By Elbert Hubbard

It was at the Café de L’Horloge in Paris. Mr. Whistler sat leaning on his cane, looking off into space, dreamily and wearily.
He aroused enough to answer the question:
“Doré – Gustave Doré – an artist? Why, the name sounds familiar! Oh, yes, an illustrator. Ah, now I understand; but there is a difference between an artist and an illustrator, you know, my boy. Doré – yes, I knew him – he had bats in his belfry!”… Read full article on Gustave Doré »