Rogues' Gallery Part 12

Samuel Pryor Reed's bloodlines were considered as good as it gets. He was a grandson of the chairman of Remington Arms, the weapon maker, and a son of Joseph Verner Reed, who was the founder of the American Shakespeare Festival and the owner of Hobe Sound, a.k.a. Jupiter Island, Florida. Reed developed that elite, well-guarded enclave of wealth north of Palm Beach into the wealthiest town in America, selling property through his Hobe Sound Company only to those he approved of (among them members of the Bush family, Joan Payson, and Doug Dillon).

Sam's mother, Permelia, the Remington heiress, was renowned for running Jupiter with an iron fist wrapped in black cashmere; an apocryphal story had it that if a visitor to the island displeased her, she would send the person a black cashmere sweater with a note that read, "You are going to need this up North." It was said to be her polite way of saying, "Get off my island."60 In truth, she'd given someone a sweater only once, to urge a woman in a revealing dress to cover up, but she allowed the tale to spread because it kept visitors in line. In truth, she'd given someone a sweater only once, to urge a woman in a revealing dress to cover up, but she allowed the tale to spread because it kept visitors in line.61 Annette had made an interesting choice. She and Reed married in March 1960. Ashton Hawkins was an usher at their wedding. Sam soon went to work for Engelhard Industries. Annette had made an interesting choice. She and Reed married in March 1960. Ashton Hawkins was an usher at their wedding. Sam soon went to work for Engelhard Industries.

In 1961, Jane was co-chair of the Diamond Ball, a high-society gala sponsored by Engelhard's diamond-mining interests. It benefited the Inst.i.tute of International Education, where Arthur Houghton was chairman of the board. His nephew Jamie, who would eventually follow him as chairman of the Metropolitan Museum, was married to Sister Parish's niece May, better known as Maisie, yet another descendant of the Met's G.o.dfather, John Jay. For more than a decade, the Diamond Ball would be Jane's big annual event, "always glamorous and prestigious," the society gossip Suzy would write.62 Jane also toiled for such diverse causes as the Newark Museum (the Engelhards gave it more than sixty works of art), the New York Zoological Society, and the Alliance Francaise. Jane also toiled for such diverse causes as the Newark Museum (the Engelhards gave it more than sixty works of art), the New York Zoological Society, and the Alliance Francaise.

With their increasing wealth and political and social connections, Jane and Charlie's public profile rose. In 1963, Charlie was written up in the New York Times New York Times, and Jane was regularly lionized in the pages of Diana Vreeland's Vogue Vogue and newspaper social columns. A 1967 profile in the and newspaper social columns. A 1967 profile in the Was.h.i.+ngton Post Was.h.i.+ngton Post chronicled her quotidian existence: her daily exercise hour; her "little" luncheons and dinners "for anywhere from 50 to 80;" her "two Pekingese dogs from whom she is inseparable;" her unmarried sister, Barry, who'd moved in with Charlie's mother; her daily visits to St. Patrick's Cathedral for afternoon ma.s.s; and her three butlers, chauffeur, and Swiss governess, without whom "I don't think I could manage." chronicled her quotidian existence: her daily exercise hour; her "little" luncheons and dinners "for anywhere from 50 to 80;" her "two Pekingese dogs from whom she is inseparable;" her unmarried sister, Barry, who'd moved in with Charlie's mother; her daily visits to St. Patrick's Cathedral for afternoon ma.s.s; and her three butlers, chauffeur, and Swiss governess, without whom "I don't think I could manage."63 In the midst of all that, their midnight-to-dawn 1965 coming-out party for their second daughter, Susan, attracted the cream of society, including the new Metropolitan chairman, Doug Dillon, and reporters who tallied up the 7,050 feet of tent, 560 feet of floral garlands, 3,500-square-foot dance floor, 98 pairs of draperies, 50 gallons of emince emince of chicken, 60 pounds of rice pilaf, and 1,500 pancakes the Engelhards laid on for their guests. Three different spokesmen refused to say how much they'd spent. of chicken, 60 pounds of rice pilaf, and 1,500 pancakes the Engelhards laid on for their guests. Three different spokesmen refused to say how much they'd spent.64 Mary Murphy Brian, who must have been proud, died six months later. Mary Murphy Brian, who must have been proud, died six months later.

Even her grandchild, now calling herself Anne Reed, was getting famous, profiled in the New York Times New York Times in 1967 as one "of the current crop of switched-on matrons." Having dieted down to a size 6, she was photographed on the street outside her ten-room apartment in a mink coat and fur beret, hailed as a local fas.h.i.+on icon, dressed by the hot new designer in town, Oscar de la Renta, and more interested in her family (she'd had a son and daughter) than in society. Though she went to charity b.a.l.l.s, the young Mrs. Reed called them "a bore." in 1967 as one "of the current crop of switched-on matrons." Having dieted down to a size 6, she was photographed on the street outside her ten-room apartment in a mink coat and fur beret, hailed as a local fas.h.i.+on icon, dressed by the hot new designer in town, Oscar de la Renta, and more interested in her family (she'd had a son and daughter) than in society. Though she went to charity b.a.l.l.s, the young Mrs. Reed called them "a bore."

Luckily for Jane, though, their brood wasn't famous outside society, for around that time Charlie had an affair that shook their marriage to its core. Though discussed within their circle, it was years before the story spread. Carroll McDaniel was a southern belle who came to New York at eighteen at the end of World War II and became a fas.h.i.+on model and party-girl regular at the glamorous nightclub El Morocco. There, she befriended an aging Argentine s.h.i.+pping magnate, who took her around the world, ending up in Paris in 1949, where she was spotted at Maxim's by the 17th Marquis de Portago, known as Fon, a race-car driver and inveterate playboy, who promptly proposed.65 By 1953, their marriage was fraying when Fon met the married American supermodel Dorian Leigh and started sleeping with her. Late in 1954, Leigh got a Mexican divorce from her husband, the son of the gossip columnist Suzy, and immediately married Portago. It didn't last, in large part because he was still married to Carroll, so after he got Leigh pregnant, he hightailed it to Paris and reconciled with his first (and legally only) wife. The affair with Leigh continued through an abortion, the birth of a son by Carroll, another pregnancy for Dorian, and another dalliance on Fon's part, this time with Linda Christian, an actress and the former Mrs. Tyrone Power. Finally, Fon filed for divorce from Carroll, who'd moved back to New York, into an apartment just across the street from the Metropolitan. Before the divorce was finalized, he died in a race-car crash in 1957.66 Sometime after that, Carroll found herself at a birthday party Jane was throwing for Charlie. She'd been invited as an extra woman for an unattached male guest. But at some point during the party, "Charlie and Carroll disappeared," says a socialite. "Everyone knew he wanted to divorce" Jane and marry Carroll, the man-about-town John Galliher told the gossip columnist Charlotte Hays, in her book The Fortune Hunters The Fortune Hunters. "Even Engelhard said so." And "Carroll was telling everyone she was going to marry Charlie," a friend of hers confirms. "He was mad about her, and she was crazy for him."

