Rogues' Gallery Part 3

Poor Sir Caspar Purdon Clarke wouldn't see any of these improvements. New York's climate seriously disagreed with him, and his health failed soon after he settled in. Though he was quite active his first year in office, railing against art tariffs, fighting with compet.i.tors, buying art, advising Morgan, and predicting a twenty-six-acre museum six times its current size, by 1909 he was back in England and Robinson was provisionally in charge. That summer, Morgan summoned Clarke to his house in London. A Morgan art adviser's report on that meeting is Sir Caspar's professional obituary.

"Sir Purdon Clarke's condition denoted serious physical debility," it says. He could no longer "discharge his functions as Director," so Morgan had suggested "a long rest and entire cessation from Museum routine." They offered Clarke a year off with full pay to regain his health.47 Not long afterward, Morgan learned that Clarke was continuing to use a letter of credit issued to him to purchase art for the museum-and wrote to ask if he would "be good enough to convert the balance of your letter of credit into cash and apply it upon your salary account?" Not long afterward, Morgan learned that Clarke was continuing to use a letter of credit issued to him to purchase art for the museum-and wrote to ask if he would "be good enough to convert the balance of your letter of credit into cash and apply it upon your salary account?"48 In June 1910, Clarke officially resigned, and that fall Edward Robinson became the first American-born director of the Metropolitan Museum. In June 1910, Clarke officially resigned, and that fall Edward Robinson became the first American-born director of the Metropolitan Museum.

Clarke never recovered and died in March 1911.

THE LAST TIME S SIR C CASPAR P PURDON C CLARKE MADE THE A AMERICAN papers, just before Robinson's confirmation as his permanent replacement, he finally admitted he would never return to America. He also bore both good and bad news. The former was that thanks to recent donations by Jacob Rogers, the upstate New York banking heir Frederick Cooper Hewitt, and the financier John Stewart Kennedy, the Met's endowment was big enough to "stagger humanity." The bad news? That J. P. Morgan's staggering collection would never make it to the Met. "I do not think Mr. Morgan will ever take his collection to America," he said. "His prices make the market and he can always sell at a profit." papers, just before Robinson's confirmation as his permanent replacement, he finally admitted he would never return to America. He also bore both good and bad news. The former was that thanks to recent donations by Jacob Rogers, the upstate New York banking heir Frederick Cooper Hewitt, and the financier John Stewart Kennedy, the Met's endowment was big enough to "stagger humanity." The bad news? That J. P. Morgan's staggering collection would never make it to the Met. "I do not think Mr. Morgan will ever take his collection to America," he said. "His prices make the market and he can always sell at a profit."

Clarke could not have been more wrong. Morgan had no intention of selling, and at last the way had been cleared for him to bring his treasures home. In February 1909, he'd gone to Egypt for the second time (the first had been in 1877) to visit the two expedition sites, rented a houseboat called a dahabiyeh dahabiyeh to sail the Nile, learned about the objects that had been found so far, and fell in love with the world he found there. Not that you would have known it. An anonymous Englishman who worked on the special train that conveyed him 120 miles across the desert to the Great Oasis reported that all he did en route was sit and think, eat "a solitary egg and a piece of bread," and then go think some more, even at the dig site, "smoking his big cigars and immersed in his own thoughts," appearing like a Brahmin or a Buddha. "There was the same rapt contemplation and the same air of utter indifference to the outside world." to sail the Nile, learned about the objects that had been found so far, and fell in love with the world he found there. Not that you would have known it. An anonymous Englishman who worked on the special train that conveyed him 120 miles across the desert to the Great Oasis reported that all he did en route was sit and think, eat "a solitary egg and a piece of bread," and then go think some more, even at the dig site, "smoking his big cigars and immersed in his own thoughts," appearing like a Brahmin or a Buddha. "There was the same rapt contemplation and the same air of utter indifference to the outside world."49 Yet Morgan wasn't unaware. "I never imagined I would see so many interesting things in my life," he told Lythgoe as they left. Yet Morgan wasn't unaware. "I never imagined I would see so many interesting things in my life," he told Lythgoe as they left.50 While Morgan was in Egypt, Senator Nelson Aldrich of Rhode Island co-sponsored a bill to remove the tariff on most imported art. Aldrich was considered the senator of the plutocrats, the best friend in government of men like Morgan. Aldrich's daughter Abby was married to John D. Rockefeller Jr., the son of America's greatest monopolist. He was backed up by a brand-new senator from New York, the Metropolitan Museum trustee Elihu Root, who had co-founded the American Federation of Arts to lobby for the museum and against the tariff. Morgan had made it clear that he wanted to give his art to the Metropolitan, but wouldn't so long as the act of s.h.i.+pping it home would cost him $1.5 million. Even populists agreed with the plutocrats and supported the Payne-Aldrich Act since, as "Pitchfork" Ben Tillman of South Carolina put it, "an art gallery will become, in all probability, the legatee of their collection[s]." The bill pa.s.sed that August and four years later was amended to include works of art less than twenty years old.51 In the next five months, an estimated $50 million worth of art poured into America. In the next five months, an estimated $50 million worth of art poured into America.

It was all more proof, if any was needed, of the increasing sophistication of Morgan's Metropolitan. Robinson had prospered, running the museum first in fact, then in name after Clarke's death. Morgan also refilled the board of trustees to his tastes, appointing tyc.o.o.n friends such as the millionaire lawyer John Cadwalader, the politician and New York Tribune New York Tribune editor Whitelaw Reid, and a co-founder of First National Bank, Harris Fahnestock, all in 1901; Morgan's architect Charles McKim in 1904; in 1909 Henry Frick; another First National founder, George F. Baker, a director of forty companies whose ability to keep secrets won him the nickname the Sphinx of Wall Street; the first Jewish trustee, George Blumenthal, the head of the Lazard Freres investment bank (and a future museum president); Morgan's lawyer John G. Johnson and his son, J. P. Morgan Jr., in 1910; Edward S. Harkness, a Standard Oil heir, in 1912; and along the way such notables as the artist Daniel Chester French, the lawyer-collector and museum treasurer Howard Mansfield, and the lawyer and railroad heir (and future museum president) William Church Osborn. With rich friends like these in place, it was easy for Morgan to also establish an informal system for balancing the museum's operating budget-which annually fell into the red. Each year, Morgan pa.s.sed the hat, and the trustees coughed up the necessary cash. editor Whitelaw Reid, and a co-founder of First National Bank, Harris Fahnestock, all in 1901; Morgan's architect Charles McKim in 1904; in 1909 Henry Frick; another First National founder, George F. Baker, a director of forty companies whose ability to keep secrets won him the nickname the Sphinx of Wall Street; the first Jewish trustee, George Blumenthal, the head of the Lazard Freres investment bank (and a future museum president); Morgan's lawyer John G. Johnson and his son, J. P. Morgan Jr., in 1910; Edward S. Harkness, a Standard Oil heir, in 1912; and along the way such notables as the artist Daniel Chester French, the lawyer-collector and museum treasurer Howard Mansfield, and the lawyer and railroad heir (and future museum president) William Church Osborn. With rich friends like these in place, it was easy for Morgan to also establish an informal system for balancing the museum's operating budget-which annually fell into the red. Each year, Morgan pa.s.sed the hat, and the trustees coughed up the necessary cash.

