Rogues' Gallery Part 4

Undeterred, Robinson asked for a loan for the fiftieth anniversary exhibit. Rockefeller agreed to send the Morgan furniture (two settees and twelve chairs), the ten Months tapestries, and sixteen pieces of Chinese porcelain requested by Benjamin Altman's curator, Theodore Hobby. He got a calligraphed certificate upon their return to him, expressing the museum's grat.i.tude, along with a note from Henry Kent asking if he wanted to be anonymous in the record of the event. Rockefeller agreed to be named so long as he was not identified as the owner.20 Shortly after that, he was named a fellow in perpetuity. Shortly after that, he was named a fellow in perpetuity.

In February 1921, he began asking the museum's financial officers lots of detailed questions about its lease, the nature and size of the city's contributions, the size of the deficit, and the various types of members.h.i.+ps. Alert to the possibilities, de Forest answered many of the queries personally, even though he was on vacation on Jekyll Island, explaining, for instance, that the city was obliged to keep the museum buildings in repair, but the trustees never asked for extra money, that the city set salaries for maintenance and security staff, and that the museum felt it did not need insurance because it was isolated, fireproof, and well guarded.

Then, apparently without advance warning, Rockefeller was unanimously elected to the board on April 19. "I think I should say," de Forest wrote in a letter to Junior in Hot Springs, Virginia, "that you were not elected because of your wealth (though that is no disqualification), or because of any expected financial help (though help of this kind is not unwelcome), but because we want the benefit of your judgment and experience in executing an important public trust." Junior declined ("I must deny myself," he wrote) on May 11, again on May 13, and, after a personal appeal from Robinson, for a third time on May 16.21 But when de Forest tried again, Junior made it clear that despite his policy against board service, he was interested "in what is being done there" and genuinely sympathetic "with the idea of popularizing it." It would be several years before de Forest and Robinson learned just how interested and sympathetic Junior really was. But when de Forest tried again, Junior made it clear that despite his policy against board service, he was interested "in what is being done there" and genuinely sympathetic "with the idea of popularizing it." It would be several years before de Forest and Robinson learned just how interested and sympathetic Junior really was.

GEORGE G GREY B BARNARD'S GROVELING HAD DONE THE TRICK, and he'd remained in favor with the Rockefellers, even as he kept nagging Bosworth for more money. Much to Rockefeller's delight, Barnard had finally begun delivering the Kykuit sculptures in 1919, though they still needed pedestals and finis.h.i.+ng.22 He immediately started operating again, writing Junior's secretary to say that de Forest's a.s.sistant, Henry Kent, who'd recently bought a cast of Junior's He immediately started operating again, writing Junior's secretary to say that de Forest's a.s.sistant, Henry Kent, who'd recently bought a cast of Junior's Primitive Woman Primitive Woman for the museum, had valued the Barnard cloisters at $1 million. So Barnard now proposed that Junior pay him in full for for the museum, had valued the Barnard cloisters at $1 million. So Barnard now proposed that Junior pay him in full for Adam and Eve Adam and Eve-$50,000-not as an advance but as a loan with the cloisters as security. Bosworth soon got to the bottom of his urgency. Barnard was a year behind on his mortgage, owed $13,000 in back taxes, and had come down with rheumatic fever. Without ready cash, Adam and Eve Adam and Eve would never make it to Kykuit's garden. A battered Junior finally offered to loan Barnard $1,500 a month for three months. would never make it to Kykuit's garden. A battered Junior finally offered to loan Barnard $1,500 a month for three months.

Typically, once he got that money, Barnard frittered it away and came asking for more.23 This time, he wanted Junior's help and a piece of the Billings land to fulfill a vision he'd had for a memorial to peace and American industry, an arch, 120 feet in height, surrounded by (depending on Barnard's mood) anywhere from twenty-nine to six hundred separate sculpted nudes, all reaching through clouds of war toward a mosaic rainbow hovering over it all, to honor those who died in the war. He would later describe it as an American Parthenon. Yet somehow, despite all his overblown importuning, he managed to keep his hooks in Rockefeller, borrowing a garage on the Billings estate as a studio (where he would create his This time, he wanted Junior's help and a piece of the Billings land to fulfill a vision he'd had for a memorial to peace and American industry, an arch, 120 feet in height, surrounded by (depending on Barnard's mood) anywhere from twenty-nine to six hundred separate sculpted nudes, all reaching through clouds of war toward a mosaic rainbow hovering over it all, to honor those who died in the war. He would later describe it as an American Parthenon. Yet somehow, despite all his overblown importuning, he managed to keep his hooks in Rockefeller, borrowing a garage on the Billings estate as a studio (where he would create his Adam and Adam and Eve) and continuing to profit from Junior's mixed feelings about laundering his reputation by building a medieval museum. Eve) and continuing to profit from Junior's mixed feelings about laundering his reputation by building a medieval museum.24 The next time Barnard pleaded poverty, Junior agreed to up his fee for the statue by $15,000. The next time Barnard pleaded poverty, Junior agreed to up his fee for the statue by $15,000.25 But four days after he turned down a Met board seat, Junior also turned down Barnard's latest plea for more funds and in August, when Barnard claimed he couldn't finish But four days after he turned down a Met board seat, Junior also turned down Barnard's latest plea for more funds and in August, when Barnard claimed he couldn't finish Adam and Eve Adam and Eve without selling his cloisters, reiterated that there would be no further payments. without selling his cloisters, reiterated that there would be no further payments.26 Junior's battle with Barnard over Adam and Eve Adam and Eve continued for another eighteen months. Even Barnard's wife joined the fray, claiming that the Rockefellers were underpaying for the statue, causing her poor husband to take to bed from the strain of financing his rich patron. "Art can't be hurried any more than a child's growth," she wrote, threatening to go to the press before exhorting Junior to "clear yourself ...all this is greatly to your discredit." continued for another eighteen months. Even Barnard's wife joined the fray, claiming that the Rockefellers were underpaying for the statue, causing her poor husband to take to bed from the strain of financing his rich patron. "Art can't be hurried any more than a child's growth," she wrote, threatening to go to the press before exhorting Junior to "clear yourself ...all this is greatly to your discredit."27 Meanwhile, the sculptor was fending off the city's attempt to seize his land for nonpayment of back taxes, negotiating with Breck and Robinson to sell them his Cloisters Museum, trying to induce Junior to buy Chinese and j.a.panese temples he claimed he'd been offered, and considering auctioning his unwanted strip of land. Why did Junior put up with Barnard's chaotic presence in his life? One reason came that November, when Barnard informed him that a dealer named Edouard Larcade had appraised his cloisters at more than $1 million. In the process, he'd discovered that Larcade was selling a set of Gothic tapestries from a great French family's chateau. He thought Junior ought to see them. He expected, of course, a finder's fee.