But Jane wasn't giving him up easily. After learning he'd invited Carroll on a safari, she hired a private detective, who allegedly caught Carroll trying to sell a sapphire ring Charlie had given her.67 With the marriage hanging by a thread, Charlie's mother "told him to ditch Carroll or think about inheriting a whole lot less," says a New Jersey neighbor. Charlie ended the affair, drowning his sorrows with cake and c.o.ke (he had a special fridge that held twenty-four bottles built into the armrest of his seat on his latest jet), growing visibly more obese and arthritic. Soon, he could only walk with canes, wheezing. With the marriage hanging by a thread, Charlie's mother "told him to ditch Carroll or think about inheriting a whole lot less," says a New Jersey neighbor. Charlie ended the affair, drowning his sorrows with cake and c.o.ke (he had a special fridge that held twenty-four bottles built into the armrest of his seat on his latest jet), growing visibly more obese and arthritic. Soon, he could only walk with canes, wheezing.

In the spring of 1971, a few days after the Lyndon Johnsons spent a weekend at Pamplemousse, his Florida home, Charlie died suddenly there at age fifty-four. His obituaries said he'd died in his sleep of a heart attack after a day of fis.h.i.+ng; one society wit claimed his last words were "Give me a c.o.ke." Lyndon Johnson, Hubert Humphrey, Ted Kennedy, and Doug Dillon were among the nine hundred mourners at his funeral.

Jane inherited a portion of Charlie's fortune, but after paying taxes on her inheritance, she had far less than people a.s.sumed. She continued to live as if she were one of the richest women in America, but only managed that by using up her capital and slowly and methodically selling off possessions. One of those was the Fragonard painting of a girl reading a love letter, which she'd retrieved from France after World War II. Fritz Mannheimer had bought it from David David-Weill. His grandson Michel (who would become a Met trustee himself in 1984) had long wanted to buy it back, and finally did.68 Jane also proved herself capable of public philanthropy large and small. She built a pool for the local YMCA, gave $1 million to the Newark Museum, and was one of the top donors to congressional Democrats, but the Met became her favorite cause, and in 1974 she joined the board, taking a seat just vacated by her friend Andre Meyer, who was ailing and also em-broiled in another financial scandal. She took his place on the acquisitions committee, too.

That same year, Jane reemerged in society with a profile in W, the society broadsheet. She was described as "a sculpturesque blonde with cla.s.sic features and a regal manner." She was interviewed at Pamplemousse, where the reporter approvingly noted her unpretentious eight-year-old Chevrolet station wagon, customized with a stripe in the Engelhard racing colors, the eclectic decor by Sister Parish, and the fis.h.i.+ng yacht named after Nijinsky. "Ms. Engelhard makes short work of biographical details," Agnes Ash wrote. "She wants to stay in the present."69 Eighteen months after her election to the museum board, she served as chairman of the revived Party of the Year for the museum's Costume Inst.i.tute, joining Tom Hoving and Oscar de la Renta on the receiving line in a long wine velvet dress as 550 guests previewed Diana Vreeland's latest exhibit, American Women of Style. Planned as a celebration of the American bicentennial, the show featured clothes worn by ten of America's most stylish women. Jane's reaction to the inclusion of Elsie de Wolfe, decorator of Mannheimer's Monte Cristo, went unrecorded.

The following summer, through the Charles Engelhard Foundation, she pledged to give $2 million in five annual installments to the museum, which she earmarked for the long-delayed new American Wing. In 1976, she was named to the executive committee, and the next fall the board agreed that the enclosed courtyard in front of the new American Wing would be named in memory of her husband.

BY THEN HER FRIEND T TED R ROUSSEAU HAD DIED, SETTING THE stage for the next great era in the Metropolitan's history: the ascension of Philippe de Montebello to its directors.h.i.+p. In many respects, Montebello seemed born to direct a great museum. Philippe's great-great-great-grandfather Jean Lannes, the son of a stable boy, rose to become one of Napoleon Bonaparte's generals. After he won an important battle in the town of Montebello, Italy, Napoleon gave him the t.i.tle duc de Montebello. stage for the next great era in the Metropolitan's history: the ascension of Philippe de Montebello to its directors.h.i.+p. In many respects, Montebello seemed born to direct a great museum. Philippe's great-great-great-grandfather Jean Lannes, the son of a stable boy, rose to become one of Napoleon Bonaparte's generals. After he won an important battle in the town of Montebello, Italy, Napoleon gave him the t.i.tle duc de Montebello.* His death in battle in 1809 was said to have made Napoleon cry. His death in battle in 1809 was said to have made Napoleon cry.70 Philippe's mother, Germaine Wiener de Croisset, was the daughter of a Belgian playwright and, by marriage, a relative of the wealthy American Woodward and Bancroft families. More significantly, perhaps, she descended from the brother of the infamous Marquis de Sade. The character of the d.u.c.h.ess of Guermantes in Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past Remembrance of Things Past was based on Philippe's great-grandmother. His aunt Marie-Laure, Vicomtesse de Noailles, an erudite, eccentric, witty, and highly s.e.xed daughter of a Belgian banker, was a figure of considerable artistic sway in Paris. She was a patron and friend of Pablo Pica.s.so, Salvador Dali, Balthus, and Jean Cocteau (who was briefly her lover), and she and her estranged husband financed films by Man Ray and Luis Bunuel, and entertained all of the above at their mansion, decorated by Jean-Michel Frank, at 13 Place des etats-Unis. was based on Philippe's great-grandmother. His aunt Marie-Laure, Vicomtesse de Noailles, an erudite, eccentric, witty, and highly s.e.xed daughter of a Belgian banker, was a figure of considerable artistic sway in Paris. She was a patron and friend of Pablo Pica.s.so, Salvador Dali, Balthus, and Jean Cocteau (who was briefly her lover), and she and her estranged husband financed films by Man Ray and Luis Bunuel, and entertained all of the above at their mansion, decorated by Jean-Michel Frank, at 13 Place des etats-Unis.