They saw it as money well spent. The 1911 annual report crowed that the museum "no longer appeals merely to the 'upper cla.s.ses,' " but had entered the lives of the many, that the museum's growth had become "symmetrical," encompa.s.sing "all art of all periods," and that the staff was at last well organized. "We are not depending on any single man," the report went on, dispensing with bad memories of Cesnola in a single sentence. Behind the scenes, by that year, the museum would have shops for making exhibit cases, for carpentry, painting, gilding, repair, roofing, hand lettering, printing, photography, a tank room to soak ancient sculpture, and a separate lunchroom for a growing cadre of female employees. More important to the public, perhaps, by that time the Metropolitan had also invented the blockbuster exhibit.

IT WAS THE TERCENTENARY OF H HENRY H HUDSON'S 1609 1609 VOYAGE VOYAGE in his s.h.i.+p in his s.h.i.+p Half Moon Half Moon up the river that would be named for him, and the centenary of Robert Fulton's first steams.h.i.+p ride along the same route aboard the up the river that would be named for him, and the centenary of Robert Fulton's first steams.h.i.+p ride along the same route aboard the Clermont Clermont in 1807. A sprawling celebration was planned, complete with replicas of the two s.h.i.+ps recreating their historic journeys in a naval parade, the unveiling of statues, monuments, and memorials all along the way, a parade, fireworks, musical festivals, and exhibitions at many of New York's museums. J. P. Morgan and Robert de Forest, who was named a vice president of the museum that year, headed planning committees for the event. The Metropolitan's contributions would be a show of 143 Dutch old master paintings from American collections, all dating from the era of Hudson's explorations, and work by American artists before 1815, when Fulton died, including furniture, decorative arts, and three hundred examples of Colonial-era American silver, among them twenty pieces made by the father-and-son Boston silversmiths named Paul Revere. De Forest would call the exhibition a test of "whether American domestic art was worthy of a place in an art museum." in 1807. A sprawling celebration was planned, complete with replicas of the two s.h.i.+ps recreating their historic journeys in a naval parade, the unveiling of statues, monuments, and memorials all along the way, a parade, fireworks, musical festivals, and exhibitions at many of New York's museums. J. P. Morgan and Robert de Forest, who was named a vice president of the museum that year, headed planning committees for the event. The Metropolitan's contributions would be a show of 143 Dutch old master paintings from American collections, all dating from the era of Hudson's explorations, and work by American artists before 1815, when Fulton died, including furniture, decorative arts, and three hundred examples of Colonial-era American silver, among them twenty pieces made by the father-and-son Boston silversmiths named Paul Revere. De Forest would call the exhibition a test of "whether American domestic art was worthy of a place in an art museum."52 In July 1909, Morgan sailed from London to New York, bringing with him $30,000 in art that he'd bought for the exhibit and then planned to leave in the museum on permanent loan. Wearing a Panama hat and a gray suit and carrying a cane, he answered questions from reporters and was the first pa.s.senger to disembark the steams.h.i.+p Majestic Majestic, looking "much younger than he normally appears," a reporter observed, as he took a cigar from a colleague ("I had some with me on the boat but they got damp," he said) and strolled to his yacht, which had met the Majestic Majestic at quarantine and then followed it to pick up its owner on the pier at Christopher Street. at quarantine and then followed it to pick up its owner on the pier at Christopher Street.

The unprecedented Hudson-Fulton show, which included thirty-seven Rembrandts, twenty-one works by Hals, twelve by Ruisdael, and six Vermeers, and the museum's first use of period interiors (inspired by those in the Ess.e.x Inst.i.tute in Salem, Ma.s.sachusetts, and the Swiss National Museum in Zurich), ran from September through November and attracted nearly 300,000 visitors.53 It also changed the course of the museum and national collecting habits; with a nucleus of American art and objects finally in its possession, the Met moved steadily toward the creation of what would be called the American Wing, a museum within the museum, fifteen years later. And it made American antiques chic for the first time. It also changed the course of the museum and national collecting habits; with a nucleus of American art and objects finally in its possession, the Met moved steadily toward the creation of what would be called the American Wing, a museum within the museum, fifteen years later. And it made American antiques chic for the first time.

J. P. Morgan understood that this show was one of the most significant in the museum's first forty years. He personally ordered 255 copies of the deluxe edition of the Hudson-Fulton exhibition catalog and ten more copies printed on vellum.54 With the tariff on art abolished, Morgan's buying continued apace, and his loans to the Met increased. In 1910, he bought two significant collections, one of about two hundred pieces of French faience and also a collection of Rus...o...b..zantine enamels. But that November, he failed to bid on one of the famous Seven Deadly Sins tapestries from Hampton Court Palace at an auction in London, even though Robinson entreated him to, wiring Morgan's curator, Belle Greene, to say, "I fear the Museum is too poor at present, after its recent purchases, to do anything," and hoping Morgan would. He would not. But in 1911, he did send several paintings, including a Rubens, from his London home to the museum and gave it the loan of a van der Weyden Annunciation Annunciation, a Cellini bronze, and a Vivarini panel and also gave as gifts six tapestries depicting the life of the Lord; portraits of Queen Elizabeth I and of a British admiral and his wife; an a.s.syrian sword, two knives, and a lance; a prehistoric flint knife and a funeral dagger; more paintings by Carolus-Duran, Memling, Terborch, David, and Holbein, among others; another Rubens, this time a panel; a coffer, a cross, and an ivory plaque; antiquities from the Roman emperor Hadrian's villa; a Limoges clasp and various pieces of gold.

But as he headed back to England in 1911, Morgan's art-buying spree was winding down. "He wrote me the other day that he had not seen anything (except a couple of dames) that interested him," Belle Greene told the American scholar of Italian paintings and art adviser to the rich Bernard Berenson that spring. "I wrote him in reply to stick to the dames and avoid the masterpieces of art."55 That proved impossible, as Morgan's l.u.s.t for fine art had simply been replaced by an enthusiasm for archaeology that would occupy his remaining days. The pharaoh of finance was attracted to his predecessors. That proved impossible, as Morgan's l.u.s.t for fine art had simply been replaced by an enthusiasm for archaeology that would occupy his remaining days. The pharaoh of finance was attracted to his predecessors.

