Cultivating Taste: Henry G. Marquand’s Public and Private Contributions to Advancing Art in Gilded Age New York

by

Adrianna M. Del Collo

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts (Art History), Hunter College, The City University of New York

2011

Thesis Sponsor:

______Date Lynda Klich

______Date Kevin Avery

© Adrianna M. Del Collo, 2011

All rights reserved

For Kwabena Slaughter with Eternal Love

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I must begin by acknowledging the subject of my thesis, Henry G. Marquand, whose character I have come to deeply admire through my research. One evening, after a day spent pouring over his letters in archives of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, I saw a vision of the museum’s austere former president gliding through the halls. The reality of Marquand as a living, breathing figure suddenly occurred to me with palpable clarity.

He had occupied this same building more than one hundred years ago, worrying over the future of the fledgling museum. I hope my account of his work has done him justice.

I am incredibly grateful for the guidance and encouragement of my thesis advisor,

Lynda Klich, and second reader, Kevin Avery. Rebecca Grunberger, my colleague at the

Metropolitan, fellow Hunter student, and now close friend, has been a generous and insightful editor of my work throughout this degree. I extend my sincere thanks to Marcie

Karp and the Metropolitan’s Grants Committee for the substantial tuition assistance they have provided. I owe a debt of appreciation to my colleagues at the Metropolitan in the

Museum Archives, General Counsel’s Office, and Watson Library, and the staff of

Princeton University’s Rare Books and Special Collections Library. Without their flexibility and support the completion of this thesis would not have been possible. Karol

Pick expertly transcribed correspondence in the Metropolitan’s Marquand Papers. Her work has benefited me significantly, and will be of great value to future scholars. Finally, to my loving parents, who have always put the education of their children first, my gratitude is endless.

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CONTENTS

List of Illustrations iii

Introduction 1

Chapter 1. 14 Patronage and Connoisseurship in the Gilded Age: The Private Collection of Henry G. Marquand

Chapter 2. 52 Encyclopedic Giving: Henry G. Marquand’s Contributions to The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Chapter 3. 102 Patron, Administrator, and Donor: The Legacy of Henry G. Marquand

Conclusion 143

Bibliography 150

Illustrations 156

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ILLUSTRATIONS

Figure 1 John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Henry G. Marquand, 1897 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of the Trustees, 1897 (97.43).

Figure 2 Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1884. Photograph, 1905.

Figure 3 Floorplan of the first and second floors of Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect, ca. 1881.

Figure 4 Detail of the main hall in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, 1902.

Figure 5 Japanese livingroom in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty- eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

Figure 6 English Renaissance dining room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

Figures 7-9 Ancient Greek drawing room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

Figure 10 Moorish smoking room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion. Etching by B. Krieger, 1893.

Figure 11 View of “Millionaires Row,” Fifth Avenue and Sixty-fifth Street, looking north along Fifth Avenue, 1895.

Figure 12 William K. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue and Fifty-second Street mansion. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1882. Photograph undated.

Figure 13 Henry G. Marquand’s summer residence, Linden Gate, in Newport, Rhode Island. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1873. Photograph undated.

Figure 14 View of The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Fifth Avenue façade. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1902. Photograph, 1906.

Figure 15 William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets. John Snook, Charles Atwood, and Herter Brothers, Architects. Completed 1881. Photograph undated.

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Figure 16 Japanese room in William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets.

Figure 17 Lawrence Alma-Tadema, A Reading from Homer, 1885, Philadelphia Museum of Art, The George W. Elkins Collection, 1924 (E1924-4-1).

Figure 18 Settee, table, and side chair; part of a set designed by Lawrence Alma- Tadema and fabricated by Johnstone, Norman and Company, 1884-1885.

Figure 19 Frederick Leighton, central panel of ceiling decoration depicting ancient Greek muses, 1885-1886.

Figure 20 The Studio Building, 15 West Tenth Street. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1857 or 1858. Photograph undated.

Figure 21 Studio of Richard Morris Hunt in The Studio Building, 15 West Tenth Street. Photograph undated.

Figure 22 Picture gallery in William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets. Colored lithograph ca. 1883.

Figure 23 Picture gallery in William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets. Photograph ca. 1883.

Figure 24 Picture gallery in Alexander T. Stewart’s Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street mansion. Photograph ca. 1883.

Figure 25 Mound-Builders pottery (79.8.22).

Figure 26 Mound-Builders pottery (79.8.21).

Figure 27 Mound-Builders pottery (79.8.24).

Figure 28 Mound-Builders pottery (79.8.8).

Figure 29 Peruvian ceramic vessel from Gibbs Collection (82.1.30)

Figure 30 Installation view. Charvet Collection of Glass (series 83.7), undated.

Figure 31 Installation view of Charvet collections and other objects (series 81.10 and series 83.7), 1907.

Figure 32 Installation view of metalwork reproductions (series 83.18), 1907.

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Figure 33 Installation view of metalwork reproductions perhaps displayed with original works (series 87.11), 1907.

Figure 34 Hall of casts, looking east, 1909.

Figure 35 Illustration of the Art Schools of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1880.

Figure 36 John Trumbull, Alexander Hamilton, 1804-1806 (81.11).

Figure 37 Anthony van Dyck, James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, 1634- 1635 (89.15.16).

Figure 38 Frans Hals, Portrait of a Woman, ca. 1650 (91.26.10).

Figure 39 Johannes Vermeer, Young Woman with a Water Pitcher, ca. 1662 (89.15.21).

Figure 40 Workshop of Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, Prince Baltasar Carlos, undated (89.15.31 [deaccessioned]).

Figure 41 Plan of the second floor galleries, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1898, with the location of the original Marquand Gallery, gallery 6, indicated with an arrow.

Figure 42 Spanish tin-enameled earthenware plate, sixteenth century (94.4.283).

Figure 43 Austrian (Vienna) hard-paste porcelain saucer and goblet, Imperial Porcelain Manufactory, 1804 (94.4.290, 291).