Philippe was born in Paris in 1936 and raised in a villa with a cloister, gardens, and a view of the Mediterranean in the southern French town of Gra.s.se, but his life changed during World War II when German officers commandeered the family's house and they had to move out. He has said his father was the head of the Resistance in southern France. It is more likely he was a member. Regardless, Philippe continued his schooling in Paris, where his aunt introduced him to art, and later, at a bullfight, to Pablo Pica.s.so.71 After the war, Philippe's father invented a process for 3-D photography but, when he couldn't find financing to develop the process in France, moved to America, crossing paths en route with Mary Brian. After two years in Montreal waiting for permission to join him, his family arrived in 1951. The Montebellos brought a little bit of France with them; Philippe's father was listed in the New York phone book with his t.i.tle "Baron" along-side his name.72 The family's Napoleonic t.i.tles have cachet, though some look down their noses at the postrevolutionary n.o.bility, referring to it as n.o.blesse d'empire, c'est de la merde n.o.blesse d'empire, c'est de la merde as opposed to as opposed to vraie n.o.blesse vraie n.o.blesse. Montebello takes his heritage more seriously. An apocryphal story has it that early in his tenure as the Met's director, he took offense when his name was misp.r.o.nounced di di Montebello, explaining that his family was not Montebello, explaining that his family was not from from Montebello, rather his great-great-great-grandfather had won the battle Montebello, rather his great-great-great-grandfather had won the battle of of Montebello. Thirty years later, at his retirement dinner in November 2008, he "obviously didn't like it" when his youngest brother, Henry, one of several speakers, repeatedly called him Phil instead of Philippe, says a guest, the former museum CFO Dan Herrick. Montebello turned it into an awkward joke, predicting that some on his staff would follow suit, which would help him identify who should lose their jobs in layoffs stemming from that fall's financial collapse. In doing so, he neatly bookended his career as the museum director; early on, he was forced to deny an equally Bourbonic quotation attributed to him in which he described himself as "essentially a royalist" who wished "the French Revolution had never taken place." Montebello. Thirty years later, at his retirement dinner in November 2008, he "obviously didn't like it" when his youngest brother, Henry, one of several speakers, repeatedly called him Phil instead of Philippe, says a guest, the former museum CFO Dan Herrick. Montebello turned it into an awkward joke, predicting that some on his staff would follow suit, which would help him identify who should lose their jobs in layoffs stemming from that fall's financial collapse. In doing so, he neatly bookended his career as the museum director; early on, he was forced to deny an equally Bourbonic quotation attributed to him in which he described himself as "essentially a royalist" who wished "the French Revolution had never taken place."73 After his father, a sometime painter and art critic, convinced Philippe that he lacked the talent to be an artist ("I believed him," Philippe would say74), he decided to channel his love of art into scholars.h.i.+p and went to Harvard to study art history with a mind to working in a museum. After a break to serve in the army, where he rose to second lieutenant, he graduated from Harvard magna c.u.m laude in 1961 (his thesis was on Delacroix), married a Radcliffe student, Edith Myles, a great-granddaughter of the Supreme Court justice John Marshall Harlan and a debutante in Anne Engelhard's season, and then spent two years at New York University's Inst.i.tute of Fine Arts, just across the street from the Metropolitan.

Although he has said that he was on the verge of earning a doctorate in art history, and his Who's Who Who's Who listing says he got his master's in 1963, he hadn't actually finished his master's thesis (which was on the French Fontainebleau school artist Jean Cousin the Elder) or fulfilled other requirements for the lesser degree when Ted Rousseau, then still head of the European Paintings Department, brought him across Fifth Avenue as a curatorial a.s.sistant in 1963. Montebello saw his future unfolding. "I knew then that I wanted to be sitting where he was," he said of that meeting with Rousseau. listing says he got his master's in 1963, he hadn't actually finished his master's thesis (which was on the French Fontainebleau school artist Jean Cousin the Elder) or fulfilled other requirements for the lesser degree when Ted Rousseau, then still head of the European Paintings Department, brought him across Fifth Avenue as a curatorial a.s.sistant in 1963. Montebello saw his future unfolding. "I knew then that I wanted to be sitting where he was," he said of that meeting with Rousseau.75 He would finally take his last exam and collect his master's in 1976. He would finally take his last exam and collect his master's in 1976.

Hoving noticed him shortly after his return as director, and in 1967 and 1968 Montebello was a.s.signed to organize the summer loan shows; this required him to deal with collectors who wanted to safely "park their stuff" in the museum while they went "off to Bar Harbor and East Hampton," Hoving says. Montebello's job was to gather the art and write the catalog entries and an introduction. It was appalling, Hoving says. "He had a couple of statements in there like 'Now the great unwashed can see art.' I said, 'What the f.u.c.k is this?' " Ordered to rewrite it, Montebello did, "but he was kind of stiff about it," Hoving says.

The director wasn't the first to reach that conclusion. Though Philippe thought himself friendly, a fellow graduate student at the IFA recalls him as "a pompous a.s.s." So although Montebello won steady promotions, researched sixteenth-century French artists, and wrote a monograph on Rubens, he also won a reputation as standoffish and self-a.s.sured to a fault and lost the confidence of Rousseau, who became "convinced he had no eye," Hoving would later write.76 Rousseau might have also noted and feared Montebello's ambition. "He had bravado," says Rousseau's longtime lover, "he thought he had as good an eye as Ted, and he wanted desperately his job. Philippe was aggressive. He wasn't going to sit around. He saw that Ted didn't want to be number one and he thought, 'Why not me?' "

By then, Montebello was thirty-one and had two children and a home in the upper-crust suburb of Locust Valley, and though his wife worked at a private school, his $13,000 salary was stretched thin. So, shortly after Rousseau was promoted to chief curator and Claus Virch arrived to replace him, Montebello went to Hoving "for a real heart-to-heart" about his future, Hoving says.

"What are my chances of becoming head of the department?" he asked.

"Not very stellar," Hoving says he replied. "It seems to me your real skills are in administration. My advice is to become a museum director as quickly as you can, someplace where n.o.body's done anything for years so no matter what you do, it will look like you've done an incredible job. I'll support you; I'll give you a lot of help and any recommendations."

On a single-page resume he prepared that December ("Age 32, 6 feet 2, 205 lbs., Health excellent"), Montebello listed his accomplishments: he'd mounted those loan exhibitions and a show of another private collection at Brandeis University three years earlier. He'd written a book on Rubens and articles for the museum Bulletin Bulletin and catalogs, attributed "certain works" to the French artist Jean Cousin, and given some lectures. He also mentioned being a collector "on a small scale" of old master drawings, an enjoyment of chess, bridge, and tennis, and his lack of advanced degrees "as I was employed by the Metropolitan before completion of my thesis. (Still hope to finish it some day.)" Within weeks, Montebello was back in Hoving's office. "I've been offered Houston," he said. and catalogs, attributed "certain works" to the French artist Jean Cousin, and given some lectures. He also mentioned being a collector "on a small scale" of old master drawings, an enjoyment of chess, bridge, and tennis, and his lack of advanced degrees "as I was employed by the Metropolitan before completion of my thesis. (Still hope to finish it some day.)" Within weeks, Montebello was back in Hoving's office. "I've been offered Houston," he said.