That fall, after an inventory was prepared of works he'd loaned to the museum, he asked Lythgoe to return twenty-two Egyptian items, after after the museum shops had mounted them for him. The rest were unveiled for the public on the rainy night of November 6, when Morgan presided over the opening of ten new Egyptian galleries. He also kept giving, agreeing to loan $10,000 to cover the museum's half of the cost of a dig at Sardis in Turkey, about to begin under the auspices of the explorer Howard Crosby Butler, who had studied under Henry Marquand's son Allan, a professor of archaeology at Princeton. If Butler's finds ended up in the museum, Morgan expected to be repaid, but he offered to absorb the cost if nothing of value came of the dig. the museum shops had mounted them for him. The rest were unveiled for the public on the rainy night of November 6, when Morgan presided over the opening of ten new Egyptian galleries. He also kept giving, agreeing to loan $10,000 to cover the museum's half of the cost of a dig at Sardis in Turkey, about to begin under the auspices of the explorer Howard Crosby Butler, who had studied under Henry Marquand's son Allan, a professor of archaeology at Princeton. If Butler's finds ended up in the museum, Morgan expected to be repaid, but he offered to absorb the cost if nothing of value came of the dig.56 Back in the Nile valley he rented another dahabiyeh dahabiyeh and with the Egyptologist Herbert Winlock as his not entirely willing accomplice returned to hunting antiquities. When Winlock argued against purchases, as he often did, or insisted that a dealer's asking prices were too high, Morgan went along with his expert but sulked miserably. And when Winlock found out that Morgan was enjoying himself so much he'd decided to build his own and with the Egyptologist Herbert Winlock as his not entirely willing accomplice returned to hunting antiquities. When Winlock argued against purchases, as he often did, or insisted that a dealer's asking prices were too high, Morgan went along with his expert but sulked miserably. And when Winlock found out that Morgan was enjoying himself so much he'd decided to build his own dahabiyeh dahabiyeh, the curator threatened to quit the museum.

Finally, Morgan gave the Met many of the finest things he did manage to buy, and Winlock-whose love of Egyptology began in childhood, when he mummified a mouse and made a set of coffins for it-wisely decided to stay.57 A year later, he'd be amply rewarded when Morgan paid for and even helped design a house at Luxor for Winlock, Lythgoe, and their crew. Morgan, Harkness, and the Robinsons, de Forests, and Blumenthals sometimes stayed there. Originally called Morgan House, it was renamed American House after the Egyptologists discovered that Morgan had repaid himself the cost of building it out of the profits the museum made by quietly selling superfluous and duplicate finds to other inst.i.tutions. A year later, he'd be amply rewarded when Morgan paid for and even helped design a house at Luxor for Winlock, Lythgoe, and their crew. Morgan, Harkness, and the Robinsons, de Forests, and Blumenthals sometimes stayed there. Originally called Morgan House, it was renamed American House after the Egyptologists discovered that Morgan had repaid himself the cost of building it out of the profits the museum made by quietly selling superfluous and duplicate finds to other inst.i.tutions.58

BACK IN A AMERICA, PLUTOCRATS WERE NOW LINING UP TO GIVE money to the Metropolitan. Gifts of money weren't "casual," Robinson would later say, but "they are usual." On his death in 1911, the newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer left the museum an amount variously reported to be between $500,000 and $900,000. And in February 1912, Francis L. Leland, a bank president, gave an unconditional $1 million in shares of his bank's stock, on condition that the stock never be sold. Unfortunately, when the bank failed a few years later, the gift became worthless. money to the Metropolitan. Gifts of money weren't "casual," Robinson would later say, but "they are usual." On his death in 1911, the newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer left the museum an amount variously reported to be between $500,000 and $900,000. And in February 1912, Francis L. Leland, a bank president, gave an unconditional $1 million in shares of his bank's stock, on condition that the stock never be sold. Unfortunately, when the bank failed a few years later, the gift became worthless.59 But those gifts paled next to the one Robinson hoped to get from Morgan, who was teasing the museum with the prospect that it might get more-much more-from him. He was all too aware that he was approaching the end of his life and was appalled by the prospect of new death duties enacted in England in 1910. Freed to do so by the Payne-Aldrich Act, Morgan finally decided to s.h.i.+p the treasures he'd stockpiled in Europe to America, addressed to the Metropolitan, even though its president had yet to decide what he was going to do with them. The museum, which hoped the city would pay for yet another wing to house the collection, was willing to store it all, display it all, really do anything it could to convince Morgan that it was where the loot belonged. But those gifts paled next to the one Robinson hoped to get from Morgan, who was teasing the museum with the prospect that it might get more-much more-from him. He was all too aware that he was approaching the end of his life and was appalled by the prospect of new death duties enacted in England in 1910. Freed to do so by the Payne-Aldrich Act, Morgan finally decided to s.h.i.+p the treasures he'd stockpiled in Europe to America, addressed to the Metropolitan, even though its president had yet to decide what he was going to do with them. The museum, which hoped the city would pay for yet another wing to house the collection, was willing to store it all, display it all, really do anything it could to convince Morgan that it was where the loot belonged.

To ensure against loss or damage to his precious property, Morgan threw his considerable weight behind a request to the U.S. customs service that it send an inspector to London at his expense to watch over the packing so as to avoid the potentially damaging and delaying customs process upon arrival. "This collection is really a matter of great public and educational interest," he wrote to the chief customs officer, "and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is specially concerned in having the arrangement, is a public inst.i.tution upon which many millions of dollars have been spent by the city Government." The Treasury Department quickly agreed and sent a representative.60 Jacques Seligmann began s.h.i.+pping the collection, in 351 containers, on Valentine's Day 1912. It would take eleven months to get it all to the States. There were no hitches until April 15, when the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic (a s.h.i.+p owned by a Morgan-sponsored monopoly) hit an iceberg and sank. Germain Seligman would later reveal that a Morgan s.h.i.+pment had been scheduled to be on board the ill-fated vessel but wasn't packed in time. (a s.h.i.+p owned by a Morgan-sponsored monopoly) hit an iceberg and sank. Germain Seligman would later reveal that a Morgan s.h.i.+pment had been scheduled to be on board the ill-fated vessel but wasn't packed in time.61 The tragedy barely slowed the s.h.i.+pments. With military precision, a cable flew to London from New York announcing the arrival of each precious cargo. On Christmas Eve, Seligmann announced that he was finished. "With the above lots my tasks as regards the forwarding of Mr. Morgan's European collections is so far ended," he wrote, "and I trust that the contents of all the cases will be found in good condition, when opened." Little did he know how long it would be before that day came. The tragedy barely slowed the s.h.i.+pments. With military precision, a cable flew to London from New York announcing the arrival of each precious cargo. On Christmas Eve, Seligmann announced that he was finished. "With the above lots my tasks as regards the forwarding of Mr. Morgan's European collections is so far ended," he wrote, "and I trust that the contents of all the cases will be found in good condition, when opened." Little did he know how long it would be before that day came.62 How much stuff was there altogether? On January 4, 1913, Lorenzo W. Chance, the confidential agent in the U.S. Treasury Department who had supervised the packing and s.h.i.+pping, wrote a personal letter to Morgan, enclosing a copy of his report on the s.h.i.+pments, noting, "The valuations, as well as other details, have been regarded as confidential by this office and will, no doubt, be so regarded at Was.h.i.+ngton." Chance counted 44 paintings (worth 696,072.20 in 1913), 48 marbles (200,841.12), 163 Greco-Roman bronzes (120,000), 231 Renaissance bronzes (286,496.10), 50 tapestries (276,189.10), 79 pieces of furniture (372,794.17), 375 pieces of Dresden china (242,780.30), 334 pieces of Sevres (388,132.68), 17 pieces of Chinese porcelain (43,014.10), 162 additional pieces of earthen-ware (271,340), 842 miniatures (673,613), 150 snuffboxes (265,293), 155 carnets de bal carnets de bal (87,102), 248 watches (108,712), 18 clocks (90,388), 97 jewels and pieces of jewelry (283,771), 103 pieces of silver (100,014), 252 pieces of ivory (369,850), 484 enamels (928,232), and 455 miscellaneous items (valued at 603,857), for a total of 4,307 pieces worth a bit more than 6.4 million (or about $32 million). (87,102), 248 watches (108,712), 18 clocks (90,388), 97 jewels and pieces of jewelry (283,771), 103 pieces of silver (100,014), 252 pieces of ivory (369,850), 484 enamels (928,232), and 455 miscellaneous items (valued at 603,857), for a total of 4,307 pieces worth a bit more than 6.4 million (or about $32 million).63 But of course, this was only part of Morgan's art holdings, and valuations are notoriously plastic. In his lifetime, Morgan spent about $60 million on art, the equivalent of about $1.2 billion today. But of course, this was only part of Morgan's art holdings, and valuations are notoriously plastic. In his lifetime, Morgan spent about $60 million on art, the equivalent of about $1.2 billion today.