Figure 44 Italian (Urbino) Majolica plate depicting The Continence of Scipio, Francesco Durantino, 1540-1550 (94.4.332).

Figure 45 Spanish (Seville) glazed earthenware tile, sixteenth or seventeenth century (94.4.428a-z).

Figure 46 English (Staffordshire) soft-paste porcelain tea service, J. Spode, 1800- 1830 (94.4.74).

Figure 47 Roman bronze statue of a Camillus, ca. 14-54 C.E. (97.22.25).

Figure 48 Roman bronze statuette of Cybele on a cart drawn by lions, second half of second century C.E. (97.22.24)

Figure 49 Etruscan bronze mirror with ivory handle, late fourth century B.C.E. (97.22.17).

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Figure 50 Roman bronze bust of Minerva, first or second century C.E. (97.22.10).

Figure 51 Leon Bonnat, Portrait of John Taylor Johnston, 1880, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of the Trustees, 1880 (80.8).

Figure 52 John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Elizabeth Love Marquand, 1887, Princeton University Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Eleanor Marquand Delanoy, granddaughter of the sitter (y1977-77).

Figure 53 John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Mrs. Playfair, 1887 In the collection of the Huntington Library.

Figure 54 John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Mabel Ward, ca. 1891-1894, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Henry Galbraith Ward, 1930 (30.26).

Figure 55 Thomas Cole, Roman Aqueduct, 1832, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1903 (03.27).

Figure 56 The Marquand Gallery, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1907.

Figure 57 Illustration of the opening reception at the Marquand Gallery, 1889.

Figure 58 Plan of the second floor galleries, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1905, with the locations of the original (gallery 14, formerly gallery 6) and later (gallery 11) Marquand Gallery and earlier (1888-1902) and later (1902- present) main entrance indicated with arrows.

Figure 59 The Marquand Gallery, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1911.

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INTRODUCTION

Henry G. Marquand (1819-1902) was a prominent New York businessman, art collector, and one of the earliest trustees and the second president of The Metropolitan

Museum of Art. He began collecting art for his private residence in the 1840s or 1850s and continued buying art for his private collection and for the Metropolitan through 1900.

He is remembered chiefly for his series of gifts to the museum from 1889 through 1891 of fifty old master and English school paintings, including valuable works by Rembrandt, van Dyck, and Velázquez, and the first painting by Vermeer ever to enter a United States collection. The Marquand Collection of paintings, as it was known, was a pivotal gift for the museum, transforming the Metropolitan’s then modest holdings of paintings into a collection that drew international renown. The enduring significance of the Marquand

Collection of paintings, however, has led to a myopic view of the donor’s characteristics and motivations as a supporter of the arts. Less recognized but no less significant than the collection of paintings are Marquand’s donations of nearly twenty-four hundred other objects, primarily decorative arts, and over one hundred thousand dollars in funds to support the museum’s operations and programming from 1879 through 1900. In addition to these gifts, Marquand maintained a private collection of art, which he amassed over the course of his adult life. His private collection has been studied in great depth in recent years, but its connection to his museum work and Marquand’s overarching objectives as a patron of the arts has not been satisfactorily explored. This thesis will expand upon and revise the prevailing assessments of Marquand’s methodologies as a private and public collector by considering the full range of his patronage of the arts.

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Newly available and under-utilized primary source materials housed in The

Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives have made it possible to study Marquand’s relationship to the Metropolitan in greater depth than ever before. I will conduct the first comprehensive survey of Marquand’s gifts of artwork and funds to the museum, highlighting the ways in which his donations dovetailed with his work as trustee and president of the museum. This new research will contextualize Marquand’s collecting methodology in both the public and private realms. I will demonstrate that in both enterprises Marquand was guided by an abiding mission to advance the practice of art and design in the United States.

Born in New York City, the second youngest of the eleven children of Isaac and

Mabel Perry Marquand, Henry began working when he was fifteen years old for his family’s prestigious jewelry business, Marquand & Co., which was then headed by his older brother Frederick.1 After the death of their father in 1838, Frederick sold the business and took up real estate investment and other financial ventures. Assisting

Frederick in this line of work, Henry developed an aptitude and passion for investments that characterized his professional life. He went on to exceed the reputation of his brother by establishing himself as a banker on Wall Street, Director of the Equitable Life

Assurance Company, and by making a fortune speculating on foreign currency exchange and railroads. In 1867 Henry and his brother-in-law, Thomas Allen, bought a chief interest in St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern Railway which ran from St. Louis to

1 Biographical details can be found in a number of sources, including the substantial obituary in the New York Times, February 27, 1902; an undated biographical sketch of Henry G. Marquand, Marquand, Henry G. – General Correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives; and in Cynthia Saltzman, “‘American Citizen . . . Patron of Art’: Henry Gurdon Marquand and van Dyck’s Portrait of James Stuart,” in Old Masters, New World: America’s Raid on Europe’s Great Pictures (New York: Viking, 2008), 20-26. 2 southeast Missouri and to Arkansas and Texas. The two were ultimately muscled out of their investment by the notorious Jay Gould, whose monopoly on the southwestern railroad system gave them no choice but to sell. With a profit of one million dollars,

Marquand effectively retired from the business world in 1880 and focused his energies on the acquisition of art and the management of the fledgling Metropolitan Museum, an institution he had devoted his time to in a number of capacities since 1869. In 1889

Marquand was elected president of the museum’s Board of Trustees and held that position until his death on February 26, 1902.

The official portrait of Marquand, commissioned by the museum when the sitter was in his late seventies, is a penetrating character study of its second president (fig. 1).2

The painting depicts Marquand seated in a dim room in front of a moss-green drape and a wall scumbled with tints of dark ochre, green, red, and black. The portrait was executed in Sargent’s studio, but Marquand’s easy pose suggests that he is in a familiar setting. His right arm is casually thrown over the back of his chair, and he absent-mindedly fingers his overcoat with his index and middle finger. His left elbow is propped on a side table and his fingers hold his head in a meditative gesture.

