The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1895-02-02
WHISTLER AND THE MILLIONAIRE,
Just What Really Occurred Upon a Cele.
Z brated Occasion.

I1erS IL II True VERSION Oh III OH
told story of Whistler, the distortion
bearing only a faint racial likeness
to the original:
A man from nowhere madea large
fortune in London and at once pro-
ceeded to indulge a genuine if some
what Grass love of art. He sent
agents the length and breadth of
Europe to purchase the highest
priced pictures to be had-old mas.
tiers, if possible; if not, copies by
first class artists, if they could be
got to do the work. Modern artists
were patronized in the original. In
fact, he set up a private Luxembourg,
crossed with a spurious Louvre.
The home he built him was mag
%nificent. No man in London with
leanings toward art had such a house.
Everybody, or nearly everybody,
who was invited went to see it, to
remain, to feast, even to gaze upon
the millionaire at his easel, brush in
hand, the robes of Japan Or of Greece
flowing about him.
But n crumpled rose leaf had tho
millionaire. Whistler would not go
to his home. Millais, Tadema. Sar-
geant and a hundred lights only a
trif1e or SO less distinguished had
graced his board, but Whistler could
not be got through the front door.
When he saw the millionaire coming,
he whisked around a corner His
notes of invitation, of adulation, he
did not condescend to open. He
turned a deaf ear to the importuni-
ties of mutual friends.
The art millionaire was in despair.
His wine turned to gall. His palette
grinned at him. His sleep was in.
fected with nightmare, which wore
the disdainful smirk of Whistler.
Even the famous white lock seemed
to assume an air Of lofty u~nattain-
ableness.
In short, he was miserable, for
until Whistler, the exigeant, the &C.
centric, the impossible, set the cachet
of his approval the art millionaire's
position in the world was open to
dispute.
One day Whistler abruptly sent
him word that he would call upon
him the next morning at 10 o'clock.
What actuated the great man will
never be known. The simplest ex-
PLANTATION is that it was one of his
many freaks.
The art millionaire, fairly palpi-
tating with joy, received Whistler
at the entrance to his palatial home,
ELUSIVE with welcome. Whistler
bowed gravely. He uttered never a
word. The millionaire offered his
arm. Whistler took it impassivcly
and permitted himself to be con-
Quoted over the house. He walked
through rooms filled with the treas
ures of Japan, of India, of Turkey;
rooms hung with priceless tapestries,
lnlald with rare porcelains, rooms
representing apartments in ancient
Greece, Rome, Pompeii. He stared
| with fixed eyes and said never a
word-a dining room taken from a
feudal castle, a hall arched like Cleo
patra's, bedrooms whose silken
hangings could have gone through
the eye Of a needle. Never a word.
The host, much perturbed, but
willing to make all allowance for the
eccentricities of genius, finally flung
aside the portieres Of a great studio.
In it were such couches and stuffs
and curios as artists dream of. The
easels were solid rosewood. Two
guinea an hour models awaited the
leisure of the millionaire. Never a
word. Whistler permitted his stony
stare to roam from II object to an
other, then swung his host about,
led him through the portieres and
made for the entrance. AS they de-
scended the grand staircase the mil
lionaire burst forth:
Great heavens, Mr.. Whistler
Amt you going to say anything?"
Whistler turned abruptly and re
garded him for moment with a sol
emn stare. Then he brought his
hand heavily down on the million
aires back and exclaimed hoarsely:
It's amazing! And-there's-no
--excuse - fOr-it." New York
Sun.