whatmans at the Turkey Mill. The elder James Whatman died in 1759, at which point his son James Whatman II took over the business. Father and son were instrumental in the technological advancement of papermaking. The elder James Whatman developed wove paper between 1754 and 1757, at the request of William Baskerville, a renowned printer who wanted a more even surface to print on than the laid papers then available. The younger James Whatman developed the mill, and it became one of the largest European suppliers of good quality writing, watercolour and printing paper.³

James Whatman II had a stroke in 1759, following which his assistant William Balston and the Hollingsworth Brothers became the main papermakers at Turkey Mill. These papermakers were given rights to the Whatman name after 1807. The Whatman countermark the Hollingsworth Brothers used to distinguish their paper from Balston’s included the inscription ‘TURKEY MILLS’ or ‘TURKEY MILL’.⁴

A genuine Whatman watermark does not have a crossed section in the centre of the letter 'W'. Numerous forgeries of the Whatman watermark are known, displaying varying differences, some subtle and others more obvious. Paper analysis by Peter Bower, who has written extensively on the subject, shows that Whatman watermarks were forged in France, Germany and Austria.⁵ There are three forged Whatman watermarks in the National Gallery of Australia’s collection of Whistler’s works on paper.

Kassandra Coghlan and Bill Hamilton