The diagonal progression of fingertips from temple to eye emphasizes

Marquand’s inward gaze. The curve of his head is highlighted against the dim backdrop.

While Sargent’s rendering of Marquand’s receding hairline was probably accurate to his appearance, the smooth and nearly symmetrical dome of his head, framed by a wizened halo of grey hair, communicates the presence and capability of Marquand’s mind. The smooth forehead terminates at strongly shadowed brow bones that angle in toward a

2 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 97.43. 3 slight furrow, creating the impression that Marquand’s mind is at work on a problem of significance.

And yet, Marquand’s demeanor also conveys gentleness, patience and a good humor. Sargent veils Marquand’s mouth with his moustache, and so it is difficult to determine the expression straightaway. At first what looks like a stern downturn of the mouth is revealed to be the fringe of his moustache rather than a frown. The viewer can perceive a slight parting of the lips, even a faint smile, veiled under the fringe, indicating

Marquand’s self-control and good character in the face of difficult circumstances. Indeed

Sargent has captured the characteristics celebrated by his colleagues in the museum; those of wisdom, “calm judgment, [and a] generous, amiable and cordial temper.”3

The robustness of Marquand’s mental faculties contrasts with the slightness of his frame: bony legs and sinewy hands. His body is angled to the right, but his head faces the picture plane, creating the impression that the viewer is part of his inner circle, perhaps a colleague in business, awaiting a decision that Marquand will momentarily issue after measured contemplation. In the expanse of black that describes Marquand’s fitted vest,

Sargent paints a gleaming gold pocket watch, referring to Marquand’s ample means as an owner of luxury goods, and recalling the timetable that guides the schedule of an active business man. Marquand is thus rendered as an older man, but an established one, still vital of mind and active in business pursuits.

Although Sargent did not set the portrait in the museum or include any visual symbol of his connection to the arts, it communicates the characteristics that made

Marquand’s private collection and museum work so successful: his thoughtfulness and

3 Metropolitan Museum of Art memorial resolution for Henry G. Marquand, 1902, Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 22, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. 4 knowledgeability; his patience and reserve; and his ample finances and incumbent social standing. The same traits that fostered his success in the many business enterprises he undertook in his adult life conspired to make him a pioneer among art collectors, who veered from established trends in collecting and museum donations in order to pursue a greater cause. Marquand’s confidence and independence of mind had at its foundation a strong sense of purpose; persistent and interrelated goals to advance the arts in the United

States and build the Metropolitan into a world-class institution.

The study of private art collections and the collectors responsible for their assembly is a relatively new phenomenon that has gained considerable traction in recent years. Since 1989, The Journal for the History of Collections, a periodical featuring original papers, event and conference listings, and exhibition and book reviews relating to the history of collecting in all eras and geographical locations has been published by

Oxford University Press in response to burgeoning interest in the multidisciplinary field.

In 2007 the Frick Collection, the New York City museum founded by the Gilded Age collector Henry Clay Frick, established the Center for the History of Collecting to encourage and support scholarship on art collectors and collections. The Center has brought together an international community of scholars, and the breadth of scholarly resources they provide promises to inspire deeper levels of inquiry into the field.

The Gilded Age collectors Isabella Stewart Gardner, Henry Clay Frick, and J. P.

Morgan have all, however, received considerable scholarly attention over the past few decades. The sustained interest these figures have garnered is in part attributable to the fact that each of these collectors established a public institution to house large portions of their collections that are still in operation today. In addition to preserving their art

5 collections, these museums administer substantial archival collections that enrich scholarly understanding of the collectors’ actions, motivations, and milieu. Because no one institution is exclusively charged with preserving and promoting their legacies, many equally influential contemporaneous collectors, such as Marquand, have been studied far less. In the interest of according Marquand the depth of study afforded Gardner, Frick, and Morgan, considerable groundwork must be laid. Unfortunately no complete survey of

Marquand’s collecting activities has been attempted, and thus scholarship on him has been inconsistent and incomplete.

Evaluation of Marquand’s private and public patronage of the arts began shortly after his 1902 death, when his private collection was put up for auction the following year. News of the auction broke in New York City, where the sale was held, and reached the London papers while the proceedings were underway. Marquand’s gifts of paintings to the Metropolitan had been covered by the London Times years earlier. So to clarify the contents of the auction the Times began its report by distinguishing between Marquand’s gifts to the museum and those art objects he collected for his personal enjoyment: “The

Late Henry G. Marquand . . . formed two collections the first of which he gave to the

Metropolitan Museum of New York . . . His second collection, which is now in the process of dispersal . . .was made for the adornment of his house on sixty-eighth-street, and comprised a very great variety of objets d’art.”4 The important distinction between

Marquand’s two collections has not always been acknowledged in the century that has elapsed since those words were written.

Confusion about the nature of Marquand’s collecting was, in fact, propagated by the Metropolitan, the institution most connected to the legacy of the collector. The

4 London Times, January 26, 1903. 6 museum included Marquand in its 1957 exhibition “Collectors’ Choice,” which featured the private collections of renowned donors to the museum. A. Hyatt Mayor, the

Metropolitan’s curator of prints, began his description of the exhibition, published in the museum’s Bulletin, by emphasizing that the collectors represented in the show lived with the artwork on display. He suggested: “We would have succeeded better in dramatizing the various donors’ personalities if each room [of the galleries] had been decorated so as to suggest the way each collector had lived with his treasures.”5 The works of art selected to represent Marquand’s private collection, however, were paintings that Marquand purchased from Europe and placed in the galleries of the museum immediately after their arrival in the United States. The paintings had never actually entered his domestic environment.6 Further muddying the waters, a selection of furniture designed by the

British artist Lawrence Alma-Tadema, which had been commissioned for Marquand’s mansion and installed there until the items were sold at the auction, were loaned to the museum for the exhibition and displayed alongside the paintings. Thus the two Marquand collections were mixed in this display, creating the impression that Marquand had

5 A. Hayatt Mayor, “Collectors at Home,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 16, no. 3 (November 1957): 108. There was no exhibition catalogue for this show.