In the meantime, there was run-of-the-mill museum business to attend to, and as usual with Morgan that meant mixing business with pleasure. He'd begun a romance with Lady Victoria Sackville, the illegitimate daughter of the Honorable Lionel Sackville-West and Pepita, a Spanish dancer. Lady Sackville, who ran her family's estate, Knole, was also affected by England's tax increases, only in her case that meant selling art instead of getting it out of the country. Morgan bought two carpets and twenty-nine tapestries from her for $325,000, sending the former to the museum and the latter to Seligmann in Paris, who put them on display that fall for the benefit of the Louvre.64 In November, there was new excitement at the Met when Princeton's Howard Crosby Butler wrote Robinson to say that since the Balkan Wars had brought the Ottoman Empire to its knees, "this would be the time for a representative of the museum to be in Constantinople on the chance of the Turks deciding to withdraw and wis.h.i.+ng to part with heavy luggage."

Robinson sent Butler's letter to Morgan along with an unsigned handwritten note: "It is reported that contents of Constantinople museum may soon be for sale. Very important to me to know facts and possibilities and to be in position to act if desirable. Put matter in [the Egyptologist Howard] Carter's hands." Two weeks later, Morgan cabled his London partner, Edward Grenfell, that he had "reason to believe" the Turks would sell their archaeological museum "with all its contents" and wondered if it was safe for Carter to go to Constantinople, today's Istanbul. "This is for the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, but I want no names used at present," Morgan wrote. "It is quite important that we should accomplish this if possible." Grenfell rained on Morgan's enthusiasm, reporting that Carter had up and left for Cairo and his own digs; the prospect faded.65 But Constantinople had no monopoly on art. Almost simultaneously, Benjamin Altman, the retailer, began secret negotiations with Edward Robinson to leave his collection to the museum-a gift that would dwarf even Jacob Rogers's. A son of Bavarian Jews who'd come to America in 1835, Altman began his career as an after-school clerk in his father's store, then got a job at Bettlebeck & Co., a dry-goods shop in Newark, New Jersey, working alongside Abraham Abraham, who would co-found Abraham & Straus, and Lyman Gustave Bloomingdale of Bloomingdale's.66 Altman opened his own dry-goods emporium in 1865 at age twenty-five and merged with a larger one founded by his older brother Morris to form Altman Brothers, housed in several adjacent storefronts on Sixth Avenue at Nineteenth Street. By 1876, it was the second-largest retail store in the city. Altman opened his own dry-goods emporium in 1865 at age twenty-five and merged with a larger one founded by his older brother Morris to form Altman Brothers, housed in several adjacent storefronts on Sixth Avenue at Nineteenth Street. By 1876, it was the second-largest retail store in the city.

Altman left few records, and never married or had children, so he has remained something of a cipher in the history of the Metropolitan, but his life was considerably more interesting than is known. He and Morris had a sister, Sophia, who married a Sam Fleishmann and moved to the Florida Panhandle, where Sam opened a branch of Altman Brothers during the Civil War, says the historian Daniel Weinfeld. After the Civil War, Fleishmann, a Republican, began serving freed slaves in his store, and in retaliation he was ambushed and murdered by the Ku Klux Klan in 1869. Altman's sister and her six children moved north and were supported by Benjamin for the rest of their lives, as were Morris Altman's four children after he died suddenly at age thirty-nine, followed immediately by his wife. "Beneath a stern exterior there was a heart as sensitive as that of a woman and as kindly as that of a child," a friend said at Benjamin's funeral.

Altman was a retail pioneer who introduced new women's fas.h.i.+ons, home delivery, and employee benefits; he also quietly adopted his brother-in-law's progressive politics, becoming an early supporter of what would later become known as civil rights organizations. He was said to consider his employees his children. But he also had an eye for fine things and was paternal toward his collections, which he began in 1882 with the purchase of a pair of Oriental vases for $35 from Henry Duveen, who agreed to regularly open his gallery on Sat.u.r.day nights to accommodate the busy retailer. He soon became the first American Jew to form a world-cla.s.s art collection. Though he visited Europe and bought art there, Duveen was his primary source, and their relations.h.i.+p continued until Altman's death. Wilhelm von Bode, a renowned German curator, would ultimately judge his collection better, if smaller, than Morgan's.

In 1906, after several years of quietly acc.u.mulating real estate, Altman sold his old store (it is now home to a branch of the Container Store) and moved his retail operation to a French limestone palace he'd built at Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street (just up the street from the former site of Henry O. Havemeyer's mansion, which Altman also bought). He renamed the store B. Altman & Co. and turned it into the first department store on Fifth Avenue.

Like so many American collectors, Altman began with Barbizon painters, but Duveen edged him toward old masters. In 1901, Joseph Duveen paid the then-record-setting sum for an English painting of 14,752, buying a John Hoppner portrait for Altman, who decided he didn't like it and turned it down. Nonetheless, the expensive gesture put Duveen on the map.67 By 1905, he'd sold Altman his first Hals and Rembrandt. By 1905, he'd sold Altman his first Hals and Rembrandt.68 Many more would follow in just a few years, as the Duveens shed their interior decoration business to concentrate on selling art. Many more would follow in just a few years, as the Duveens shed their interior decoration business to concentrate on selling art.

