The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1895-01-16
WHISTLER AN0 The MILLioNAlRE.


VITO -En ANU f1E MlLLlONAl1E.
Gust what Really Ooeurrsd Upon = Gels
brated Occasion.
Here is q true version Of an oft
told story of Whistler, the distortion
bearing only a faint racial likeness
to the originals
"A man from nowhere made a large
fortune in London and at once pro-
ceeded to indulgea 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 clnss 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 one crumpled rose leaf had the
millionaire Whistler would not 20.
to .hia home. Alillais, Tadema, Sar-
geant and a hundred lights only
trifie or so less distinguished had
graced his board, but Whistler could
not be got through the front door.
When he saw themillionaire coming,
he waisked around corner. His
notes of invitation, of adulation, he
did not condescend to open. He
turned deaf ear to the important
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 unattain-
ableness.
In short he was miserable, for
until Whistler, the ezigeant, 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 impassixeIy
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,
inlaid with rare percelains, 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 touches 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 one 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
Iionaire burst forth:
Great heavens, Mr.. Whistler
Amt you going to say anything?"
Whistler turned abruptly and re-
garded him for a moment with SOL
emn stare. Then he brought his
hand heavily down on tho million
aires back and exclaimed hoarsely:
Its amazingi And-there's-no
excuse = fort. - New York
Sun.