6 Exhibition checklist, 1957, Exhibitions – Collectors’ Choice (1957), Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives for objects included to represent Marquand’s collection; John Singer Sargent Portrait of Henry G. Marquand (97.43); Rembrandt Portrait of a Man (91.26.7); van Dyck James Stuart (1612–1655), Duke of Richmond and Lennox (89.15.16); Rembrandt (now style of) Man with a Beard (89.15.3); Frans Hals The Smoker (89.15.34); Frans Hals Portrait of Man (91.26.9), Vermeer Young Woman with a Water Pitcher (89.15.21); Petrus Christus The Lamentation (91.26.12); Petrus Christus (now Netherlandish painter) Virgin and Child in a Niche (89.15.24); Roman bronze Statue of a Camillus (97.22.25). A Note on the list indicates that the gallery included furniture designed by Alma-Tadema for the mansion, lent by Mrs, Martin Beck. Albert Ten Eyck Gardner, “Metropolitan People and Pictures,” Art News (January 1964): 33 notes that the objects given to the Metropolitan went straight to the museum, although acc. 89.15.23, now deaccessioned, may possibly be an exception. George Sheldon, Artistic Houses vol. 2 (1883-1884; repr., New York: Benjamin Bloom, 1971), 85 notes in dining room of Linden Gate, Marquand’s Newport summer home, “a portrait of a burgomaster, by unknown Fleming who might also pass for van der Helst.” 7 followed the more conventional path of an art collector; collecting for personal enjoyment, and later donating to a public institution.

The London Times likely positioned Marquand’s gifts to the museum as his “first” collection and his personal collection “second,” because his donations to the museum initially put him in the public’s mind when they were given to the Metropolitan during

Marquand’s lifetime. This ranking gives the false impression that Marquand’s gifts to the museum were assembled and donated to the museum en masse, prior to his acquiring his private collection. In fact, Marquand began collecting artwork for his private collection well before he began purchasing artwork for the museum, and he continued both pursuits simultaneously through the 1870s, 1880s, and 1890s.7 There was no significant temporal distinction between the two collections, but there was a clear difference between the purpose of his public and private collections.

Albert Ten Eyck Gardner, assistant secretary to the Metropolitan’s Board of

Trustees and associate curator of American paintings and sculpture, clarified the record in his article “Metropolitan People and Pictures” for the January 1964 issue of Art News.

Gardner distinguished between Marquand’s two collections, which were “brought together with two quite separate purposes in mind.” The objects purchased for the

Metropolitan, he asserted, were intended to build the museum’s collection, while those in

Marquand’s personal collection were for the “adornment of his home.”8

The article “The Marquand Mansion” by Associate Curator of European

Sculpture and Decorative Arts Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, published in the 1994

7 Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 151 and W. G. Constable, Art Collecting in the United States of America; An Outline of a History (London: T. Nelson, 1963), 104-105.

8 Gardner, 33. 8

Metropolitan Museum Journal, has done much to clarify the character and purpose of

Marquand’s private collection in particular. 9 Drawing upon Marquand’s personal papers held by The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives and Princeton University Library’s

Department of Special Collections as major sources, Kisluk-Grosheide examined the interior decoration of Marquand’s Madison Avenue mansion. She linked the formation of

Marquand’s personal collection with popular trends in interior design and patterns of art collecting among the New York elite. Kisluk-Grosheide’s article was the first serious scholarly work on Marquand’s activities as a collector. She has established that he was knowledgeable and indefatigable as a private collector.

Catherine Doswell Smith expanded the evaluation of Marquand’s collecting in her master’s thesis “Henry G. Marquand’s Private and Public Art Collections: Constructing a

Cultural Identity.”10 Smith has argued that Marquand’s two distinct collecting enterprises were driven by his impulse to construct and announce his identity as a self-made man in the socially competitive New York City of the Gilded Age. In her analysis of Marquand’s public collection, Smith has focused on Marquand’s gifts to the Metropolitan of old master and English school paintings exclusively, overlooking his numerous other donations of decorative art objects and reproductions of sculpture. This oversight has led her to the flawed conclusion that Marquand was more motivated by constructing and preserving the legacy of his name than advancing the cause of art in the United States.

Cynthia Saltzman’s recent book, Old Masters, New World: America’s Raid on

Europe’s Great Pictures, begins with a chapter on Marquand’s pursuit of the old master

9 Kisluk-Grosheide, 151-181.

10 Caroline Doswell Smith, “Henry G, Marquand’s Private and Public Art Collections: Constructing a Cultural Identity,” (master’s thesis, University of California, Santa Barbara, 1997). 9 and English school paintings that he gave to the museum.11 As the chronological progression of chapters in her book suggests, she locates him ahead of the pioneering collectors of European art in the United States, such as J. P. Morgan, Louisine

Havemeyer, and Henry Clay Frick. Saltzman’s chapter on Marquand illuminates the mechanics behind some of the most important paintings acquisitions he made on behalf of the museum, particularly van Dyck’s 1634-1635 portrait, James Stuart, Duke of

Richmond and Lennox. Her research, which relies predominantly on Marquand’s personal papers held by The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives, has revealed Marquand’s integral role in selecting and negotiating his old master purchases.

An equally illuminating study was conducted by Melody Barnett Deusner in

2011. Her article “’In seen and unseen places’: The Henry G. Marquand House and

Collections in England and America” explores the accessibility of Marquand’s private collection to the American and British public.12 Using resources from British repositories in addition to those held by the Metropolitan and Princeton, Deusner has concluded that some of the works of art Marquand commissioned for his private collection were more accessible in England, where these works were created and displayed in public galleries and showrooms prior to their shipment to the United States, where they were hidden from view, tucked away in Marquand’s mansion. Deusner has also observed the role that the display of these objects in England had in promulgating Marquand’s reputation as a serious patron and collector.