Montebello later told Calvin Tomkins that at the time, spring 1969, he didn't know where Houston was, let alone how to run its Museum of Fine Arts. "I had never done a budget or formally organized an exhibition," he said. "They were interested in modern art, which was not my forte. But I took it."77 He had some understanding of Texas and dropped the Guy from his name on arrival that fall. But he quickly came to regret his first chat with the He had some understanding of Texas and dropped the Guy from his name on arrival that fall. But he quickly came to regret his first chat with the Houston Chronicle Houston Chronicle, in which he described the museum's collection as modest, made it clear he expected donors to cough up cash to improve it, and hinted that if they didn't, he wouldn't stay. He had no intention, he declared, of being "merely a concierge."78 In a later interview, he seemed to suggest a contemporary sculpture near the museum's door as a good receptacle for gum wrappers, a remark interpreted by Houstonians as expressing his disdain for their taste in art. The sculpture had been bought with funds from the de Menil family, Houston's most prominent art-collecting philanthropists. He later said he was joking. In the same interview, he expressed his nostalgia for the France of the Bourbon kings, the remark he later denied making.79 "He didn't like his time here," says a current executive at the Houston. And the feeling was mutual. The Houston Chronicle Houston Chronicle would soon say he was "tall, handsome, proud, sometimes called arrogant by his critics," and could "be volatile if provoked." He was promptly nicknamed Mr. Five Names, and a story went around that a neighbor said he was so stiff he wore a suit when he sat by his backyard swimming pool. "Socially, he and Houston were worlds apart and he didn't adapt," says a Houston art dealer. would soon say he was "tall, handsome, proud, sometimes called arrogant by his critics," and could "be volatile if provoked." He was promptly nicknamed Mr. Five Names, and a story went around that a neighbor said he was so stiff he wore a suit when he sat by his backyard swimming pool. "Socially, he and Houston were worlds apart and he didn't adapt," says a Houston art dealer.

He did succeed, though. Having inherited a museum with almost no money and a pool of old families interested mainly in building monuments to themselves, he offered them named endowment funds for acquisitions instead, setting a pattern that would reinvent the museum. "He did remarkable things," says David Warren, who briefly succeeded him. "There were no curators when he came. His predecessor liked to do everything himself. He hired professionals."

His predecessor had hired Ludwig Mies van der Rohe to design an addition to the museum, a curved gla.s.s box that was not to Montebello's taste and proved less than ideal for showing art, a problem he had to solve. There was also no money to operate it. "n.o.body gives Philippe credit for putting the museum on a professional footing," says Warren. His tendency to speak bluntly didn't help matters. "He has foot-in-mouth disease sometimes," says Warren's successor, Bill Agee.

Montebello has said that negative local press drove him away, but a review of his coverage in the Houston Chronicle Houston Chronicle doesn't bear that out. Reporters stressed his desire to build up and better showcase the museum's permanent collection rather than mount flashy temporary exhibits, but other than noting that he was conservative for someone so young, their coverage was hardly critical. He was, for instance, hailed for spotting a valuable bronze in a gift shop and buying it for a twentieth of its value. doesn't bear that out. Reporters stressed his desire to build up and better showcase the museum's permanent collection rather than mount flashy temporary exhibits, but other than noting that he was conservative for someone so young, their coverage was hardly critical. He was, for instance, hailed for spotting a valuable bronze in a gift shop and buying it for a twentieth of its value.

Warren finally decided that Montebello's arrogance and high self-regard were a cover for an awkwardness rooted in the difference between the way he'd been raised and how things were done in Houston. "He was not a good fit. He was never comfortable here." And he left bad feelings behind when he left just as the new van der Rohe building opened. "Houston was hurt," Warren says. But the dealer adds, "He had a sense of destiny," and it wasn't in Texas. Montebello would later wax eloquent about "the unmitigated joy of boarding my last flight out of there, without a return ticket."

TOM H HOVING ENGINEERED M MONTEBELLO'S RETURN TO THE M MET as he had his departure. Shortly after learning that Ted Rousseau had terminal cancer, Hoving was at a meeting of museum directors when Montebello turned up at breakfast. "Philippe sits next to me, and I said, 'It's time for you to come back. I need a replacement for Teddy, who's dying.' He was very eager to take my offer. He wasn't charmed by Houston." In the midst of his kerfuffles, Hoving saw Montebello not only as a buffer between him and the curators but also as a potential successor. After a visit to Maine that summer to be vetted by Doug Dillon, Montebello returned as vice president for curatorial affairs in September 1973. A few months later, Harry Parker left and Montebello took over education as well. as he had his departure. Shortly after learning that Ted Rousseau had terminal cancer, Hoving was at a meeting of museum directors when Montebello turned up at breakfast. "Philippe sits next to me, and I said, 'It's time for you to come back. I need a replacement for Teddy, who's dying.' He was very eager to take my offer. He wasn't charmed by Houston." In the midst of his kerfuffles, Hoving saw Montebello not only as a buffer between him and the curators but also as a potential successor. After a visit to Maine that summer to be vetted by Doug Dillon, Montebello returned as vice president for curatorial affairs in September 1973. A few months later, Harry Parker left and Montebello took over education as well.

"He was quite astoundingly good at his job," says Hoving. "There were a lot of really p.r.i.c.kly curators and a lot of wars." He also proved to have skills Hoving needed, particularly a fluency in Russian, which came in handy while negotiating for the Scythian gold show, the opening shot in Hoving's landmark cultural exchange program with the Soviet Union.

Hoving, who was bored with his job, let Montebello take charge of most acquisitions and exhibitions as well as the staff of about ten dozen curatorial employees and found him quite capable, if a bit of an elitist. Indeed, one of the few times Montebello made the newspapers in the next three years was when he was gently mocked for writing a memo suggesting museum staff refrain from calling the output of students in museum workshops "art" to "avoid confusion with the high art displayed in the museum's galleries."80 More often, he was dutifully defending Hoving's decisions. "We're better off with one beautiful rooster than three ugly chickens," he said during the deaccessioning contretemps. "We'll always go after the big bird whenever we can." More often, he was dutifully defending Hoving's decisions. "We're better off with one beautiful rooster than three ugly chickens," he said during the deaccessioning contretemps. "We'll always go after the big bird whenever we can."81 A year later, shortly after accepting Hoving's resignation, Douglas Dillon had a thought that would shape the next twenty years of Montebello's life. The Metropolitan, he decreed, would no longer be ruled by one big rooster. Instead, henceforth Hoving's job (and a large part of Dillon's, too) would be split between two smaller birds, the museum director and a new paid president to whom the director would report, though the board would guarantee the director's creative autonomy.

The search for Hoving's replacement began. Hoving suggested two other museum insiders to replace him. But one was a woman, which Dillon didn't want, and the other didn't want the job. "So they picked Philippe," Hoving says. "But it wasn't immediate." At the June 1977 executive committee meeting, Hoving asked to leave his post early, so as to put his papers in order for the museum archives (and make a set for himself) and consult for Walter Annenberg. Montebello-who'd only gotten a lukewarm endors.e.m.e.nt from Hoving, who warned the board that he was a bit dim-was named acting director. It would be almost a year before he got the job.