Luckily for Altman, his deliberate decision-making process also included consultations with experts like Berenson, who tutored him about Italian painting, ensured he only bought the best, and collected a secret kickback from Duveen on every sale.69 In 1909, Duveen sold Altman three Rembrandts for $250,000 each. Unfortunately for Duveen Brothers, the highly visible compet.i.tion for paintings among men like Altman, Morgan, Frick, and Henry and Collis Huntington had driven prices so high that the government started paying attention. In 1910, Benjamin and Henry Duveen (who'd advised U.S. customs on art appraisals) were arrested for defrauding the government out of duties with false invoices. In 1909, Duveen sold Altman three Rembrandts for $250,000 each. Unfortunately for Duveen Brothers, the highly visible compet.i.tion for paintings among men like Altman, Morgan, Frick, and Henry and Collis Huntington had driven prices so high that the government started paying attention. In 1910, Benjamin and Henry Duveen (who'd advised U.S. customs on art appraisals) were arrested for defrauding the government out of duties with false invoices.70 A number of members of the Duveen family pleaded guilty and ended up paying $1.2 million in penalties and duties. A number of members of the Duveen family pleaded guilty and ended up paying $1.2 million in penalties and duties.

Altman "was probably the most fastidious collector who ever lived," the Times Times wrote on his death. "He was satisfied with nothing less than perfection." Altman had three secretaries to help him buy, care for, and catalog his treasures, and his galleries "expressed an individuality, and a unique aesthetic consistency and exhibition style," wrote the unknown author of a pamphlet about him published by the New York Community Trust, which later managed his foundation. "His intimate friends will never forget the many rare evenings in that gallery when, after the cares of a busy day were laid aside, Benjamin Altman sat there, surrounded by the treasures nearest to his heart; never boastful but intensely happy that he could give pleasure and instruction to those genuinely interested in art," said a friend. "The love of art brightened his life." wrote on his death. "He was satisfied with nothing less than perfection." Altman had three secretaries to help him buy, care for, and catalog his treasures, and his galleries "expressed an individuality, and a unique aesthetic consistency and exhibition style," wrote the unknown author of a pamphlet about him published by the New York Community Trust, which later managed his foundation. "His intimate friends will never forget the many rare evenings in that gallery when, after the cares of a busy day were laid aside, Benjamin Altman sat there, surrounded by the treasures nearest to his heart; never boastful but intensely happy that he could give pleasure and instruction to those genuinely interested in art," said a friend. "The love of art brightened his life."

Altman, though not the work-obsessed recluse he was made out to be, pulled the shade on notoriety, however. Petrified of publicity, he never let strangers see his collection. When he died, there were no known photographs of him to run with his obituaries, and it was said that fewer than a hundred people "even knew him by sight."71 He considered Duveen's public profile "outrageous and inexcusable." Before the Hudson-Fulton show, he initially refused to loan any pictures to the exhibition. "People say I'm the meanest man in New York," he quipped, "and I want to live up to my reputation." He considered Duveen's public profile "outrageous and inexcusable." Before the Hudson-Fulton show, he initially refused to loan any pictures to the exhibition. "People say I'm the meanest man in New York," he quipped, "and I want to live up to my reputation."72 In the end, though, he not only loaned six paintings, including three Rembrandts and his Vermeer, In the end, though, he not only loaned six paintings, including three Rembrandts and his Vermeer, A Maid Asleep A Maid Asleep, but simultaneously made a deal to give the Met everything outright, all of his fifty paintings, 429 Chinese porcelains, enamels, rugs, tapestries, furniture, and sculpture-more than a thousand pieces in all, valued at $20 million ($432 million in 2006).

It wasn't an easy deal to make. Altman wanted his collection to remain intact and together forever and was put off by a new museum policy against accepting conditional gifts; Robinson a.s.sured him that an exception could be made for his exceptional taste. Robinson also wrote to Morgan, swearing him to secrecy and asking him to confirm the terms of Altman's bequest. Morgan cabled back from Cairo that he agreed so long as Altman's "requirements [are] not too minute." After another month of reconsidering, Altman ordered his lawyer (Joseph Choate, conveniently enough) to draw up a will leaving everything to the museum, and on June 21, 1912, Robinson sent Morgan the news that it was signed.

A separate sixteen-page contract, revised right until Altman's death, spelled out the conditions the museum accepted, including a requirement that the collection be exhibited as a single ent.i.ty in adjoining rooms, with paintings hung "in a single line, and not one above the other," just as Altman liked, and permanent employment for his personal curator and another young man who'd been Altman's secretary.73 A few days after Altman's death from kidney failure in October 1913, the magnificent gift was revealed and hailed as the greatest the museum had ever received. Altman's curator remained with the Met as keeper of his former boss's collection until his death in 1958. A few days after Altman's death from kidney failure in October 1913, the magnificent gift was revealed and hailed as the greatest the museum had ever received. Altman's curator remained with the Met as keeper of his former boss's collection until his death in 1958.

THE EXCEPTION HE'D MADE TO SNARE THE A ALTMAN COLLECTION was very much on Pierpont Morgan's mind in December 1912 as he prepared to return to Egypt. He'd just finished testifying in Was.h.i.+ngton before the House Banking and Currency Committee, which was investigating whether a "money trust," a cabal of financiers led by Morgan, ran American finance and was abusing the public. With him were his son, J. P. "Jack" Morgan Jr., his partners Thomas Lamont and Henry Davison, and a pack of lawyers, including Joseph Choate; together they faced the committee counsel, Samuel Untermyer, a Democrat, a corporate lawyer, and an implacable enemy of financial tyc.o.o.ns like Morgan, and battled him to a draw. Morgan refused to be cornered, and his explanation that character, not connections, determined whom he did business with was roundly praised. But the experience drained him. was very much on Pierpont Morgan's mind in December 1912 as he prepared to return to Egypt. He'd just finished testifying in Was.h.i.+ngton before the House Banking and Currency Committee, which was investigating whether a "money trust," a cabal of financiers led by Morgan, ran American finance and was abusing the public. With him were his son, J. P. "Jack" Morgan Jr., his partners Thomas Lamont and Henry Davison, and a pack of lawyers, including Joseph Choate; together they faced the committee counsel, Samuel Untermyer, a Democrat, a corporate lawyer, and an implacable enemy of financial tyc.o.o.ns like Morgan, and battled him to a draw. Morgan refused to be cornered, and his explanation that character, not connections, determined whom he did business with was roundly praised. But the experience drained him.