Those tapestries, woven in Brussels of silk, wool, and metal threads in the late Middle Ages, possibly for the wedding of Anne of Brittany to Louis XII, and depicting a unicorn hunt, had long been owned by the aristocratic La Rochefoucauld family. Rockefeller snapped them up, paying $1.15 million for six of them, although the buyer's name was kept secret for months as controversy raged in Paris over the departure of these art treasures from France.28 Also secret, the reason for the sale: the current Count Rochefoucauld wanted to build a golf course at his chateau. Also secret, the reason for the sale: the current Count Rochefoucauld wanted to build a golf course at his chateau.29 In December, Junior learned Barnard was getting his $50,000 after all, as a kickback. Resisting the urge to cancel the deal altogether, Junior had his lawyer ask the sculptor to repay $17,000 loaned to him over the years he'd been working on Adam and Eve Adam and Eve. But when Barnard refused, Junior backed down again, explaining to his staff, "This is a delicate situation and I want to do what is wise, and of course our ultimate desire is to get the statue as soon as possible, satisfactorily completed. At the same time, I dislike to be used and put upon in this way."30 He was at a loss what to do. He was at a loss what to do.

The next few months would make the weight of that decision seem insignificant. Late in April, an unkempt stranger began following Junior from his home to his office, demanding a job. After a few weeks of that, the stranger tried to push his way into the house on Fifty-fourth Street. A police guard was posted at the door, but on May 2 the stranger appeared again armed with a stiletto and two long needles and rushed at Junior, shouting, "You and the Bolsheviks are responsible for all the trouble in the world!"

Fortunately, Junior evaded the attacker, and the police clubbed him into submission and hauled him off to Bellevue Hospital. He'd soon be identified as a Syrian silk weaver from Canada. Rockefeller declined to press charges. The next day Barnard wrote that he was thrilled to hear of "your escape from death and the maniac."31 Then, three days after that, Junior's sister-in-law Lucy Aldrich was on a Chinese train when it was seized by bandits; forced to sleep in a dog kennel for a night, she was quickly released, but the story made headlines for a week. Small wonder then that Junior was unavailable when Barnard insisted he had to come see Then, three days after that, Junior's sister-in-law Lucy Aldrich was on a Chinese train when it was seized by bandits; forced to sleep in a dog kennel for a night, she was quickly released, but the story made headlines for a week. Small wonder then that Junior was unavailable when Barnard insisted he had to come see Adam and Eve Adam and Eve and decide whether to "leave the clouds on Adam's loins as now is, or discover more of Adam's male attributes, giving more punch to the creation." and decide whether to "leave the clouds on Adam's loins as now is, or discover more of Adam's male attributes, giving more punch to the creation."32 Adam's p.e.n.i.s was not a priority. Adam's p.e.n.i.s was not a priority.

Then, a few days later, scandal. George Grey Barnard's former partner in his Gothic ruins business in France, George Joseph Demotte, sued Joseph Duveen for slander after Duveen was asked by the executors of the estate of a New York jeweler to put a value on a Gothic statue Demotte had sold him (which he'd left to the Metropolitan), and declared it a fake. Duveen, who was hypercompet.i.tive, had been lying in wait for a chance to damage Demotte, who had opened a rival gallery in New York. Two years earlier, he'd had its manager, Jean Vigoroux, arrested for stealing money and some Persian ma.n.u.scripts that later turned up, still in Demotte's possession. According to Colin Simpson, Vigoroux had been slipping information about his boss to Duveen, who pa.s.sed it on to American tax authorities hoping they would shut Demotte down. He fired Vigoroux and brought charges against him instead.

But once Demotte sued Duveen, too, countercharges of fraud came fast and furious, with French n.o.bles and art experts declaring Demotte had sold scores of fakes and overly restored statues to American museums and collectors, eventually naming both the Metropolitan and Junior among his victims. One expert said 20 percent of the Met's Gothic holdings were Cesnola-style fakes. "That man would put arms on the Venus de Milo," he said of Demotte. Meanwhile, with Demotte's embezzlement charges against him slowly wending their way to court, Vigoroux chimed in with the claim that three-quarters of Rockefeller's objects were spurious, too.33 For all of them, art had become a very ugly business. For all of them, art had become a very ugly business.

Edward Robinson stepped forward to defend both the Met's purchases and Demotte. And so did George Grey Barnard, who came out to defend his former business partner and to vouch for the authenticity of the pieces he and Demotte had sold to Junior.34 Awaiting trial in Paris, Vigoroux sought help from Duveen, who decided to air the matter of Demotte's forgeries in the press. A few days later, George Blumenthal, who sat on the purchasing committee that had approved the Met's buys, vowed that it would investigate. That same day Demotte's charges against Vigoroux came up before a tribunal in Paris. As it took evidence, Duveen and Demotte kept slinging mud at each other across the Atlantic. Awaiting trial in Paris, Vigoroux sought help from Duveen, who decided to air the matter of Demotte's forgeries in the press. A few days later, George Blumenthal, who sat on the purchasing committee that had approved the Met's buys, vowed that it would investigate. That same day Demotte's charges against Vigoroux came up before a tribunal in Paris. As it took evidence, Duveen and Demotte kept slinging mud at each other across the Atlantic.

At least some truth came out in the Paris courtroom, where "evidence most of the time was totally irrelevant to the case," the New York Times New York Times wrote with a snicker, leaving out the detail that some of that evidence was of kickbacks paid to Met curators. Vigoroux's first defense against the charge that he'd stolen from Demotte was simple, and likely true: the missing money had gone as payoffs to society figures in New York who'd facilitated sales. He refused to name names, but another Frenchman testified that such under-the-table arrangements were common. And in pretrial affidavits, Demotte admitted as much, noting payments to Met officials, Barnard, and Berenson among others, and claiming that Duveen himself had knowingly bought and sold a forgery. Vigoroux even blamed his misappropriation of funds on Junior, claiming Rockefeller had held on to a Chinese statue for eight days while deciding whether to buy it. wrote with a snicker, leaving out the detail that some of that evidence was of kickbacks paid to Met curators. Vigoroux's first defense against the charge that he'd stolen from Demotte was simple, and likely true: the missing money had gone as payoffs to society figures in New York who'd facilitated sales. He refused to name names, but another Frenchman testified that such under-the-table arrangements were common. And in pretrial affidavits, Demotte admitted as much, noting payments to Met officials, Barnard, and Berenson among others, and claiming that Duveen himself had knowingly bought and sold a forgery. Vigoroux even blamed his misappropriation of funds on Junior, claiming Rockefeller had held on to a Chinese statue for eight days while deciding whether to buy it.

The Metropolitan got dirtied, too. Duveen's manager in New York, Edward Fowles (whose papers were a primary source for Colin Simpson's expose), urged his boss to settle the case, warning that his enemies in New York, including the museum trustees Henry Walters and George Blumenthal, were financing Demotte's suit. De Forest and Robinson confirmed this when they announced they weren't going to investigate their Gothic objects after all, but would wait for a verdict, hoping for Demotte's vindication.