The search committee's first a.s.signment was to plan the dual-head structure. All concerned understood that it wouldn't work unless the president and the director got along. The loudest objection was lodged that August by Roland Redmond, still grumbling on the sidelines. He found the plan unsound and took his case to the New York Times New York Times in a letter to the editor in which he reprised all his arguments against the way the museum was being run and worried that Dillon would hire a retail executive, having already turned the museum into a store. in a letter to the editor in which he reprised all his arguments against the way the museum was being run and worried that Dillon would hire a retail executive, having already turned the museum into a store.

A response from the museum followed, finally throwing its cranky expresident overboard, suggesting that Redmond was living in the past. At a board meeting six weeks later, the trustees approved the proposed const.i.tutional changes and referred them to the corporation's fifteen hundred members-people who had donated $25,000 or more-for final approval. They accepted the proposal by a wide margin in October 1977.

Five years later, Redmond died in his sleep in his own bed at age ninety. Though he'd written a memoir for Simon & Schuster, it was never published. Ironically, seven months before he died, his last published comment on the museum he'd run with such dedication concerned another Simon & Schuster book, Hoving's first museum memoir, King of the Confessors King of the Confessors, about his quest to buy the Bury St. Edmunds Cross. Hoving's tales out of school were "disgraceful" and "shocking," Redmond said. "It's even more shocking that he comes out with it." Revealing secrets was Hoving's worst sin of all.

THE AGE OF THE M MET'S LETTING IT ALL HANG OUT WAS OVER. On May 12, 1977, Nelson Rockefeller's daughter Mary Morgan, who'd taken the family's board seat, wrote a letter of complaint to Douglas Dillon. Two days earlier, at an executive committee meeting at the Cloisters, she'd hit the roof after Hoving's plan to leave early and Dillon's to rewrite the const.i.tution were revealed. At the end of the meeting, Morgan proposed a motion urging greater candor on the part of the museum's officers toward the board.82 In an attempt to appease her, Dillon and Gilpatric called her into a meeting. After that, her specific unhappiness with the officers, in their telling, was transformed into a more general concern about trustee behavior and a suggestion that new board members get tutorials on how to behave and clear instructions on what to do when contacted by the press. And the executive committee decided to bar nonvoting trustees-that is, ex officio representatives and trustees emeriti-from its meetings, limiting the possibility of leaks. At the September board meeting, the dual-head vote went by so fast it "conjured up recollections of a steamroller," one unenlightened trustee told the Daily News. Daily News.83 Other trustees were agitating to have the city representatives barred from regular board meetings, too. Three weeks later, the New York Post's New York Post's Page Six gossip column reported on the compromise approved by the Met board: henceforth, city representatives would no longer be seated at the board table with the trustees; instead, they'd be segregated in the back of the room. The museum, the paper concluded, "doesn't want us interfering in its affairs." Page Six gossip column reported on the compromise approved by the Met board: henceforth, city representatives would no longer be seated at the board table with the trustees; instead, they'd be segregated in the back of the room. The museum, the paper concluded, "doesn't want us interfering in its affairs."84 In fact, after Ed Koch was elected mayor in November of that year, the two new administrations, the city's and the museum's, would begin to make peace with each other-and the ex officio trustees would be invited back to the board table, though not to the executive committee. Koch named Henry Geldzahler, then forty-two, head of the Cultural Affairs Department, which had taken over control of the city's cultural subsidies from the Parks Department. Geldzahler's comment on his old job was priceless. "It's a pleasure to get out of politics," he said, comparing the museum to a confederacy of eleventh-century French dukedoms. Geldzahler soon named another friend of the museum, Lila Wallace's lawyer, Barnabas McHenry, chairman of the Commission on Cultural Affairs, an unpaid advisory board that helped set munic.i.p.al arts policy. (Geldzahler spent five years as commissioner, saved his department from budget cuts in 1980, and resigned in 1982, just in time to take part in the next wave of New York art as an independent curator. He died in 1994.) The detente between the museum and its city patrons was also aided by the appointment of William b.u.t.ts Macomber Jr. as the Met's first paid president in April 1978. A native of Rochester, where his grandfather had been a state supreme court justice, Macomber had served in the OSS during World War II, parachuting into France to work with the Resistance and seeing action in Burma. He then joined the CIA, became an intelligence specialist and congressional liaison in the State Department, and served as amba.s.sador to Jordan in the Kennedy and Johnson years and as Gerald Ford's amba.s.sador to Turkey. He was known as a reformer and a champion of women and minorities.

Announcing Macomber's unanimous election, Doug Dillon stressed his resume, his political experience, and the value of his inexperience in the art world, as the board feared that an art-savvy president might second-guess or dominate a director. He did not mention Macomber's sole, tenuous connection to the Met: his sister-in-law was a granddaughter of Junius Spencer Morgan. So he was a member of the Met's extended family.

Though Macomber improved the museum's relations.h.i.+p with city officials, inside the museum his lack of art credentials and hail-fellow-well-met personality generated scorn. And years later, Montebello would admit that the decision to make Macomber chief executive "enraged" him.85 The seeds of breakdown were sown a month later, as the board of trustees considered the search committee's recommendation that Montebello's appointment as director be made permanent. While awaiting the board's decision, Montebello kept a brave face on at work, but couldn't always sustain his facade. Barbara Newsom, the former museum employee, would take the Fifth Avenue bus with him mornings and listen as he poured out his woes. "He was nervous, in limbo, not very happy," she says. "They wouldn't make up their minds." The seeds of breakdown were sown a month later, as the board of trustees considered the search committee's recommendation that Montebello's appointment as director be made permanent. While awaiting the board's decision, Montebello kept a brave face on at work, but couldn't always sustain his facade. Barbara Newsom, the former museum employee, would take the Fifth Avenue bus with him mornings and listen as he poured out his woes. "He was nervous, in limbo, not very happy," she says. "They wouldn't make up their minds."

Initial reports said that Montebello wasn't popular with all on the curatorial staff. He'd already rubbed some curators the wrong way. Some considered him Hoving's creation. Others, perhaps aware that he had no advanced degrees, disdained his scholarly credentials. Redmond told a reporter that some trustees felt he lacked stature. The consensus was that Montebello had performed well so far and deserved a chance. But on May 25, when the board was called to order at a special meeting to confirm the choice, something went awry.

Montebello was "all dolled up in his suit and vest," ready for his coronation, says a museum officer whose office was near the boardroom. But after cooling his heels outside for ninety minutes, "he was back in his office, tie undone, because it wasn't a fait accompli," the official continues. "There was some discussion. I could see him sweating. We kept him company."

The exhibition designer Stuart Silver thinks Brooke Astor opposed him. "She threatened to resign," he says. "There was a very powerful and p.r.o.nounced opposition, but Dillon absolutely insisted." Despite that, another trustee bucked him. Mary Morgan held up the decision with her misgivings and ultimately abstained from what was reported to be an otherwise unanimous vote in favor.86 Though she's never revealed her reasons, a Rockefeller family insider says they were simple. Montebello's tenure as acting director coincided with the installation of the primitive art wing named for Mary's twin, Michael Rockefeller, a process that, according to the insider, led to hostility. Though she's never revealed her reasons, a Rockefeller family insider says they were simple. Montebello's tenure as acting director coincided with the installation of the primitive art wing named for Mary's twin, Michael Rockefeller, a process that, according to the insider, led to hostility.

