Mr. Pulitzer called for me at midday in his car and we went out to
Barnard’s studio. Mr. Pulitzer had never been there. At first Mr.
Barnard thought my companion was an Englishman and talked as perhaps
he would not if he had known he was talking to the owner of THE
WORLD.
Mr. Pulitzer is so calm, so restrained, and Mr. Barnard is so
overflowing with enthusiasm! I led the way to the lovely cloister and
Barnard joined us there and gave us an archaeological discourse, much
to the edification of two American tourist ladies who pretended not to
listen, but were secretly enthralled.
The American verger was terribly in evidence, and at the end, when he
poses and demands one should view him from two different points, he
first of all firmly closed the door on Mr. Barnard who waited outside;
but who went out, I thought, a little too readily. It is a terribly
put-up job, and I’m afraid Barnard connives! It spoils everything and
makes the beautiful cloister laughable.
Mr. Pulitzer dropped me at the Pierpont Morgans for tea. Florrie
Grenfell and her husband are staying there, and have been yachting with
them in the Indies.
Mrs. Morgan and her daughter and son were there, the mother looked
like their sister. The atmosphere of restraint and politeness among
themselves gave one the impression of being with Austrian Royalties.
Florrie Grenfell took me over to the library. It is a wonderful
place, and inconceivable that it is a private possession. Everything
is arranged and labelled as though it were a public museum. Even the
bibelots have their labels, and the smallest thing on a shelf is a
priceless work of art. There was a little bronze Benvenuto Cellini, a
Michael Angelo baby head, a Botticelli on an easel--etc., etc. I asked
if the place were open certain days a week to the public, but was told
_no_.
[Illustration: GEORGE GRAY BARNARD DESCRIBING HIS CLOISTERS TO CLARE
SHERIDAN
(Photograph by Ralph Pulitzer, Esq.)
]
When we came out, I saw two men leaning against the lamp post. Florrie
Grenfell said they were detectives. I asked her how she knew--she said
she had been there long enough to know them by sight! Round the angle
of the block, opposite the front door was another. I observed that
this was rather fantastic; but the answer is that the police say they
will not be responsible for Mr. Morgan’s life, and he has already been
shot at! It seems to me that if he metaphorically shook hands with the
world, he’d be as safe as, for instance, our Prince of Wales. The world
reacts to one’s own attitude.