Before that could happen, though, Demotte was killed by another art dealer, allegedly by accident while hunting in France, although it wasn't hunting season. Simpson noted that the shooting came just three days after Demotte and Duveen were served with demands for testimony in the investigation of yet another suspicious death, that of Emile Boutron, another former a.s.sociate of Barnard's and Demotte's, who may have been ready to sell the dealer down the river.35 Duveen "could barely contain his glee at the news that he no longer had to prove anything," wrote his biographer Meryle Secrest. Duveen "could barely contain his glee at the news that he no longer had to prove anything," wrote his biographer Meryle Secrest.36 On the same day, separate magistrates ruled Boutron's death a suicide and Demotte's an accident. The dealer who shot Demotte was found not guilty of homicide but fined F500 and ordered to pay F100,000 to compensate the dead man's family. On the same day, separate magistrates ruled Boutron's death a suicide and Demotte's an accident. The dealer who shot Demotte was found not guilty of homicide but fined F500 and ordered to pay F100,000 to compensate the dead man's family.

Vigoroux was found guilty-but was sentenced to a slap on the wrist: a month in jail, a payment of $3,775 to Demotte's widow, and a fine of F25. The museum declared victory and didn't investigate further. Only Henry Walters, the museum's latest vice president and along with Blumenthal a key member of the purchasing committee, was candid enough to admit that he'd bought fakes. "The danger of spurious art," he admitted, "is constant."37

ADAM AND E EVE, ALL ALL 125 125 TONS OF IT, TWENTY-FIVE FEET HIGH IN TONS OF IT, TWENTY-FIVE FEET HIGH IN white Carrara marble, finally made it to Kykuit's gardens in September 1923. In October, Barnard offered Junior the white Carrara marble, finally made it to Kykuit's gardens in September 1923. In October, Barnard offered Junior the Prodigal Son Prodigal Son sculpture again in payment of his debt. Junior's secretary pointed out it had been rejected eight years earlier. sculpture again in payment of his debt. Junior's secretary pointed out it had been rejected eight years earlier.38 A few weeks later, Barnard returned to the subject of Adam's missing genitalia, suggesting adding it along with a fig leaf. A grateful Junior said he wasn't so sure, but that he loved the piece, though he asked Barnard to add some charm to Eve's face. And two weeks later, he wrote again to remind Barnard that he was still owed $11,268.85, but within days was offering to forgive the loan and pay Barnard an additional $8,731.15 outright, so long as he agreed to finish the statue to Junior's satisfaction and promise never to sue the family. A few weeks later, Barnard returned to the subject of Adam's missing genitalia, suggesting adding it along with a fig leaf. A grateful Junior said he wasn't so sure, but that he loved the piece, though he asked Barnard to add some charm to Eve's face. And two weeks later, he wrote again to remind Barnard that he was still owed $11,268.85, but within days was offering to forgive the loan and pay Barnard an additional $8,731.15 outright, so long as he agreed to finish the statue to Junior's satisfaction and promise never to sue the family.

Barnard ultimately signed the releases, took the money, and promptly fell off the Rockefeller radar for a year, despite Junior's aides urging him to live up to his end of the contract and finish Adam and Eve Adam and Eve. In October, he returned to his idea of placing his Peace Arch on Junior's land and began working on full-scale plaster models of it in the building Junior had loaned him on the former Billings estate. Advised again that his patron wasn't interested, Barnard insisted that it would be finished if it took the rest of his life. A few years later, he'd describe his quest for that grail as "an endless crucifixion." He would never return to the Adam and Eve Adam and Eve statue. Instead, he'd finally subcontract out the finis.h.i.+ng touches in 1928 and argue with Junior about its completion until 1933. statue. Instead, he'd finally subcontract out the finis.h.i.+ng touches in 1928 and argue with Junior about its completion until 1933.39 Even as he kept Barnard close, Junior had begun looking into other ways to contribute to the Met. In 1922, the Laura Spelman Rockefeller Memorial Fund, created by John D. Rockefeller Sr. in his late wife's name to contribute to the public welfare, hired Beardsley Ruml, a statistician and economist, as its director, and one of his first tasks was to study the Metropolitan Museum in order to find a suitable purpose for "a gift of considerable magnitude."

The resulting sixty-two-page report provides a snapshot of the museum at age fifty. After describing its charter and lease, Ruml notes that the average sitting trustee had served for just over eleven years, while the average term of trustees over the life of the museum had been fourteen years, with a fifth of them serving for twenty-five years or more. Joseph Choate held the record, having served forty-seven years. Ruml noted presciently that if trustee seats were rotated more often, the museum would widen its circle of influence and awareness of change. "There is danger that the Board may become insensitive and inflexible," he wrote.

In 1921, the museum made almost $1 million on its endowment, which had largely been invested in government bonds during the war. George Baker's unrestricted gift the next year of $1 million in Victory bonds pushed that income even higher. New York, which had lifted its charter restriction on annual contributions to the museum in 1915, had upped its appropriation to $325,000 that year. Salaries ate up $500,000 a year, and almost as much was spent on art in 1921. Ruml said he found the museum in "an excellent financial position," though that wasn't obvious, since the trustees did all they could to obscure its finances. Ruml judged their annual report "almost a perfunctory doc.u.ment" and their constant moaning about deficits disingenuous. He predicted increased public scrutiny.

The staff had grown considerably. The secretary's office had grown from four to ten employees in four years. There were now seven curatorial departments, several with five in staff. In all, the museum employed 273 people, up 47 since 1915. The city set the wages of the low-end employees. Department head and a.s.sistant curator salaries were $5,250 and $2,651, respectively. Raises were skimpy at best, causing "a certain amount of dissatisfaction."

The collections were uneven, Ruml found; some, like the plaster casts (which had once been highlights of the young museum and remained a favorite of de Forest's), were languis.h.i.+ng in "dismal unfrequented galleries," and he felt that both the musical instrument and Cesnola collections were "yielding an inadequate return." The building was in excellent condition, but its storage area was outdated. Attendance had broken one million for the first time, and the museum's image was good, even if it fell short in "increasing public interest and ...rendering greater public service."40 What did the museum need in order to do that? Ruml suggested more galleries for temporary exhibits, an art school within the museum, and more connection to modern industry. He met with de Forest, who felt a school might be a good idea. But Junior had different notions and seemed to prefer keeping them to himself. De Forest asked for a personal meeting, but Rockefeller wriggled out of it. Junior confided to an aide, Raymond Fosd.i.c.k, that his was a "somewhat intricate problem," and as he wanted to "act intelligently," he saw no point in rus.h.i.+ng matters.