Though Nelson Rockefeller had been briefly mentioned as a possible president of the museum, it was his daughter on the front lines when the Met "pulled the rug out" from under one of her pet projects, a series of orientation films about the sources of the objects in her family's collection, says Arthur Rashap, a family adviser. The filmmaker they'd hired believed the museum was siphoning money from his budget, making it impossible to finish the movies.87 Nine days before the vote on Montebello, Morgan got personally involved, trying-futilely-to save the films. "We had an understanding that something would happen, and it didn't," says Rashap. Mary's refusal to approve Montebello "could have been a protest vote. I would speculate there was no love lost with Philippe," who, it was a.s.sumed, had little or no interest in primitive art. Finally, as the opening date of the wing kept being delayed and costs continued to rise, Nelson Rockefeller called his old friend Dillon and offered one last check for $150,000, about a tenth of the budget shortfall, on condition that the museum never ask the family for capital contributions to the wing again. Nine days before the vote on Montebello, Morgan got personally involved, trying-futilely-to save the films. "We had an understanding that something would happen, and it didn't," says Rashap. Mary's refusal to approve Montebello "could have been a protest vote. I would speculate there was no love lost with Philippe," who, it was a.s.sumed, had little or no interest in primitive art. Finally, as the opening date of the wing kept being delayed and costs continued to rise, Nelson Rockefeller called his old friend Dillon and offered one last check for $150,000, about a tenth of the budget shortfall, on condition that the museum never ask the family for capital contributions to the wing again.88 Morgan's presence on the board for another nine years was likely an irritating reminder of the family's power. Morgan's presence on the board for another nine years was likely an irritating reminder of the family's power.

That rough start was just the beginning of Philippe de Montebello's trial by fire. His relations.h.i.+p with Macomber-wags called them Cuc.u.mber and the Count of Monte Cristo-would prove to be a huge irritation.89 Instead of collaborators, they were and remained oil and water. Already arrogant and awkward around people, Montebello now felt humiliated by the board, and overwhelmed by his job, which, though downsized, was still much larger than the one he'd held in Houston. He also felt insecure at having to prove himself again while competing with fresh memories of the larger-than-life Hoving. Initially, he tried too hard. "He tried to have the wit and pizzazz of Tom and the elegance of Ted Rousseau combined, but ... he couldn't pull it off," says the CFO, Dan Herrick. "Philippe was stepping into a big pair of shoes, and he just couldn't fill them the same way. That created resentment." Things "changed dramatically," said Arthur Rosenblatt, who tangled with Montebello over the remaining master-plan projects. The new director wanted to fire Kevin Roche and hire an architect of his own. "I cannot work with Hoving's old, dirty linen," he said. Instead of collaborators, they were and remained oil and water. Already arrogant and awkward around people, Montebello now felt humiliated by the board, and overwhelmed by his job, which, though downsized, was still much larger than the one he'd held in Houston. He also felt insecure at having to prove himself again while competing with fresh memories of the larger-than-life Hoving. Initially, he tried too hard. "He tried to have the wit and pizzazz of Tom and the elegance of Ted Rousseau combined, but ... he couldn't pull it off," says the CFO, Dan Herrick. "Philippe was stepping into a big pair of shoes, and he just couldn't fill them the same way. That created resentment." Things "changed dramatically," said Arthur Rosenblatt, who tangled with Montebello over the remaining master-plan projects. The new director wanted to fire Kevin Roche and hire an architect of his own. "I cannot work with Hoving's old, dirty linen," he said.90 Seeking his own ident.i.ty, Montebello took Rousseau as his model, even moving into his old office (Macomber took Hoving's) and using his ormolu-encrusted Louis XIV desk by Boulle. But Rousseau had used charm to distance himself from things he chose not to deal with. Some thought Montebello replaced Ted's charm with Gallic petulance. He refused to go to weekly staff meetings if his t.i.tular superior would be there and refused to consult him, visit his office, or even mention his name in public.91 Rousseau's former deputy Michael Botwinick puts a positive spin on that, insisting that Montebello, descendant of a war hero, studied the battleground before him and decided to play a waiting game until the way was clear for him to simply walk through it. "The board said they weren't cutting down the job, but freeing him from distractions so he could be the museum's intellectual and spiritual leader," Botwinick says. "From the first day, Philippe decided to take that literally. He said, 'Okay, don't bother me with this budget s.h.i.+t. You go to meetings. You deal with it. I have a museum to run.' And because he was so good at it, no one could take issue with what he did in his patch, and inevitably they did manage the museum, the labor force, the city, the fund-raising, the maintenance, so he could do his job."

Simultaneously, in the 1980s, the cultural pendulum swung. Post-Watergate, inst.i.tutional arrogance became less of a hot-b.u.t.ton issue than the content of the messages inst.i.tutions conveyed. In that arena, Montebello proved a deft defender of high culture. Though he presented himself as an opponent of Hoving's revolutionary innovations-blockbuster exhibits, high-profile acquisitions, and the attendant glamour-he actually used them all to restate and revitalize the museum's standards.

"Hoving was a cla.s.sic entrepreneur," says a museum staffer who watched the transition. "Montebello was a corporate emperor. Hoving was a big bang. Montebello was going to straighten things out." He immediately won praise as a canny, calming consolidator who, in his own words, redirected the museum's focus so it became "a place to visit repeatedly ... and not simply when a new banner is hoisted on the facade."92 And with his Acoustiguide tours, he quickly established himself as "the authoritative voice of the Metropolitan itself," Grace Glueck of the And with his Acoustiguide tours, he quickly established himself as "the authoritative voice of the Metropolitan itself," Grace Glueck of the Times Times would soon write, "graciously undertaking to repair my esthetic deficiencies." would soon write, "graciously undertaking to repair my esthetic deficiencies."93 Nonetheless, all the tensions were evident and affected the troops. Many Hoving-era staffers like Herrick, Levai, and Silver left. Montebello was also tested by several time bombs laid during the Hoving era. The first, which had been ticking for years, blew up while he was still acting director. After Joan Whitney Payson died in the fall of 1975, her husband and children got first crack at the art hanging in her four homes; each was allowed to choose $500,000 worth of pictures. An inventory of what remained was then sent to the museum, which had been willed its pick of what was left, up to an appraised value of about $4.3 million. Key curators checked out the pictures and made suggestions to Hoving and Montebello, among them important works by Pica.s.so, Manet, Degas, Rouault, Wyeth, Corot, Toulouse-Lautrec, Winslow Homer, and Thomas Eakins, and in June 1976 Dillon formally requested thirty-one works from Payson's executors. Simultaneously, the museum reminded them of an oral promise Payson had made to Dillon to contribute another $1.5 million in cash for the American Wing (bringing her total contribution to the wing to an even $5 million).