In January 1913, some of Morgan's drawings went on exhibit for the first time at the Metropolitan. But though he would walk through the show with Belle Greene while it was still being hung, he would miss the opening of the first major show of twenty-nine of the paintings he'd bought in Europe. A few days before they were unveiled, he and Albert Lythgoe embarked on the White Star Line's Adriatic Adriatic, en route to Egypt, Rome, and Morgan's annual taking of the waters at Aix-les-Bains. He left considerable uneasiness behind him-Edward Robinson was no longer sure Morgan was going to give his collection to the museum.

Late in November 1912, Morgan had summoned Robinson to a meeting in his library and told him bluntly that "he wishes it distinctly understood," the director would later recall, "that he had no intention of giving or bequeathing his collections to the Metropolitan." He'd obviously faced his mortality and was thinking about his estate. His art, he'd realized, was too valuable an a.s.set to simply give away without lots of thought and planning. And under no circ.u.mstances did he want the city to appropriate funds for a new building on the a.s.sumption that it would necessarily house his collection.

That a.s.sumption was already widespread. In 1907, New York's Board of Estimate had voted to appropriate $750,000 a year for ten years to finish the museum buildings designed by Charles McKim. But in recent months, the process had stalled before any money was authorized to build a double wing to the south on Fifth Avenue. Prompted by several indiscreet comments from de Forest, many a.s.sumed those wings had been designed to house the Morgan collections. Some in city government felt that if that was the case, Morgan should pay for the wing himself. In response, he vehemently gave Robinson an order that nothing else should be unpacked.74 Morgan's patience had come to an end. Morgan's patience had come to an end.

On January 7, he sailed to Egypt. Exhausted by his ordeal in Was.h.i.+ngton, "agitated and depressed" on his Atlantic crossing, and aggrieved by news of the ongoing money-trust hearings, he became suicidal and paranoid after his party boarded his boat the Khargeh Khargeh to sail up the Nile on January 31, Jean Strouse wrote, refusing to eat, unable to sleep, sure he was about to die or be murdered. After a brief visit to the new expedition house, Morgan's companions insisted they cut their trip short and return to Cairo, and a doctor was summoned from New York. Through February, Morgan rested in Cairo as his daily activities were chronicled in newspapers back home. When his doctor arrived in early March, he found the patient paranoid, delusional, and convinced he was dying. to sail up the Nile on January 31, Jean Strouse wrote, refusing to eat, unable to sleep, sure he was about to die or be murdered. After a brief visit to the new expedition house, Morgan's companions insisted they cut their trip short and return to Cairo, and a doctor was summoned from New York. Through February, Morgan rested in Cairo as his daily activities were chronicled in newspapers back home. When his doctor arrived in early March, he found the patient paranoid, delusional, and convinced he was dying.

A few days later his party left for Rome, where art dealers filled the lobby of the Grand Hotel, but were kept far from the great man, who spent his days lying on a sofa, smoking cigars. After collapsing during a trip to church on Easter Sunday, Morgan was confined to his bed. He never rose again, dying at age seventy-five on March 31. In a private conversation, his doctor blamed his collapse on the money-trust-committee lawyer Untermyer, calling him "that horrid Jew." Though the cause of death remains uncertain, Strouse believes he'd suffered a series of small strokes and was felled by a final ma.s.sive one.75 Morgan's body was deposited in a wooden coffin, which was enclosed in a second of hermetically sealed lead, which was itself enclosed in a third walnut coffin with yellow metal handles and a yellow metal plate inscribed with his name and birth and death dates. The body was transported to Rome's train station, where it was enclosed in another wooden case initialed JPM, which was screwed closed, strapped in iron bands, and sealed with tape and the seal of the U.S. consul. From there, it traveled to Le Havre, France, where it was put on board the France France in the presence of a vice-consul and locked in the s.h.i.+p's mortuary room. The s.h.i.+p docked in New York on April 11, and Morgan's body was taken to his library, where it remained until his funeral and burial in Hartford. in the presence of a vice-consul and locked in the s.h.i.+p's mortuary room. The s.h.i.+p docked in New York on April 11, and Morgan's body was taken to his library, where it remained until his funeral and burial in Hartford.76 The New York Stock Exchange closed for the funeral on April 14; among the honorary pallbearers were the present and future museum trustees George Baker, Elihu Root, Morgan's personal lawyer, Lewis Ca.s.s Ledyard (who would be elected to the board that year), de Forest, and Choate. Newspapers noted the fact that no city officials attended. And a week later, when his will was read, the museum got some bad news: he'd left his entire art collection along with most of his estate to his forty-five-year-old son, Jack, who was also named one of his executors. His wife got $1 million and his homes, Jack his wines, his three daughters each received $3 million trust funds and their husbands $1 million outright. Amounts ranging from $1,000 to $250,000 went to dozens of distant relatives, friends, and servants, and every employee of J. P. Morgan & Co. and J. S. Morgan & Co. in London got a year's salary. The museum wasn't even mentioned.

What was mentioned as a potential beneficiary was the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, to which he'd given $1 million in 1901 to build a wing named for his father on land he'd bought and donated. The context was a clause in which he expressed his desire to "render [his collections] permanently available for the instruction and pleasure of the American people." He blamed his failure to do that on lack of time, and left the final decision about the collections entirely in Jack's hands.

Presumably hoping Jack would forgive or ignore their delay, on the day after Morgan's death a committee of the city's Board of Estimate finally authorized the expenditure of $750,000 to build the new south wing to house his treasures, despite his warning that it shouldn't. The full board approved the proposal on May 1, as the city's comptroller immediately reported to Robert de Forest. He also explained-too little too late-that the matter had been delayed while the city's method of financing its obligations was overhauled.77 The museum had already launched a concerted effort to ensure that the new Mr. Morgan left his father's art, or at least as much of it as was already housed at the Met, right where it was-it was a sometimes awkward effort that would continue for four years. On April 21, the board voted to create a Morgan memorial. Jack, who'd been a patron since 1903, as well as a trustee, hated the first drawings by Daniel Chester French, calling the proposed monument "somewhat clumsy and meaningless."78 Jack wouldn't see a model he liked until 1918, and it would be 1920 before the memorial (now on the south wall of the main entrance foyer) would be put in place. Jack wouldn't see a model he liked until 1918, and it would be 1920 before the memorial (now on the south wall of the main entrance foyer) would be put in place.

A long, awkward dance had begun. Three days after the vote on the memorial, Robinson sent Jack an eight-page inventory of every item Morgan had loaned to the Met, noting carefully, "About many things which he sent here your father was vague as to whether he intended to make them a gift or a loan, and his instructions to me were always to enter any things about which I was doubtful as loans until he had decided. This, of course was done, but I have indicated by a query on the accompanying list such objects as I think-from remarks which he made to me-it was in his mind to give sooner or later, though I never had a final word from him." A handwritten note scrawled on Robinson's letter indicates that Jack saw it and decided that "as the items were not definitely given this 'query' should be disregarded."