Neither did de Forest, who was busy completing his greatest contribution to the museum he ran for eighteen years, the American Wing. Its genesis was the Hudson-Fulton exhibition, which first brought together the three museum officials who would become the Metropolitan's champions of American art, de Forest, Kent, and Richard Townley Haines Halsey. The last, a banking heir, stockbroker, and inveterate collector whose forebears had come to America in 1630, began donating to the museum in 1906, became a trustee, and in 1923 would retire from Wall Street to become its de facto first curator of American decorative arts.41 Peter M. Kenny, a curator at the museum, has compared the trio to the teams that make Hollywood movies: "De Forest, who paid for the project, would fit the role of the powerful studio mogul; Kent [who had been consumed by American decorative arts since the late nineteenth century, when he ran a small Connecticut museum], the savvy producer; and Halsey, the artistic director." Peter M. Kenny, a curator at the museum, has compared the trio to the teams that make Hollywood movies: "De Forest, who paid for the project, would fit the role of the powerful studio mogul; Kent [who had been consumed by American decorative arts since the late nineteenth century, when he ran a small Connecticut museum], the savvy producer; and Halsey, the artistic director."42 De Forest's interest in American antiques had been sparked by his wife, who'd begun buying old objects from people's attics one summer out of boredom and had since made it a hobby. Her finds would eventually fill every nook, corner, and stable of their Long Island summer home. Emily de Forest's unpublished memoir of the time omits the date, but just after the Hudson-Fulton exhibition she began buying for what would become the American Wing. Her husband, "who had gradually become very sympathetic with my hobby," had suggested that the museum needed a home for its rapidly expanding holdings in early American furniture, silver, bra.s.s, gla.s.s, and china. "We have more means now," he'd said, "than when you began to find such things. How would you like it if we gave to the Museum an American Wing?"43 Robinson was opposed, feeling Americana was "unworthy of exhibition in a museum," but eventually the de Forests, Halsey, and Kent overcame his objections. Robinson was opposed, feeling Americana was "unworthy of exhibition in a museum," but eventually the de Forests, Halsey, and Kent overcame his objections.44 Henry Kent had already envisioned the look of the wing when he installed the Met's first period rooms in the Hudson-Fulton show. In 1910, Emily de Forest bought the first of the new wing's rooms, complete with cupboards, doors, and a fireplace, from a Colonial-era farmhouse in Wood-bury, New York, shortly before it was demolished. Then Halsey, Kent, and another curator began combing the original thirteen colonies, looking for more, and found, among others, the ballroom from an Alexandria, Virginia, tavern a few miles from Mount Vernon, where George Was.h.i.+ngton had celebrated his last birthdays in 1798 and 1799, and a parlor from the Philadelphia home of one of the city's early mayors, which served as Was.h.i.+ngton's headquarters there.

In 1915, when the Branch Bank of the United States on Wall Street, built in 18221824 and also known as the a.s.say Office, was torn down, de Forest donned his hat as the president of the New York Art Commission and arranged for the neocla.s.sical facade to be salvaged, and then, as museum president, ensured that the marble was stored on a museum-owned vacant lot. It would become the new wing's facade.

At first, Kent would write in his memoirs, the museum asked its architects at McKim, Mead & White to design the new wing, but they turned down the job, likely because the building had to be designed to both fit and suit the preexisting architectural elements of fifteen period rooms and two reproductions, and not vice versa. Priscilla de Forest Williams, a grandchild, later surmised that they felt "a building to house American crafts was beneath them."45 So in 1919, the de Forests approached Grosvenor Atterbury, the architect of their summer house. In her recollections, Emily de Forest insisted that was the idea all along, "to build it according to our wishes and let us use our own architect." So in 1919, the de Forests approached Grosvenor Atterbury, the architect of their summer house. In her recollections, Emily de Forest insisted that was the idea all along, "to build it according to our wishes and let us use our own architect."

What is indisputable is that when the $2 million gift was announced in November 1922, Atterbury's plans were already well developed for a three-story freestanding building that would eventually be connected to the rest of the museum via a pa.s.sageway at the north end of the Morgan Wing. A Colonial-style garden was planted in what would become, about fifty years later, an interior courtyard.

The newspapers, noting that the de Forests had been married for fifty years, called the American Wing their golden-anniversary present to the city. But their gift to themselves was an around-the-world second honeymoon, highlighted by a visit to the Valley of the Kings, where George Edward Stanhope Molyneux Herbert, the 5th Earl of Carnarvon, and the archaeologists Albert Lythgoe and Howard Carter gave them a sneak preview of their latest and greatest find, the tomb of Tutankhamen. Though they only had three days to spend in Egypt, "we decided to give them entirely to 'The Tomb,' " wrote Emily, who lunched at the expedition house and then took a "rickety little vehicle" to "a kind of shallow pit, from which led downward a flight of stone steps, steps cut in the solid rock but oh, so shallow and so steep. We scrambled down and at the last step looked into a room not very large, low ceilinged, but brilliantly illuminated by electricity. What a sight met our eyes!"

In that room sat three gold couches, but it was the next room that drew them, beyond a walled-up doorway and two jet-black statues representing the tomb's guardians, "gold kilted, gold sandaled, armed with maces and staffs and the protective sacred cobra upon their foreheads," de Forest recalled.

"If I were you," she said to Lord Carnarvon, the financier of the expedition, "I could not sleep nights until I saw what is on the other side of that opening."

"I don't sleep nights," he replied.

The American Wing (which was briefly called the de Forest Wing) opened two years later, on November 10, 1924. In his speech that day, de Forest noted the prevalent disdain toward American art, quoting the trustee John Cadwalader: "What do you mean, de Forest, by American art? Do you mean English or French or what? There is nothing American worth notice." He also addressed the inevitable controversy that found the museum accused of vandalizing historical homes. "We have given them a refuge," he countered. "We have saved them from destruction." De Forest joked about the new vogue for antiques, which had driven up prices for the best pieces. "Perhaps we had a good deal to do with it, to our destruction," he said, then nodded toward the ancestor wors.h.i.+p that also drove the wing's founders. "We shall be satisfied if we have helped to rescue the modest art of our fore-fathers from undeserved oblivion and have proved that their zeal for liberty did not obscure their sense of beauty." As staunch advocates of museum outreach, both he and Halsey thought the wing would communicate American values, uphold the country's traditions, and "fight the influx of foreign ideas utterly at variance with those held by the men who gave us the Republic."46 To commemorate the occasion, the de Forests gave another gift, a stained-gla.s.s window called Autumn Landscape Autumn Landscape, created by their neighbor, friend, and relative by marriage, Louis Comfort Tiffany. The difficulties inherent in working with living artists were made plain when Tiffany got into a fierce row with curators over its placement. The curators eventually won.47 So did commerce, because thanks to the American Wing, the museum finally attained another of its long-stated goals, influencing industrial production. Having set off a craze for early American antiques, the Met now dipped its beak into the business. In 1924, William Sloane Coffin was elected to the board. He was a vice president of W. & J. Sloane, his family's Fifth Avenue home-furnis.h.i.+ngs store, which evolved into a pacesetter in interior decor for the wealthy and a manufacturer of reproductions of antique furniture. Two years after he joined the board, Coffin went into business with Halsey making reproductions of early American furniture, which Sloane would market for years to come as line-for-line copies of pieces from both the museum's and Halsey's own collections.48 The American Wing-the first museum building paid for with private funds-was significant, but it was hardly the only magnificent gift to come to the museum in the mid-1920s. Collis P. Huntington, the railroad king who'd built the Central Pacific line, had died in 1900 and left his art to the Met, but only on the pa.s.sing of his wife, Arabella, and their son, Archer. But when she died in 1924, Archer waived his life interest and gave the museum dozens of pictures, including Vermeer's Woman with a Lute Woman with a Lute and works by Hals, Rembrandt, Joshua Reynolds, and Thomas Lawrence. But he held on to the greatest Huntington prize, Rembrandt's and works by Hals, Rembrandt, Joshua Reynolds, and Thomas Lawrence. But he held on to the greatest Huntington prize, Rembrandt's Aristotle with a Bust of Homer Aristotle with a Bust of Homer, which his mother had bought from the Rodolphe Kann collection via Duveen. Archer sold it back to Duveen a few years later, and Duveen sold it on to the advertising legend Alfred Erickson, who sold it back to Duveen during the 1929 Wall Street crash, then bought it back again. The Met would finally buy it from Erickson's widow's estate after she died.