11 Cynthia Saltzman, “‘American Citizen . . . Patron of Art’: Henry Gurdon Marquand and van Dyck’s Portrait of James Stuart,” in Old Masters, New World: America’s Raid on Europe’s Great Pictures, 11-44 (New York: Viking, 2008).

12 Melody Barnett Deusner, “’In Seen and Unseen Places’: The Henry G. Marquand House and Collections in England and America,” Art History 34 no. 4 (September 2011): 754-773. 10

Together, these studies have brought to light many of Marquand’s significant contributions and characteristics as a patron of the arts. But, the most glaring oversight in scholarship on Marquand has been the failure to acknowledge the full scope of his gifts to the Metropolitan. This omission is, in part, due to the inaccessibility of records on this subject, which were only recently opened for research. The release of these records enables a comprehensive study of Marquand’s donations to the museum. My study will, therefore, take into consideration the considerable volume, diversity, and impact of

Marquand’s gifts in order to achieve a closer estimation of his characteristics and motivations as a collector than has previously been possible. My research will provide a better understanding of Marquand in his multiple roles of private patron and museum donor within the Gilded Age art world of New York City. In addition to enriching the contemporary perception of Marquand as a patron and donor, my study also sheds light on his administrative work for the museum and helps to qualify his objectives as a private collector.

Chapter one of this thesis focuses on Marquand’s private collection, amassed for the decoration of his Madison Avenue mansion. Expanding upon Kisluk-Grosheide’s,

Deusner’s, and Smith’s well-researched articles and thesis, I will re-examine the construction and decoration of Marquand’s mansion. Rather than study his collecting methodology in isolation as the aforementioned authors have, I will draw comparisons with the contemporaneous collectors William H. Vanderbilt and John Taylor Johnston.

This approach will bring to light the nuances of Marquand’s private collecting habits— illuminating in particular when he followed or veered from established trends. I will demonstrate that Marquand’s private collection was not merely a reflection of

11 contemporary taste among the New York elite, but instead was an extension of his sincere commitment to patronizing living artists. Further, I will argue that Marquand was aware of the limited access the public had to artwork in his home, and therefore determined to use the museum to reach a wider audience.

Chapter two of this thesis addresses Marquand’s donations to the Metropolitan.

The focus in scholarship on Marquand’s donations of old master and English school paintings has almost excluded his many other gifts of artwork and funds to support acquisitions and programming. The narrow view of his work as a donor has led to a mischaracterization of his methodology as a collector for the museum. To elucidate

Marquand’s unique and crucial role as the museum’s most generous and effective donor from 1879 through 1900, I will present a large sampling of Marquand’s donations in chronological order. By placing each gift within the context of museum business, I will show the inextricable connection between Marquand’s role as a trustee and president and his gifts of artwork and funds. I will conclude by asserting that Marquand’s gifts nurtured and sustained the museum, enabling it to pursue its encyclopedic collecting and educational mission at a time when institutional funding was scarce.

Chapter three examines the complex issues surrounding Marquand’s public legacy through three revealing case studies. I will first discuss in detail John Singer

Sargent’s commission to paint the official portrait of Marquand for the museum. This episode demonstrates Marquand’s enduring commitment as a patron to American artists.

I will illuminate Marquand’s critical role in securing the Jacob Rogers bequest of five million dollars for an acquisitions endowment fund, a connection that has never before been acknowledged by museum historians. I will argue that the receipt of the Rogers fund

12 was the culmination of decades of Marquand’s fundraising efforts, yet one that rendered

Marquand’s unique role as administrator/donor obsolete. Finally, I will document the evolution of the arrangement of various Marquand Collections within the Metropolitan, focusing on the Marquand Collection of paintings and the gallery the museum established in its honor. This study reveals that Marquand prioritized the museum’s mission over his personal legacy.

My thesis establishes Marquand as a unique figure in the art world of Gilded Age

New York City, using his considerable and hard-earned wealth to advance the arts in the private and public realms. My study demonstrates that through his private collection

Marquand achieved the simultaneous goals of constructing an admirable collection and creating a domestic environment befitting a man of his social status. In doing so, he supported and advanced the work the artists, architects, designers, and craftsmen he employed. Further, my thesis amplifies Marquand’s reputation as a public-minded museum donor and a key force in developing the Metropolitan’s encyclopedic collection, which served as the foundation for the museum’s mission of art education. By taking into account the full and varied range of Marquand’s activities as private patron and collector, museum donor and administrator, my study illuminates Marquand’s deeply-felt personal commitment to advancing the arts in the United States.

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CHAPTER ONE

PATRONAGE AND CONNOISSEURSHIP IN THE GILDED AGE: THE PRIVATE COLLECTION OF HENRY G. MARQUAND

The private art collection of Henry G. Marquand has been characterized by art historians as a product of the upper-class taste and style that was emblematic of the

Gilded Age.1 Examination of the character of the collection and Marquand’s collecting methodology, however, reveals that he was motivated by more than just popular taste and the desire to assert his social standing. Marquand maintained personal relationships with the artists, designers, and buying agents who filled his home with objects of art, and he fastidiously directed their work according to his vision. Unlike other contemporaneous collectors, like William H. Vanderbilt, the contents of Marquand’s private collection reveals that he was a faithful supporter of American and British artists in particular, buying and commissioning their work and employing them as agents to access European art objects not yet available in the United States.