The Payson estate balked, claiming the alleged pledge was not enforceable; it also raised serious tax issues. The museum took the estate to court; the presiding judge suggested that the parties negotiate a smaller settlement, but the museum refused, sticking to its guns. Which is where things sat when Montebello took over.

In the background was a family squabble over money. Though each of Payson's children received $7.5 million trust funds from their mother (whose fortune it was), and expected to get almost as much when their father died, they had reason to worry about the second installment of their inheritance. Charles Payson, who received the bulk of his wife's $100 million estate, had kept mistresses for decades.94 He "then had the ill grace, in his children's view," to marry a much younger woman in 1977, the He "then had the ill grace, in his children's view," to marry a much younger woman in 1977, the Was.h.i.+ngton Post Was.h.i.+ngton Post would report, and "in the eight remaining years of his life, to continually rewrite his will in her favor," eventually leaving her "the lioness' share of the estimated $70 million estate." would report, and "in the eight remaining years of his life, to continually rewrite his will in her favor," eventually leaving her "the lioness' share of the estimated $70 million estate."95 Shortly after his 1985 death, Joan's children would contest his will but lose after a vitriolic court fight. Three months later, Joan's son John would auction off Vincent van Gogh's Shortly after his 1985 death, Joan's children would contest his will but lose after a vitriolic court fight. Three months later, Joan's son John would auction off Vincent van Gogh's Irises Irises, one of the twenty-eight paintings he'd received from his mother. Due to changing tax laws on donating art and the rising price of insurance, "he couldn't afford to give it away; he couldn't afford to keep it," said Sotheby's chairman, John L. Marion, who sold it for almost $54 million, a record auction price for a painting.96 That had yet to happen in the spring of 1978, when the Met sued Payson's estate. Dillon testified that though their mother had made no written pledge, the museum had relied on her promise. The estate argued that the paintings covered her promise. Though the judge chastised the museum for its imprudence, it won and got its cash.

Thirty years later, when the American Wing was about to be closed for renovations, Montebello invited each of Payson's children to the museum to fill them in on the plans and rea.s.sure them that prominent signs would acknowledge their mother's contributions, regardless of whether the family gave the museum more money. John Payson says he did not believe Montebello was angling for more cash.

If so, that may be because of what happened between the museum and the Lazard chairman, Andre Meyer, and his family. Meyer had begun collecting art while living in France before the war, but his collection was seized by the n.a.z.is and was never recovered. He started collecting afresh when he moved to New York, following the lead of the David-Weills and Robert Lehman. But one of Lehman's partners, who knew them both, thought that Meyer collected only for effect. "It was like hunters hanging antlers on the wall," he told the Lazard chronicler William Cohan. Still, Meyer managed to acquire a respectable collection that included works by Rembrandt, Pica.s.so, Manet, Renoir, Cezanne, Degas, Rodin, and van Gogh, as well as Greco-Roman bronzes, Asian objects, and Louis Louis furniture. On his death in 1979, it emerged that he'd given $2.6 million to the Metropolitan to pay for new European paintings galleries above the Michael Rockefeller Wing, which would open in 1982.

In 1991, Walter Annenberg, who'd obviously forgiven New York for doubting him, bequeathed his entire collection of Impressionist and Postimpressionist paintings, watercolors, and drawings to the museum. The art critic Robert Hughes predicted that the existing European paintings galleries-considered badly designed by both critics and curators-and Meyer's name would soon vanish in a much-needed renovation. He was right. Gary Tinterow, the Engelhard Curator of European Paintings, helped design new rooms that met Annenberg's condition that his paintings remain together, and Annenberg agreed to pay half the cost of building them. In 1993, the Meyer Galleries were replaced with a new, unnamed suite of old-fas.h.i.+oned rooms. The public liked them, but behind the scenes there was private indignation.

There are still two rooms named for Andre Meyer in the Met's European galleries (which were enlarged and reopened in December 2007). They hold British and French Romantic paintings and works by Ingres and Delacroix, "though you would be hard-pressed to find them," says Laurent Gerschel, one of Meyer's grandchildren. "Apart from his name on one wall," in beige letters on a beige wall above a doorway, "the gallery is basically lost." Meyer's family believed that his galleries would bear his name in perpetuity. But perpetuity, in Meyer's case, lasted only about a dozen years. "Then," says another relative, "various Mr. This-and-So's" approached them and asked them "to refinance the wing at a cost of $10 million for another ten years." The family considered litigation but finally decided against it. "How should I say this?" Laurent Gerschel concludes. "I respect the priorities of the inst.i.tution, but perhaps it could have been done with slightly more cla.s.s."

As far as the Met was concerned, though, it was Meyer who'd been cla.s.sless. "He knifed us by selling the best part of his collection," says Tom Hoving, who a.s.sumed the museum would get the art-until Meyer's will was read. Consigned to Sotheby Parke Bernet shortly after his death, the thirty-two paintings and drawings and ten sculptures attracted the largest crowd in Sotheby's history for an auction that netted $16.4 million, well above the initial $10 million estimate, and set records for works by Renoir, Degas, Daumier, Fantin-Latour, Gris, and Bonnard.

Even when he got a collection, Montebello could be less than deft in handling donors. In 1984, he hailed a gift of ninety works by, and a library of books about, Paul Klee from Heinz Berggruen, a retired art dealer who'd organized Klee exhibits at his Paris gallery and acquired the works from, among others, the estates of the surrealist Andre Breton, the MoMA's founding director, Alfred Barr, and Nelson Rockefeller. Berggruen's generosity made the Metropolitan the second most important Klee repository in the world, after the Kunstmuseum in Klee's native Bern.

A Swiss citizen, Berggruen got no tax deduction for his gift; his sole reward was introducing Klee to Americans. But after the Lila wing and its Berggruen gallery opened in 1987, it was Berggruen who felt knifed; he considered the mezzanine s.p.a.ce badly situated and ill suited. Only a small percentage of the Klees could be shown there. "I gave the works without conditions and I learned my lesson," he said. Though a relative says he'd planned to give more to the Met, in 1990 he loaned seventy-two paintings and drawings by Cezanne, Seurat, van Gogh, Pica.s.so, Braque, and Miro to London's National Gallery for five years instead. Then, after the city of Berlin offered an entire museum to receive them, he first loaned and then sold it more than a hundred works for about a tenth of their market value. So pleased was he that he kept an apartment atop Berlin's Berggruen Museum and sometimes gave tours to visitors.