The newspaper publisher Frank A. Munsey was about to write the museum out out of his will when he died of peritonitis after an emergency appendectomy late in 1925. "He was an irascible character-impossible, arrogant, awful," says Peter Dooney, whose wife's father took over Munsey's newspapers. But Dooney says Munsey's plan was to give the bulk of his estate, including his newspapers, to his employees. "He had no children, no family," he explains. "His family was the newspapers. But unfortunately, before ink was put on paper, he died." of his will when he died of peritonitis after an emergency appendectomy late in 1925. "He was an irascible character-impossible, arrogant, awful," says Peter Dooney, whose wife's father took over Munsey's newspapers. But Dooney says Munsey's plan was to give the bulk of his estate, including his newspapers, to his employees. "He had no children, no family," he explains. "His family was the newspapers. But unfortunately, before ink was put on paper, he died."

Ironically, Munsey was an expert at putting ink on paper. A bookish farm boy from Maine, he made enough money in an early job running a Western Union telegraph office to go to business school, then made a deal with a stockbroker friend to start a magazine and moved to New York "not to enter journalism," he wrote, "but to succeed in journalism."49 Legend has it he came with $40, vague promises of backing, and a batch of ma.n.u.scripts for which he'd paid $450. The backing quickly dried up, but Munsey talked a publisher into printing the first issue of the Legend has it he came with $40, vague promises of backing, and a batch of ma.n.u.scripts for which he'd paid $450. The backing quickly dried up, but Munsey talked a publisher into printing the first issue of the Golden Argosy Golden Argosy. A couple of magazines later, he cut their price from twenty-five to ten cents and began using high-speed presses and cheap pulp paper, putting out magazines targeted to the working cla.s.s. Those innovations made him rich. When his publications failed, he changed their names or started new ones. In 1891, he bought his first newspaper, but shut it down when it didn't click with the public.

But he didn't give up. After a profitable hiatus as a real estate, hotel, grocery, and stock market investor, he began buying newspapers again in 1912 and threw their weight behind Theodore Roosevelt, who had just bolted the Republican Party to run for president as the candidate of the new Progressive (or Bull Moose) Party. Munsey helped finance his ultimately unsuccessful run. He then went on a spree of buying, closing, and merging newspapers to make the survivors more financially viable. He bought the New York and Paris editions of the Herald Herald, for instance, merged them with his Tribune Tribune, and then sold them for $4 million to Ogden Mills Reid, whose wife would end up a Metropolitan trustee. Having owned seventeen different papers in his life, Munsey ended up with only two, the Sun Sun and the and the Evening Telegram Evening Telegram. Proving his prescience, they would later merge again and again, until dying in 1967 as the World Journal Tribune World Journal Tribune, a consolidation of seven separate newspapers.

"As a journalist, he was a force; to some he seemed t.i.tanic, irresponsible and sometimes ruinous; yet he regarded himself as a constructive, not a destructive, agent," the World World editorialized on his death. Said the editorialized on his death. Said the Evening Post Evening Post, "Mr. Munsey's career has the dramatic appeal which we like to think of as peculiarly American."50 Munsey's estate was at first thought to be as large as $40 million, and five-sixths of that was left to the museum, then the largest gift to any museum in history. Though he'd been a member since 1916, this came as a surprise to the trustees. When he'd drawn up his will in June 1921, his lawyer asked the childless bachelor who should get the bulk of his estate. "Oh, well, give it to the Metropolitan Museum," he allegedly said.51 One of his eulogists later claimed that Munsey wanted to have the same impact on art that Andrew Carnegie had on libraries and the Rockefellers on medical research. One of his eulogists later claimed that Munsey wanted to have the same impact on art that Andrew Carnegie had on libraries and the Rockefellers on medical research.

Robert de Forest's first reaction on hearing the news was relief that he could meet the next year's deficit. But within a month, he'd come to understand that Munsey's real estate was heavily mortgaged, and under the terms of his will his newspapers could not be sold immediately, and he got back to worrying about deficits again.

In 1926, William Dewart, a longtime friend and Munsey's executor, bought the newspapers and some real estate from the estate on behalf of their employees in a deal valued at $13 million, but de Forest announced that the money wouldn't meet the estate's immediate debts, so the museum would not see any immediate benefit.

Within a year, the museum started spending its antic.i.p.ated haul any-way, buying a previously unknown t.i.tian portrait of Lucrezia Borgia's husband, Alfonso d'Este, the Duke of Ferrara, for $125,000, and, at the museum's urging, Dewart sold the Telegram Telegram and announced that Munsey's 660-acre estate in Manha.s.set, Long Island, would be subdivided and sold. A few months later, a previous owner of the t.i.tian, the Comtesse de Vogue, said she was sure it was just a copy. "How she regarded it or what she was paid for it are matters with which we had nothing to do," sniffed Edward Robinson. Today, it remains in the museum collection, labeled as a copy. and announced that Munsey's 660-acre estate in Manha.s.set, Long Island, would be subdivided and sold. A few months later, a previous owner of the t.i.tian, the Comtesse de Vogue, said she was sure it was just a copy. "How she regarded it or what she was paid for it are matters with which we had nothing to do," sniffed Edward Robinson. Today, it remains in the museum collection, labeled as a copy.