In this chapter I will contextualize the construction of Marquand’s Gilded Age mansion near the fashionable district of “Millionaire’s Row” in New York City. Using the well-documented ancient Greek-style drawing room as a case study, I will discuss contemporaneous trends in interior design and examine Marquand’s unique collecting methodology. I will then focus on Marquand’s collection of paintings and his decision not to create a separate picture gallery within his mansion. I will demonstrate that

Marquand was an important and knowledgeable patron of living artists and craftsmen. He

1 For example, Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 151-181; Caroline Doswell Smith, “Henry G. Marquand’s Private and Public Art Collections: Constructing a Cultural Identity” (Master’s thesis, University of California, Santa Barbara, 1997); and Arnold Lewis, Steven McQuillin, and James Turner, The Opulent Interiors of the Gilded Age: All 203 Photographs from "Artistic Houses” (New York: Dover, 1987). 14 used the project of constructing and decorating his mansion as a means to support and advance their work. I will conclude by arguing that Marquand deliberately decided against opening his home to the public through the addition of a domestic gallery, choosing to display works of he deemed appropriate for public consumption at The

Metropolitan Museum of Art instead.

Henry G. Marquand’s Mansion: A Gilded Age Construction

Henry G. Marquand’s four-story Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, constructed in 1884, was an imposing and eye-catching structure (fig. 2).

Deviating from the brownstone facing that was ubiquitous in Manhattan throughout the nineteenth century, Marquand’s mansion was constructed from red sandstone and brick. 2

A unique assortment and arrangement of features—balconies, differently-shaped windows, chimneys, cornices, and the glass and iron conservatory—has made it difficult for architectural historians to classify the style of the mansion. Contemporaneously, it was described as an adaptation of late French Renaissance. In the United States, the

French style was fairly new and the mansard roofs and dormer windows that topped the mansion lent it a distinctly modern air.3

As a floorplan of the house illustrates, the principal entryway was on Sixty-eighth

Street (fig. 3). A small flight of stairs from the sidewalk led to a modest vestibule and reception room, an arrangement that enabled the hired help to attend to visitors discreetly before they entered the expansive, sky-lit main hall (fig. 4). The hall was adorned with a

2 Paul R. Baker, Richard Morris Hunt (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1980), 293.

3 The Marquand Residence (New York: De Vinne Press, 1905), 1. See Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 75 for a brief account of the influence of French architectural styles on architecture in the United States from the 1850s-1870s. 15 variety of artistic elements, many—like the Tennessee marble floors, carved wood paneling and inset tiles and mosaic glass of the walls, and the large fireplace topped by a reproduction an Andrea della Robbia relief of the assumption of the Virgin—were built into the structure of the mansion. The hall was decorated with eighteenth century tapestries, Near Eastern rugs, suits of armor, a bronze fountain and antique furniture.

The rooms to either side of the main hall on the first floor gave the visitor an aesthetic tour of cultures, including those considered exotic in the West.4 To the left of the main hall was a Japanese-style living room featuring an elaborate built-in cabinet, painstakingly carved out of hard Brazilian quebracho wood. It displayed Marquand’s

Japanese and Chinese ceramics, ivories, and lacquerware (fig. 5). Beyond this room was the English Renaissance-style dining room (fig. 6). Its oak wainscoting was covered with late-sixteenth-century Flemish tapestries, perfectly fitted into large niches in the walls.

Cabinets and sideboards displayed English decorative arts, and a large table, made in reproduction of antique English furnishings, was the centerpiece of the room.

On the opposite side of the main hall was a suite of three rooms designed for entertaining; the ancient Greek-style drawing room, a small Moorish- or Saracenic-style smoking room, and a glass conservatory. The ancient Greek room was decorated with classically-styled furniture, including a famous custom-made grand piano, which caused this room often to be referred to as the music room (figs. 7, 8 and 9). Also displayed in this room were contemporary paintings and reliefs depicting classical themes, as well as ancient Greek vases. The Moorish room was designed with colored plaster decorations modeled after the Alhambra and Spanish luster tiles set in the celling (fig. 10). Niches

4 Smith, 23-24. I describe the first floor only as it was the most accessible to visitors. The upper floors, containing bedrooms were considered private. 16 using a keyhole-shaped motif displayed Marquand’s collection of Islamic ceramics and glass.5

No interior surface was left unembellished. It was a far cry from the “dreary white walls and the few cheap copies of the old masters, scarcely worth framing, that used to comprise all the adorning of our houses,” recalled by Marquand as a boy in a speech he delivered at the Metropolitan in 1888, years after the decoration of his mansion was complete.6 When the residence, emptied of its contents, went to auction in April of 1905 after Marquand’s death, the auction catalogue highlighted it as the former home of a celebrated art collector to appeal to potential buyers who might appreciate its particular aesthetic nuances.7

Marquand’s mansion, however, was not altogether unique, but exemplified a recent trend in domestic construction and decoration. Huge mansions in a variety of architectural styles, with lavish, painstakingly-decorated interiors, were beginning to be constructed along Fifth and Madison Avenues north of Thirtieth Street beginning in the

1850s. The writer Earl Shinn, under the pseudonym Edward Strahan, toured many of these mansions for his 1880 book The Art Treasures of America; Being the Choicest

Works of Art in the Public and Private Collections of North America. He later observed, in the introduction to his monograph devoted exclusively to William H. Vanderbilt’s house and collection: “The country, at this moment, is just beginning to be astonishing.

5 Detailed description of these rooms can be found in Kisluk-Grosheide, 151-181 and, to a lesser extent, Smith (room and furnishings), and The Marquand Residence (rooms without furnishings).

6 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1888 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1889), 14.