As a Jew, Berggruen had fled the city in 1936. His gesture of reconciliation to his hometown made him "a celebrity outside the world of art," the International Herald Tribune International Herald Tribune said on his death in 2007. said on his death in 2007.97 Shortly afterward, his family auctioned off two more van Goghs and five Cezannes for $71 million. An auction catalog essay by the art historian John Richardson pointedly noted that Berggruen was "so disappointed" by the Metropolitan "that he never gave the museum another thing." Shortly afterward, his family auctioned off two more van Goghs and five Cezannes for $71 million. An auction catalog essay by the art historian John Richardson pointedly noted that Berggruen was "so disappointed" by the Metropolitan "that he never gave the museum another thing."98

JANE E ENGELHARD SUFFERED A DISAPPOINTMENT OF ANOTHER sort early in 1980, when Harrison Williams, a senator from New Jersey (no relation to the industrialist Harrison Williams), whom she and Charlie had supported for years, was revealed to be the top-ranking target of an FBI investigation called Abscam probing influence peddling by members of Congress. Williams said he'd been entrapped by agents posing as Arab sheikhs, but a year later he was convicted on nine counts of conspiracy and bribery and sentenced to prison, and in 1982 he quit the Senate just before he was expelled. The revelation of his involvement came just a few weeks after a weekend-long series of sixtieth birthday parties for him, among them a brunch at Cragwood hosted by Jane. A friend says the shock of almost daily revelations about Williams, followed by his indictment that Halloween, was a real blow to her. sort early in 1980, when Harrison Williams, a senator from New Jersey (no relation to the industrialist Harrison Williams), whom she and Charlie had supported for years, was revealed to be the top-ranking target of an FBI investigation called Abscam probing influence peddling by members of Congress. Williams said he'd been entrapped by agents posing as Arab sheikhs, but a year later he was convicted on nine counts of conspiracy and bribery and sentenced to prison, and in 1982 he quit the Senate just before he was expelled. The revelation of his involvement came just a few weeks after a weekend-long series of sixtieth birthday parties for him, among them a brunch at Cragwood hosted by Jane. A friend says the shock of almost daily revelations about Williams, followed by his indictment that Halloween, was a real blow to her.

It should have been a moment of triumph. Though the museum had missed the American bicentennial by four years, the reopening of the American Wing that June-six times the size of its predecessor and fronted by the Charles Engelhard Court-was a cause for national celebration. The courtyard quickly became one of the most beloved spots in the museum, incorporating plantings, a reflecting pool, nineteenth-and twentieth-century sculpture, and grand architectural elements old and new.

The Branch Bank of the United States was transformed into an entrance to the new galleries, "imbued," Ada Louise Huxtable wrote, "with the drama of an architectural stage set within the concrete and steel-framed, gla.s.s and limestone courtyard."99 Initially, curators wanted to clean its dirty white Tuckahoe marble facade. But after blasting a portion of it with pressurized water, turning it sparkling white, a conservator carefully painted the dirt back on. Initially, curators wanted to clean its dirty white Tuckahoe marble facade. But after blasting a portion of it with pressurized water, turning it sparkling white, a conservator carefully painted the dirt back on.

The museum had salvaged great architectural elements and incorporated them into the courtyard: the flower-columned loggia from Louis Comfort Tiffany's own home, a Tiffany mosaic fountain, a mantel by Augustus Saint-Gaudens and John La Farge from the entrance of the home of Cornelius Vanderbilt II, a pair of Louis Sullivan staircases from the Chicago Stock Exchange, a set of Frank Lloyd Wright windows.

Many of them had been stored in the old water tunnels under the museum during the construction. Luckily, there were photographs of the Sullivan staircase in situ, because it was in pieces when the Met's curators and conservators began installing it. A New Jersey firm of third-generation ironworkers that had built the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island reconstructed it. The copper plate over the cast-iron stair structure was peeling away: special tanks were built to reverse the plating process, remove the copper, and then replate it, first with nickel and then with the original copper to reduce the risk of corrosion. Since the staircase had come to the Met without landings, they were copied from elevator grilles.

The Tiffany fountain was missing a panel from its frame, pieces of its base, and the fountain itself. The donor, a dealer, wouldn't name her source at first, says a reconstruction team member, but finally revealed that it had come from a Mrs. L. Groves Geer, who lived on a horse farm in Maryland. "She had tons of Tiffany in her living room and her barn," he says. "She gave us huge drinks and took us into the barn. The fountain was there in its original crate." One small mosaic in the loggia was re-created with the aid of the son of Tiffany's stained-gla.s.s-studio foreman, who'd saved bits of original gla.s.s. When the conservators couldn't get granite from the original quarry to replace missing elements of the columns, they had them cast from concrete and painted to match the existing ones.

Jane Engelhard's life could not be refreshed as easily as those artifacts. The next year, approaching sixty-five, she retired from the museum board, pa.s.sing her seat to her daughter Annette and entering the final phase of her life, a long and increasingly reclusive decline. At first, Jane kept up appearances and would still turn up at museum events like the 1982 opening of the $9.6 million Astor Chinese Garden Court, Brooke Astor's most beloved gift to the museum, and one of her most expensive gestures ever, inspired by the traditional architecture she'd loved during her childhood in Peking. Jane even co-chaired the gala 1983 opening of The Vatican Collections: The Papacy and Art, also attended by Nancy Reagan and a host of Vatican officials, but she'd clearly begun to let herself go, her once slim form growing fat, her bad habits-drinking and popping pills-multiplying.

"She'd done it," says a close friend, "she was getting old and she wanted out." In the late 1980s, she was still capable of stirring up some fun, inviting the heavyweight champion Mike Tyson to a society lunch after he bought a house near Cragwood in 1988, but by then she was mostly absent from the New York social scene. Annette had taken her place there, too.

IT WAS A MOMENT OF GENERATIONAL CHANGE, AND A ANNETTE became its symbol, not just taking her mother's position, but leaping at the chance to show what she could do for the museum. Some friends say her dedication was limitless; several tell the same story of her personally painting the walls of a stairway used only by museum employees. But others think she was just trying to outdo her mother. "There was a strange dynamic between them," says Jane's friend from New Jersey. "They were very much alike and they admired each other, yet there was a rivalry, too." The friend chuckles when asked if Annette inherited her mother's affinity and eye for art. "No," he says. "None." Neither did she exhibit any interest in politics or finance. became its symbol, not just taking her mother's position, but leaping at the chance to show what she could do for the museum. Some friends say her dedication was limitless; several tell the same story of her personally painting the walls of a stairway used only by museum employees. But others think she was just trying to outdo her mother. "There was a strange dynamic between them," says Jane's friend from New Jersey. "They were very much alike and they admired each other, yet there was a rivalry, too." The friend chuckles when asked if Annette inherited her mother's affinity and eye for art. "No," he says. "None." Neither did she exhibit any interest in politics or finance.

What she did inherit-her intermittent protests notwithstanding-was her mother's taste for social stature. Through the New Jersey society she'd grown up in, she knew many of the families involved with the Metropolitan. The Engelhard winter home was in the same Florida town as Arthur Houghton's. Doug Dillon's daughters, Phyllis and Joan, though older than Annette, were neighbors and fellow Foxcroft students. Jane, Phyllis Dillon, and Jayne Wrightsman were a