The museum essentially entered the real estate business in the long and drawn-out process of realizing the funds Munsey had bequeathed, selling off his property bit by bit, and even dabbling in building development when it looked like that might be more profitable. In April 1929, the estate was finally settled, with the museum's share valued at $17,305,594. The detailed account of Munsey's holdings went on for many pages. But after the stock market crashed that fall, the valuations and the museum's plans for the rest of Munsey's land were both downsized. It took the museum twenty years to get rid of the land. That was only revealed in 1950 when the Sun Sun was finally sold to the was finally sold to the World-Telegram World-Telegram and the museum announced that in the end it realized only $10 million from the estate. It turned out that in his skepticism about the windfall, Robert de Forest had been prescient, too. and the museum announced that in the end it realized only $10 million from the estate. It turned out that in his skepticism about the windfall, Robert de Forest had been prescient, too.

THOUGH G GEORGE G GREY B BARNARD DROPPED HIS PRICE TO $700,000, the museum declined, early in 1925, to buy the Cloisters Museum, and a dealer named Jackson Higgs, who was helping the sculptor, wrote Junior to ask if he wouldn't reconsider buying it. Higgs, who wanted Junior's favor more than a commission, offered to waive his fee and suggested that $1.12 million would seal the deal-and be a bargain. But he was also talking to the decorative arts curator, Joseph Breck, who wanted the Cloisters but couldn't pay for it and wouldn't ask Rockefeller, either. $700,000, the museum declined, early in 1925, to buy the Cloisters Museum, and a dealer named Jackson Higgs, who was helping the sculptor, wrote Junior to ask if he wouldn't reconsider buying it. Higgs, who wanted Junior's favor more than a commission, offered to waive his fee and suggested that $1.12 million would seal the deal-and be a bargain. But he was also talking to the decorative arts curator, Joseph Breck, who wanted the Cloisters but couldn't pay for it and wouldn't ask Rockefeller, either.52 Junior had been generous enough lately. After mulling Ruml's study and the museum's response, he'd decided to give the museum $1 million in the form of sixteen thousand shares of Standard Oil stock with no restrictions except a suggestion that it be used for current needs, the most unglamorous but important kind of gift, until 80 percent of the trustees agreed on how to spend it. "If only every giver of large gifts were as wise as you," de Forest responded.53 Junior's conditions were released to the press verbatim, likely as a lesson to less cooperative donors. Edward Robinson was so out of favor he only learned of the gift at the trustees' meeting where it was announced. Junior's conditions were released to the press verbatim, likely as a lesson to less cooperative donors. Edward Robinson was so out of favor he only learned of the gift at the trustees' meeting where it was announced.

Four months later, in April 1925, Junior suddenly informed Robinson he'd buy Barnard's Cloisters for $500,000 and give the museum another $300,000 to maintain it, but only if it could be moved to the Billings estate, which he still hoped to give to the city. Breck and de Forest started negotiating with Barnard. His price came down to $750,000. Junior hired an appraiser to put a value on Barnard's land minus the sculptor's house, which he wanted to keep. Barnard threatened to sell his objects piecemeal. Then John Gellatly inserted himself into the negotiation.54 Gellatly was an art student turned businessman who'd married an heiress who'd died and left him everything-except for a trust fund to care for her horses and dogs. But everything turned out not to be enough. He spent it all on art. And though he had astute taste, he didn't have much sense. He'd decided to buy some land between Barnard's and the Billings estate so Barnard could expand his Cloisters and Gellatly could build a home. But Gellatly would only do all that if Junior would buy the Cloisters, agree never to move it, and allow the erection on his his land not just of the Asian temples Barnard had been offered-apparently through Gellatly, who also collected Asian art-but of a museum of modern American art to hold Gellatly's collection. land not just of the Asian temples Barnard had been offered-apparently through Gellatly, who also collected Asian art-but of a museum of modern American art to hold Gellatly's collection.55 "You will note that ... I did not suggest any contribution on Junior's part," he wrote to de Forest, "but perhaps between the lines I told him that my plan would add millions of value to his property. He may not see it but I know that you can." "You will note that ... I did not suggest any contribution on Junior's part," he wrote to de Forest, "but perhaps between the lines I told him that my plan would add millions of value to his property. He may not see it but I know that you can."

De Forest and Junior were way ahead of him. The museum president did want Barnard's Cloisters Museum and a.s.sured Junior that the board might kick in another $200,000 to get it-and he signed on to Rockefeller's plan to move it. Junior wanted both Gellatly and Barnard out of the way, sure they were plotting to drive the price higher. It wasn't news that people liked to try to get one over on the Rockefellers. He agreed to pay $600,000 and, if absolutely necessary, the additional $50,000 it would take to keep Gellatly on the sidelines. And in the end, he was even more generous than that, turning over a second batch of stock worth just over $1 million to the Met to buy the Cloisters and create a Gothic Fund to buy more art for it in the future. Skirt cleaning was quite expensive.

In mid-May, de Forest made Barnard an offer in writing, without reference to Junior. The Met would pay $600,000 provided it could move the collection, and Barnard could buy back his land as long as he paid the back taxes on it. But de Forest also made it clear he wanted nothing to do with "your friend Gellatly." Sounding impatient, he gave the sculptor a few days to respond. But Barnard played coy, and Gellatly kept trying to insert himself, flattering de Forest about the American Wing. Finally, de Forest admitted to Junior, "I shall not be sure of anything until it is done, and I shall not think it done until t.i.tle pa.s.ses to the Museum; nor do I suppose, in dealing with a gentleman of such poetic instincts as Barnard, that even then it will be what a friend of mine calls 'done finished.' "

In fact, he was almost there. The deal was made on May 22 and closed in early June, and the purchase of the Cloisters was announced. A press release had been drafted and shown to Junior that said it was sold for a confidential sum donated anonymously and that it was a.s.sumed the Cloisters would remain in place. On Rockefeller's copy, someone added the words "at least for the present." Though that was what the press was finally told, one headline still read, "It Is Not to Be Changed." Junior also gave in and let the museum say how much it cost and who'd paid for it. Finally, he also offered to donate the Gothic pieces he'd bought from Barnard himself.56 In the In the Herald Tribune Herald Tribune, Barnard said the museum had gotten a bargain, citing Demotte's $2.5 million valuation.

Barnard's Cloisters reopened in May 1926 as a museum branch, but Junior was already planning to move it to "a more suitable site ...the high rocky wooded point which I own north beyond the greenhouses" bought "some years before," just north of the Billings estate. He authorized Bosworth to talk to the museum about how to make that happen.

Rockefeller's relations.h.i.+p with the museum deepened quickly. Like the museum's officials, curators treated him with rare deference, and he was soon involved on many levels. When Robinson asked to borrow two portraits of his father for a special John Singer Sargent exhibit in 1925, Junior consented immediately. In 1927, he also loaned a portrait of Antoine Lavoisier by Jacques-Louis David to the paintings curator, Bryson Burroughs, who rearranged the museum's French gallery around it. Two years later, he loaned Breck one of his Polonaise carpets. De Forest offered Winlock's services when he heard that Junior was off to Luxor. Shortly after the stock market crash, at the request of the rector of the Episcopal Church of the Heavenly Rest, Junior even tried to get a guard a promotion. Robinson wrote to say the hapless fellow had already risen to the level of his competence, "though I admit this with regret especially because of the interest you have taken."