7 The Marquand Residence is illustrated with photogravures of the interior with the collection intact. The mansion is no longer extant. Kisluk-Grosheide, 156 noted that the house was sold twice, once in 1909 and in 1912. Later it was torn down and apartment buildings were erected on the lot. 17

Re-cemented by the fortunate result of a civil war, endowed as with a diploma of rank by promulgation of its centenary, it has begun to re-invent everything, especially the house.”8 The revolution in domestic construction that Shinn observed was the result of the growth of professionalism in the field of architecture combined with the emergence of the aesthetic movement in the United States and supported by newly wealthy patrons with the means and motivation to commission such structures. Reflecting on the same phenomenon in his 1903 architectural survey Stately Homes in America from Colonial

Times to the Present Day, Harry William Desmond postulated:

And since [expensive and magnificent private dwellings] are a comparatively new fact in American domestic architecture, it may be inferred that they are the expression of similarly new facts in American economic and social development. They are the peculiar product, that is, partly of the most recent American architectural ideas, and partly of the tastes, ambitions, the methods, and the resources of contemporary American captains of industry.9

Indeed, established millionaires like those from the Astor and Vanderbilt families, J. P.

Morgan, J. D. Rockefeller, Jay Gould, and Andrew Carnegie, who had made their fortunes in such booming post-Civil War businesses as banking, railroad speculation, steel, and oil, followed this fashionable northern migration up Fifth and Madison

Avenues from Thirtieth Street, constructing grand dwellings along the way. The stretch of Fifth Avenue in particular was occupied by such a high concentration of wealthy families that it became known as “Millionaire’s Row” (fig. 11).10

8 Edward Strahan [Earl Shinn], introduction to Mr. Vanderbilt’s House and Collection, (Boston: G. Barrie, 1883).

9 Harry William Desmond and Herbert David Croly, Stately Homes in America from Colonial Times to the Present Day (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1903), 3.

10 Jacob Landy, “The Domestic Architecture of the Robber Barons in New York City,” Marsyas 5 (1947-1949): 65. Millionaires such as J. P Morgan, H. Villard, and Louis C. Tiffany occupied mansions on Madison Avenue along with Marquand. 18

In, Stately Homes in America, Desmond referred to the residences of American captains of industry like Marquand as “semi-private and semi-public” dwellings, arguing that “while they are built to be inhabited, they are built almost quite as much to be admired.” 11 He continued: “These houses have about them a species of conscious publicity; they have been put together and adorned in order to make a brave show—as if their owners were very well aware that people were watching them.” Desmond’s expression, “conscious publicity,” is variation on “conspicuous consumption,” the term coined in 1899 by Thorstein Veblin in his seminal book The Theory of the Leisure Class, a critical socio-economic study focused on Marquand’s demographic.12 Desmond’s reflection acknowledged the social conditions—the presence of a small class of the super- rich—that brought about this phase of grand domestic architecture, which was a byproduct of the post-Civil War industrial boom.

Unlike such established families as the Astors and Vanderbilts, Marquand was a first-generation millionaire. As a result of his hard work in several lucrative business enterprises, among them real estate, banking, and railroad speculation, Marquand steadily increased his assets and social standing. His mansion, therefore, was an important representation of his achievements. Anne McNair Bolin has pointed out, “in a rapidly changing urban environment like nineteenth-century New York City, it was increasingly difficult to determine a given individual’s social status and the home became the most

11 Desmond and Croly, 32.

12 Landy, 76 asserts that, “Veblin’s ‘theory of the leisure class’ remains, perhaps, the most cogent interpretation of the lavish displays of wealth in the domestic architecture of post-Civil War industrialists and financiers.” 19 public emblem of the family’s identity.”13 The construction of his Madison Avenue mansion served to confirm Marquand’s entry to upper echelons of New York society.

In December of 1880, the aggressive railroad magnate Jay Gould backed

Marquand into selling him twenty thousand shares of stock in the St. Louis, Iron

Mountain, and Southern Railway Company. The transaction earned Marquand one million dollars.14 Flush with liquid assets, he commissioned his friend and architect

Richard Morris Hunt to design a mansion near “Millionaire’s Row,” on a lot located at

Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street.15 Hunt was an obvious choice for Marquand.

By the 1880s he was an established and sought-after architect. When Hunt began his studies there had been no serious professional training in architecture in the United States and he travelled to Europe for his education. There he was the first American architect to pursue his studies at the renowned École des Beaux-Arts in France in 1846. He brought back to the United States a style Jacob Landy has termed “Academic Eclecticism” to describe designs based on loose interpretations of a wide variety of European styles that were “only vaguely suggestive of their presumed prototypes.”16 Hunt was just finishing work on William K. Vanderbilt’s mansion on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-second Street,

13 Anne McNair Bolin, “Art and Domestic Culture: The Residential Art Gallery in New York City, 1850-1870,” (PhD diss., Emory University, 2000), 9. Bolin also notes that the Social Register was not created until 1887.

14 The office of the Railway was located at 20 Nassau Street in Manhattan.

15 New York Times, December 15, 1880, and Cynthia Saltzman, “‘American Citizen . . . Patron of Art’: Henry Gurdon Marquand and van Dyck’s Portrait of James Stuart,” in Old Masters, New World: America’s Raid on Europe’s Great Pictures (New York: Viking, 2008), 23 notes that Marquand was president of the railway along with his brother-in-law, Thomas Allen and that Marquand and Allen were prey to Gould’s legendary cutthroat business tactics.

16 Landy, 66. This approach that was later adopted by the prolific New York firm McKim, Mead, and White. 20 which was done in an adaptation of late French Gothic-early Renaissance style, when

Marquand engaged him to build a home in a similar style further uptown (fig. 12).17

Jacob Landy has noted that William K. Vanderbilt’s mansion “made the French style a ‘must’ for ‘important’ dwellings in New York.” Marquand’s engagement of Hunt for his mansion, however, was not simply motivated by a desire for the latest fad in architecture. Marquand’s relationship with Hunt had begun many years earlier, and

Marquand was a major proponent of Hunt’s work on domestic and public buildings.18 As early as 1872, Marquand commissioned Hunt to build his summer residence, Linden

Gate, in the fashionable resort town of Newport, Rhode Island (fig. 13).19 The design of

Linden Gate could not have been more different from the Madison Avenue mansion. For the summer home, Hunt borrowed the Queen Ann style, exaggerating the scale and pitch of a prominent off-set gable.20 The ivy growth that crept up the façade of the house emphasized its British inspiration. In the early 1880s, Marquand added two additional commissions to his Madison Avenue mansion; the Marquand Chapel at the College of

New Jersey (now Princeton University) and the Guernsey Building, an office building on

Broadway in lower Manhattan.21 Toward the end of Hunt’s life, Marquand was

17 Paul R. Baker, “Richard Morris Hunt: An Introduction,” in The Architecture of Richard Morris Hunt, ed. Stein, Susan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 17.