Jack spent the next few months finding out what his father owned, what he'd paid for it, what it was worth, where it was (for some was on loan, some still in the hands of dealers), and who owned what: museum purchases and gifts were commingled with Morgan's property. Jack found that his father's treasures were scattered among his various homes and offices in New York, London, and Paris; his Adirondack Mountains retreat, Camp Uncas; his son-in-law Herbert Satterlee's law office; the Met, the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, the V&A, and the British Museum; the Jekyll Island Club (a private island club for plutocrats in Georgia); and even a cigar vault on Wall Street.79 He also researched what taxes might be due on the estate, and to what countries they might be owed. Lucky for Pierpont, he'd died before a federal estate tax was enacted in 1916. But the New York State transfer tax came to $2.1 million, and New York City's bill was another $3.6 million. He also researched what taxes might be due on the estate, and to what countries they might be owed. Lucky for Pierpont, he'd died before a federal estate tax was enacted in 1916. But the New York State transfer tax came to $2.1 million, and New York City's bill was another $3.6 million.

Throughout the process, the ultimate disposition of his father's art was never far from Jack's mind. "It is my desire that the objects of art left by my Father should be exhibited for the benefit of the public as soon as may be," he wrote his fellow trustees in May. "I know that it was in my Father's mind to make a loan exhibition of them in the new south wing which is to be built, for which I understand an appropriation has been a.s.sured by the Board of Estimate. A long time, however, must necessarily elapse before the construction of the new wing makes such an exhibition possible." Robinson offered a temporary exhibit in the meantime, to enable "the people of New York ... to see the things and get the benefit of them pending such final disposition as may be made of the objects under Mr. Morgan's will." Jack agreed, and asked that it be planned to fill the museum's new northeastern wing (dubbed Wing H).80 "A temporary quietus at least is thus given to the fears that the collection would be sent to Hartford or elsewhere," a relieved "A temporary quietus at least is thus given to the fears that the collection would be sent to Hartford or elsewhere," a relieved New York Times New York Times noted on May 29. noted on May 29.

In June 1913, the city turned over Wing H, and de Forest wrote Jack that the installation of his father's art could begin. Before sailing for Europe that fall, Jack asked that each item be checked against an inventory list as it came out of the cases.81 (A final typed inventory of Morgan family loans to the museum from 1912 to 1916 would run 315 pages. (A final typed inventory of Morgan family loans to the museum from 1912 to 1916 would run 315 pages.82) Jack also turned down his father's post as museum president, as did Joseph Choate. Finally, that fall de Forest was elected the museum's new president.

In December, de Forest hit Jack up for his share of the annual operating deficit, including with his plea a list of who'd paid what lately: Henry Frick and Morgan had given $5,000 in 1912; George Baker $3,000; Henry Walters and Edward Harkness $2,500; George Blumenthal $2,000; while most of the others gave $1,000 or less. In 1913, Frick had raised his ante to $7,500. Jack ponied up $1,000, but declined the invitation issued to him and his sisters to attend the Morgan loan collection opening, explaining that they preferred to avoid "conspicuous social appearances."83 Jack finally saw the exhibit after a board meeting in February 1914 and declared the chronological display, with separate rooms dedicated to ancient, Gothic, and Renaissance art, the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, English art, French eighteenth-century pieces, Fragonard, French porcelains, watches, German porcelains, and miniatures, "splendidly done."84 In the process of preparing it, the museum reported, it had weeded out six objects curators felt were in poor condition, forty thought to be fakes, thirty-three it lacked room to show, and twenty reliquaries. Museum attendance soared as the Morgan, Altman, and Riggs collections went on display that year. In the process of preparing it, the museum reported, it had weeded out six objects curators felt were in poor condition, forty thought to be fakes, thirty-three it lacked room to show, and twenty reliquaries. Museum attendance soared as the Morgan, Altman, and Riggs collections went on display that year.

The next year, after he heard that the museum's operating deficit of $162,000 was "considerably greater" than it had been in 1913, Jack not only sent in his usual $1,000 but also offered to reimburse the museum for the cost of installing the loan collection. Robinson a.s.sured him that all the cases and decorations could be reused and that the opportunity to show the collection was ample repayment for what it had spent, but Morgan, perhaps feeling guilty, would keep trying to pay for it. "I should feel much freer and more comfortable in paying," he would write in 1916 to de Forest. Jack finally prevailed and handed over $16,216.81, paying for everything but the cases the museum planned to reuse. He clearly didn't want to feel any obligation to the museum as far as his father's collection went.85 Indeed, Jack had already begun selling off his father's treasures in mid-1914. It would soon emerge that Morgan wasn't as rich as people suspected, or very liquid, either; he had about $19 million in securities and little cash; the majority of his $69 million in a.s.sets was invested in real estate and art, and his cupboard was bare enough that John D. Rockefeller would quip, "And to think, he isn't even a rich man."86 The cost of settling the estate, closing out his father's accounts, and ensuring the future of the house of Morgan on Wall Street was more than Jack could bear. As Bertie Forbes, the founder of the eponymous magazine wrote, Jack's selling spree was "prompted more by necessity than choice." Besides art, Morgan sold thousands of shares of railroad stock and his father's controlling interest in the Equitable Life a.s.surance Society, purchased by a member of the du Pont family for $4 million. "It seems," Belle Greene commented drily, "we need the money." The cost of settling the estate, closing out his father's accounts, and ensuring the future of the house of Morgan on Wall Street was more than Jack could bear. As Bertie Forbes, the founder of the eponymous magazine wrote, Jack's selling spree was "prompted more by necessity than choice." Besides art, Morgan sold thousands of shares of railroad stock and his father's controlling interest in the Equitable Life a.s.surance Society, purchased by a member of the du Pont family for $4 million. "It seems," Belle Greene commented drily, "we need the money."87 Jack's copious records of the sell-off note sales continuing into 1915 to Henry Frick and Duveen Brothers, among other eager buyers. Throughout that year, Morgan or his father's curator, Belle Greene, would send formal requests, and Robinson would be forced to disgorge more and more Morgan treasure-royal furniture, clocks, a thermometer, vases, a marble Venus and a Hercules, Sevres plaques, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette medallions, and bronzes. The process was relentless.88 Simultaneously, Jack was having everything carefully appraised. Knoedler valued the paintings at the Met, for instance, at $3,637,200; the most valuable single canvas was Raphael's Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints Madonna and Child Enthroned with Saints at $300,000; the least valuable, an unsigned portrait of Lady Jane Grey worth a mere $100. at $300,000; the least valuable, an unsigned portrait of Lady Jane Grey worth a mere $100.89 And after the loan exhibition closed in late May 1916, the pace increased as Jack started sending the museum lists of what should be transmitted to the Morgan Memorial Building at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford. By September, Hartford had received 1,571 objects. A few weeks later de Forest wrote Jack to grovel and explain a quotation he'd given a newspaper attributing declining museum attendance to the "loss of the Morgan collection." There was also the small matter of World War I, de Forest noted, adding that he knew full well the museum couldn't " 'lose' what it never had." And after the loan exhibition closed in late May 1916, the pace increased as Jack started sending the museum lists of what should be transmitted to the Morgan Memorial Building at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford. By September, Hartford had received 1,571 objects. A few weeks later de Forest wrote Jack to grovel and explain a quotation he'd given a newspaper attributing declining museum attendance to the "loss of the Morgan collection." There was also the small matter of World War I, de Forest noted, adding that he knew full well the museum couldn't " 'lose' what it never had."90 Not even an a.s.sa.s.sination could slow the inexorable winding-up of the Morgan estate. On July 2, 1915, one Frank Holt, a troubled German-born accountant, already wanted for murdering his wife, had set off a bomb in the U.S. Capitol, hopped a train to New York, and the next day shot Jack Morgan twice in a misguided protest against U.S. loans to Europe to buy arms for World War I. Arrested immediately, Holt committed suicide in his jail cell.