The attention paid off in spades. That April, de Forest and Breck looked at some of Barnard's latest offerings and wrote their new patron that they'd be interested, "if and when Barnard comes down from the skies and gets to earth" on his prices. Within days, Junior offered more donations in the event that happened. Two months later, Barnard offered de Forest a Romanesque facade, though at first he wouldn't set a price. "You are living in the poetic atmosphere of the skies," de Forest wrote him. "I envy you your freedom from mundane questions. I should like to try floating myself but ... we must observe business methods." In a snippy reply, Barnard asked for $150,000, claiming the Philadelphia Museum of Art had offered $100,000. In a note to Junior saying that $100,000 seemed fair, de Forest noted his amazement that Barnard could get such material out of France, and worried that it might never happen again. In response to a request for "full information" about the provenance and authenticity of the facade, Barnard demanded a $20,000 deposit, $20,000 more by October, and $60,000 by December, leading de Forest to call him "the most delightfully and charmingly unbusinesslike person I ever ran across" and refusing to proceed. On learning that Barnard needed money to pay a debt, de Forest did an about-face and loaned him $10,000 out of his own funds. Junior complimented him on his patience.

Patience was certainly one of Rockefeller's virtues. It would be almost four years before he finally managed to give Fort Tryon Park to the city and make his plan to move the Cloisters real. In the meantime, the maneuvering continued. Junior hired the landscape firm of Frederick Law Olmsted, now run by his sons, to study the possibilities and the architect John Russell Pope to think about a building; the museum flailed, unsure where the Cloisters would end up; Barnard alternately operated, fumed, and l.u.s.ted to build his Peace Arch on "the great stone prow" of Junior's high point, sometimes called G.o.d's Thumb, often aloud and to the press, much to Rockefeller's distress. And the Demotte gallery popped up again, when the dealer's son Lucien offered Junior the tomb of Count Armengol VII for the Cloisters, asking price $175,000. Cleverly, the museum sent George Blumenthal-rich but no Rockefeller-to negotiate for it instead and managed to get it for $82,000. Just after Junior paid for it and gave it to the museum, young Demotte wrote him to say how disappointed he was that it had gone to Blumenthal.57 Not to be outdone, in October 1928, shortly after he was elected to the executive committee and the purchasing committee and named head of the finance committee that spring, Blumenthal created a $1 million fund for the museum, with the princ.i.p.al to be invested by him, and all the income he earned added to it until he and his wife died. By 1940, its balance would reach $1.5 million. Not to be outdone, in October 1928, shortly after he was elected to the executive committee and the purchasing committee and named head of the finance committee that spring, Blumenthal created a $1 million fund for the museum, with the princ.i.p.al to be invested by him, and all the income he earned added to it until he and his wife died. By 1940, its balance would reach $1.5 million.58 Though de Forest favored moving the Cloisters, as long as it remained where it was, the museum had to protect and maintain it, so early in 1928 Junior agreed to buy a strip of adjacent land for $300,000 to buffer it from possible encroachment by new buildings. At the same time, the museum evicted Barnard from a studio in one of the buildings on what was now its land. Though Junior still seemed attached to him, a fed-up de Forest just wanted him gone.59 Typically, Barnard responded by going to the press, pressuring the museum to buy more stonework from him and create a sculpture school, housed in a new wing connecting his home to the existing Cloisters. He couldn't let go. Typically, Barnard responded by going to the press, pressuring the museum to buy more stonework from him and create a sculpture school, housed in a new wing connecting his home to the existing Cloisters. He couldn't let go.

WAS IT MODERN ART PUs.h.i.+NG J JUNIOR TO CREATE HIS MEDIEVAL museum? By 1929, the avant-garde had inevitably moved from the edges to the center of action in the art world. Nothing showed that more clearly than the career of Louisine Havemeyer, who gave her collection to the museum that year, though she named it for her husband, Harry. After Harry's death, Louisine had continued buying art, though initially the lingering bad feelings over the way the museum had snubbed Harry kept her from giving gifts. museum? By 1929, the avant-garde had inevitably moved from the edges to the center of action in the art world. Nothing showed that more clearly than the career of Louisine Havemeyer, who gave her collection to the museum that year, though she named it for her husband, Harry. After Harry's death, Louisine had continued buying art, though initially the lingering bad feelings over the way the museum had snubbed Harry kept her from giving gifts.

Over time, though, her hard feelings dissipated as the museum's taste and judgment seemed to improve. First came the famous Armory Show of modern art in 1913, a survey of the Impressionists, Symbolists, Postimpressionists, Fauves, and Cubists. Many were outraged by what they saw there-Matisse and Brancusi were hung in effigy by some art students. Though Robinson was less than enthused, Bryson Burroughs convinced the trustees to spend some of Catharine Lorillard Wolfe's bequest to buy Paul Cezanne's View of the Domaine Saint-Joseph View of the Domaine Saint-Joseph for $18,000, and almost lost his job in the process. for $18,000, and almost lost his job in the process.60 But in 1914, Samuel T. Peters, who was married to Louisine's sister, was named a trustee and introduced her to the new president, de Forest, whose public spirit and social engagement she admired; with her husband's nemesis Morgan gone, she began to deal with the museum again. In 1919, she loaned Burroughs more than a dozen Courbets for a show honoring the artist's hundredth birthday, and also made loans to William Ivins, the prints curator, whom she'd met when she loaned him works for a show at the Grolier Club.61 And she likely attended the 1919 loan exhibition of modern French art, sent to America by a grateful French government for its help during the war; it opened late that year and featured artists like Renoir, Monet, Bonnard, and Signac, though many of the paintings were, as one critic put it, "middle-aged" and hardly modern. And she likely attended the 1919 loan exhibition of modern French art, sent to America by a grateful French government for its help during the war; it opened late that year and featured artists like Renoir, Monet, Bonnard, and Signac, though many of the paintings were, as one critic put it, "middle-aged" and hardly modern.62 Encouraged nonetheless by what she saw, Havemeyer added a codicil to her will to put into place the plan she'd first cooked up in 1908 to give a major gift-113 works of art-to the museum. Encouraged nonetheless by what she saw, Havemeyer added a codicil to her will to put into place the plan she'd first cooked up in 1908 to give a major gift-113 works of art-to the museum.63 Two years later, urged on by art critics and modern collectors like Havemeyer, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, the lawyer John Quinn, and Lillie Bliss, the daughter of President McKinley's interior secretary, the Metropolitan mounted a loan exhibit of Impressionist and Postimpressionist paintings from private collections, including paintings by Cezanne, Gauguin, Daumier, Manet, Seurat, and Degas. Many of the more modern canvases, Havemeyer's among them, were loaned anonymously. The show was condemned as shocking, degenerate, corrupting, and dangerous, comments the outspoken Quinn dismissed as "Ku Klux art criticism."64 After the show, the Met even accepted a Whitney gift of four paintings by living artists. Less than impressed, Quinn left his Seurat, After the show, the Met even accepted a Whitney gift of four paintings by living artists. Less than impressed, Quinn left his Seurat, Le Cirque Le Cirque, to the Louvre on his death.