At year's end, Robinson finally showed his anxiety. "Much as your kindness is appreciated in continuing this long the loans made by your father, the removal of any of the objects in his collections is a distinct loss," he wrote Jack on December 31 after getting the latest return requests, "and the list which you now send includes some of the most important-as well as attractive and popular-pieces which we owe to him and you."

"I am very sorry that there should be anything in what I do to make the Museum unhappy," Jack responded a few days later, "and very much regret that you should have been made unhappy too. You must realize, however, that, as I told you before, the collection will be reduced and probably very materially reduced: that I am glad to have the things in the Museum as long as they are not wanted elsewhere, if it suits the Museum to have them, but I am sure that you will realize the difference between loans and gifts."91 He wasn't giving an inch, but he had reason. That same day, the trusts were formally created for descendants, some lucky in-laws, friends, and employees. He wasn't giving an inch, but he had reason. That same day, the trusts were formally created for descendants, some lucky in-laws, friends, and employees.92 The money had to come from somewhere. The money had to come from somewhere.

Briefly, in 1916, de Forest worried that Jack would also quit the board and told him point-blank that "would be a serious blow and it would fall very hard on those members of the Board nearest to you and who were nearest to your father-Choate, Walters and myself. I need not name others." But he had nothing to fear. In late January, four days after everything in the loan exhibition was formally transferred back to Jack and three days after Henry Kent acknowledged Jack's check to pay for the show, he gave the museum the Raphael altarpiece, two sculptures, depicting the entombment and the Pieta from the Chateau de Biron, and more than thirteen hundred pieces of the Hoentschel Gothic collection, worth a total of about $1.75 million. "The announcement of the gift," said the Christian Science Monitor Christian Science Monitor, "came as a complete surprise."

De Forest sent a pack of newspaper clippings to show the universal acclaim that had greeted the gifts, the board named Jack a benefactor, and the Raphael was hung at the top of the grand stair, "where we could see it from the great hall," de Forest wrote.93 The Hoentschel material took longer to return to view, since the factory making the cases had retooled to produce ammunition after the United States declared war against Germany, and one of the curators installing the material had been called to fight. The Hoentschel material took longer to return to view, since the factory making the cases had retooled to produce ammunition after the United States declared war against Germany, and one of the curators installing the material had been called to fight.

"Don't shoot the director," Robinson quipped to Jack. "He's doing his best."

In December 1917, the museum's efforts paid off when it announced that Jack was giving it seventy-five hundred more objects, though it would be another year before the exact status of every item was clarified. The suddenly grateful press made a point of stressing that the museum had gotten much of what it really wanted, though claims that Jack had only sold replaceable items were overstated.

Finally, in June 1918, Jack's gift got a permanent home, although not in a new building but in the former decorative arts wing. Originally built at Morgan's request to house the Hoentschel collection, it was quite appropriately renamed in his honor when it became the home of his collections. The development pleased Jack no end. So in February 1920, when the decorative arts curator, Joseph Breck, cabled him to say that a sculpted-wood Louis XVI storefront was on the market for F35,0 00 (or $2,046, or $21,168 in 2007), Jack agreed to buy it as a gift for the Morgan Wing, where his father's china would be displayed in its shopwindows. And a week later, Jack agreed to pay for a complete Louis XVera interior Breck had found to provide a backdrop for the Hoentschel French objects. Jack paid another F105,000 (about $63,527 in 2007) for that.94 In the meantime, ground had been broken in 1914 for Wings J and K, completing the Fifth Avenue facade to the south of the Great Hall, but, delayed by war, the smaller wing didn't open until December 1917, and Wing K, then as now the home of the Greek and Roman Art Department, wouldn't open until 1926. The transformation of the Metropolitan into a national treasure and museum of international stature was complete.

THROUGH THE 1920s, J 1920s, JACK M MORGAN'S RELATIONS WITH THE museum grew routine; he gave gifts, went to board meetings, and served on the purchasing, finance, and executive committees. In 1927, he tried to leave the board, and Root wrote him to say, "I can understand the feeling of a man struggling to escape the practical slavery imposed by the mult.i.tude of obligations which crowd upon a man who tries to be a good citizen ...The Museum, however, is plainly about to face a very critical situation, both as to personnel and policy," and so he begged Jack to stick around. Though Root didn't say so outright, de Forest and Robinson were at odds. museum grew routine; he gave gifts, went to board meetings, and served on the purchasing, finance, and executive committees. In 1927, he tried to leave the board, and Root wrote him to say, "I can understand the feeling of a man struggling to escape the practical slavery imposed by the mult.i.tude of obligations which crowd upon a man who tries to be a good citizen ...The Museum, however, is plainly about to face a very critical situation, both as to personnel and policy," and so he begged Jack to stick around. Though Root didn't say so outright, de Forest and Robinson were at odds.

In her autobiography, A Backward Glance A Backward Glance, Edith Wharton would later praise Robinson's "quiet twinkle perceptible behind his eyegla.s.ses," his "extremely delicate sense of humor combined with the boyish love of pure nonsense only to be found in Anglo-Saxons," "the dry pedantic manner in which he poked fun at pedantry," and "the fun, the irony, the gentle malice" of his character, but also made him sound, at best, a little scary: "Edward Robinson, tall, spare and pale, with his blond hair cut short 'en brosse,' bore the physical imprint of his German University formation, and might almost have sat for the portrait of a Teutonic Gelehrter." Gelehrter." Nathaniel Burt agreed with the last, calling Robinson "a slim, grim elegant martinet." Nathaniel Burt agreed with the last, calling Robinson "a slim, grim elegant martinet."95 What came between the aloof, formal Germanic director and his president was not recorded, but in another letter to Morgan, Root alluded to a cla.s.sic conflict. "De Forest will be eighty in April; Robinson is an art director, not an administrator," he wrote. "I am inclined to think that no man who is one can also be the other. The antagonisms, of which we are conscious, are ready to flare up whenever an important change is to be made ... At eighty-three, I cannot expect to be available for any usef