In 1921, Louisine changed her will again, adding twenty-nine more paintings to her gift, including six old masters and eight Monets, and authorizing her son, Horace, to give the museum even more, so long as they would be on permanent view and credited to her late husband's collection. Three years later, at age sixty-nine, she began marking her collection with tags indicating which pictures she thought the museum might want. Though the gift was kept secret from the public, the museum was informed and named her a benefactor.

The rest of the world learned of her stunning generosity in January 1929, after she died. The bequest included four paintings attributed to Veronese, a Bronzino, a Fra Filippo Lippi, seven paintings thought to be by Rembrandt, two small Hals portraits, two Rubens, two El Grecos, five Goyas, a Millet, eight Monets, innumerable works by Manet and Degas, a Renoir, a p.i.s.sarro, two Corots, two Poussins, an Ingres, four Cezannes, and four Ca.s.satts-a total of 1,972 objects appraised at $3.5 million. Though some of the trustees preferred the old masters to the modern French paintings, Robinson called it "one of the most magnificent gifts of works of art ever made to a museum." By that time, of course, Havemeyer's taste was no longer outre. De Forest used the gift as an opportunity to push the city for another wing, and to cover up the tensions that had for so long defined the museum's relations.h.i.+p with the Havemeyers.65 A six-gallery show of the entire Havemeyer collection opened the next year, attracting a quarter-million visitors in eight months, and then the bounty was dispersed throughout the collection, where it all remains today, a testament to the couple's taste and Louisine's generosity. Harry Havemeyer had been avenged. And beginning with their son, Horace, who joined the board in 1930, descendants of the Havemeyer family have held prominent positions in the museum hierarchy ever since.

But its acceptance of the Havemeyer collection did not mean the museum was now open to any and all modern art. After George Hearn had died in 1913, the trustees decided that his fund should be spent not on works by living artists, as he'd intended, but on works by artists who'd been alive in 1906, when the gift was established. "Many artists were under the impression that the Hearn income was irregularly deflected to the purchase of coal, boilers, and paper towels," The New Yorker The New Yorker would report. In fact, though now and then a living artist entered the collection, the Hearn Fund mainly sat accruing interest until 1927, when an art magazine revealed the surplus and de Forest and Robinson agreed to buy another Sargent portrait, painted in 1900, for $90,000. After it was pointed out that Sargent had died in 1925, the museum changed the credit on the painting to the Wolfe Fund and bought six others with the Hearn income instead. would report. In fact, though now and then a living artist entered the collection, the Hearn Fund mainly sat accruing interest until 1927, when an art magazine revealed the surplus and de Forest and Robinson agreed to buy another Sargent portrait, painted in 1900, for $90,000. After it was pointed out that Sargent had died in 1925, the museum changed the credit on the painting to the Wolfe Fund and bought six others with the Hearn income instead.66 Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney rediscovered the Met's ingrained bias against living artists, especially American ones, the same year as Havemeyer left her gift. "The New York establishment liked other cultures and didn't respond to their own," says Tom Armstrong, who would direct the Whitney Museum years later. Gertrude was different. A great-granddaughter of Commodore Vanderbilt, and the wife of Harry Payne Whitney, the grandson of a Standard Oil founder, Whitney had a loveless marriage and filled the void in her life with art, opening a series of studios, artists' clubs, and galleries in Greenwich Village with a partner, Juliana Force, just a few doors away from the Johnston and de Forest homes, all dedicated to supporting living American artists both psychically and financially.

Her penultimate creation, the Whitney Studio Club, founded in 1918, became a showplace for the artists she championed, and the pictures she bought from every show formed an unprecedented collection. Finally, in 1929, when they "threatened to overwhelm the gallery," as Force's biographer Avis Berman has written, "the necessity of a museum became apparent." First, though, Whitney decided to offer it all to the Met, along with $5 million to build a wing to house it, sending Force to make the offer. The art critic Forbes Watson, a friend of Whitney's, was skeptical. He considered Edward Robinson a cla.s.sical, orthodox autocrat, "not a modern director but a guardian of sacred premises," with a "pontifical manner" and "schoolmaster methods." Before Force "could get that far" in her pitch, says Flora Biddle, Whitney's granddaughter, "Edward Robinson said, 'No! Not that!' "

"What will we do with them, my dear lady?" the condescending director asked Force of Whitney's paintings. "We have a cellar full of those things already."67 "He was really angry," Biddle continues. So was Force, who returned to Whitney's studio on MacDougal Alley alternating between rage and joy, for now Whitney would have to open her own museum. "And that's how the Whitney Museum came into being," says Biddle.68 It was announced in January 1930 and opened in November 1931. It was announced in January 1930 and opened in November 1931.

Something must have been in the air, for almost simultaneously Lillie Bliss, Mary Quinn Sullivan, an artist and teacher, and Abby Aldrich Rockefeller were conceiving of the Museum of Modern Art as a home for European modernist art and an inspiration for American artists. As a girl, Abby had collected drawings and watercolors by Edgar Degas, but early in her marriage she'd subsumed her more adventurous tastes and joined with Junior to collect conservative old masters, Italian primitive paintings, a Goya, a Chardin, Sir Thomas Lawrence's full-length portrait of Lady Dysart, and some Asian art. But eventually, drawn back to the avant-garde, she struck out on her own again. Junior objected; he detested modern art. So she used her Aldrich fortune to indulge her taste for German Expressionists, Postimpressionists, American folk art, and modern woodcuts. In order to avoid ever having to see them, Junior gave her an entire floor of their Fifty-fourth Street town house to use as a private gallery. But he was a loyal husband. A week after the stock market crash in October 1929, he escorted Abby to the opening of her museum in a six-room office suite on Fifth Avenue. Lacking funds, it would move several times over the next decade, but eventually the museum that would be known as the Modern moved to a permanent home on land Junior gave it on Fifty-third Street, a block from their longtime home.

That didn't mean Junior was going modern himself. Earlier that year he bought a Piero della Francesca Crucifixion Crucifixion from Duveen, who'd bought it at auction for $375,000, earning himself a lawsuit from the seller, who accused Duveen of cheating him by suppressing bids. from Duveen, who'd bought it at auction for $375,000, earning himself a lawsuit from the seller, who accused Duveen of cheating him by suppressing bids.69 Then Junior bought an extraordinary set of colossal bas-relief sculptures from Nimrud in ancient a.s.syria, a series with a provenance so rich and complex it is the subject of an entire book, Then Junior bought an extraordinary set of colossal bas-relief sculptures from Nimrud in ancient a.s.syria, a series with a provenance so rich and complex it is the subject of an entire book, From Nineveh to New York From Nineve