18 Landy, 67.

19 Linden Gate is no longer extant. According to “Linden Gate Mansion (Henry G. Marquand House), Newport Rhode Island,” http://www.historic-structures.com/ri/newport/linden_gate.php (accessed August 17, 2011), the house was converted into a commercial office and residential apartments. The house burned down in 1973. Despite Marquand’s support of Hunt’s work, Hunt was unsuccessful in winning the commission to design the Equitable Life Assurance Society building, where Marquand was director, the following year in 1868 according to Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 539-540.

20 Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 240.

21 The Marquand Chapel is no longer extant. According to Princeton University. “Marquand Chapel,” http://etcweb.princeton.edu/Campus/text_Marquand.html (accessed August 17, 2011), the chapel 21 instrumental in securing him the commission of the now iconic entrance and eastern galleries of the Metropolitan (fig. 14).22 Marquand’s support of Hunt and his advocacy for the advancement of architecture in the United States earned him the first honorary membership in the American Institute of Architects.23

Marquand’s faith in Hunt’s modern designs paid off. The Madison Avenue mansion outdid much of the earlier construction in the neighborhood of “Millionaire’s

Row.” The popular periodical, Harper’s Weekly, declared Marquand’s mansion superior to that of William H. Vanderbilt (the father of William K.) which had previously been regarded as an icon of new grand domestic architecture (fig. 15). William H. Vanderbilt was the oldest son of Commodore (Cornelius) Vanderbilt and had inherited a large part of his father’s railroad fortune and the presidency of New York Central Railroad in 1877, making him one of the wealthiest men in the United States. Perhaps motivated by the large sum of money he inherited, Vanderbilt began a three million dollar construction project: twin brownstone mansions on the east side of Fifth Avenue between Fifty-first and Fifty-second Streets designed by architects Charles B. Atwood and John B. Snook under the direction of Herter Brothers.24

burned down in May of 1920. The Guernsey Building is no longer extant and, according to Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 544, was demolished, date unknown.

22 Morrison H. Heckscher, “Hunt and the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” in The Architecture of Richard Morris Hunt, ed. Stein, Susan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986). The façade was based on Hunt’s designs, but completed by his son after Hunt’s death. Marquand, too, did not live to see the completed project. The opening of the Hunt additions took place in December 22, 1902, ten months after Marquand’s death.

23 Undated biographical sketch of Henry G. Marquand, Marquand, Henry G. – General Correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

24 Landy, 71. Wayne Craven, Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2009), 88-90 notes that while Atwood and Snook are the most frequently cited architects of the residence, Herter Brothers may actually have been responsible for the design and often contested the Atwood and Snook attribution, asserting that these two men were contracted for aspects of the 22

Following such a large expenditure, the editorial in Harper’s Weekly that was published just six years after the completion of construction and a few months after

Vanderbilt’s death, must have been crushing to his family:

The group of “Vanderbilt houses” on Fifth Avenue was supposed, when the houses were completed four years ago, to touch the high-water mark of luxury in the domestic architecture of New York. So, indeed, it did. Nothing more lavishly expensive has been built since. Unfortunately, the most luxurious of the Vanderbilt houses—the brown-stone mansions built for Mr. W. H. Vanderbilt—were not the most commendable, nor commendable at all, from a strictly architectural point of view. 25

Vanderbilt’s home was used as a foil for two more “recent examples in house building,”

Louis Comfort Tiffany’s mansion on the corner of Madison Avenue and Seventy-second

Street, constructed in 1882, and Marquand’s mansion, which was described as

“sumptuous,” “piquant and picturesque.”26 The author continued his praise for building’s edifice, noting: “The detail is everywhere expressive and full of spirit.”27 This enthusiastic assessment of Marquand’s home reveals that public taste had evolved to appreciate the new eclectic style Hunt brought back from Paris, preferring it to austere, old-fashioned brownstone structures, regardless of the grand scale. The favorable comparison to Vanderbilt demonstrates the role Marquand’s home had in situating him on par with second-generation millionaires such as Vanderbilt.

construction and design. The building was originally planned to be faced in marble rather than brownstone, but Vanderbilt changed the plans in order to speed construction. According to the New York Times, April 16, 1905, Vanderbilt and his wife occupied the residence on 51st street, and the northern residence was split between his daughters Mrs. W. D. Slone and Mrs. Elliott F. Shepard.

25 “New York Houses,” Harper’s Weekly 30 no. 1535 (May 22, 1886), 331.

26 Ibid.

27 Ibid. 23

Henry G. Marquand’s Private Art Collection: Collecting through Interior Design

Marquand’s mansion was completed in 1884, but both he and Hunt worked to decorate the interior over the next few years.28 In addition to Hunt, Marquand had the assistance of a team of artists and designers to ensure that every inch of his home was decorated in an artistic fashion. An extensive list of direct contributors to the interior design of the mansion was listed in the catalogue accompanying the auction of the mansion:

Messrs. Manly N. Cutter, John La Farge, Francis Lathrop, Louis C. Tiffany, and Frederick [sic] Crowninshield; the French artists Luc-Olivier Merson and E. C. Oudinot, the Spaniard Benlliure, and perhaps others whose work has escaped notice. Charles Yandell, Johnson and Faulkner, Heinzelmann and Jackson have contributed leatherwork, textiles and iron and bronze work; but this description does not claim to be exhaustive.29

The list included most of the designers whose work was intrinsic to the structure of the house, but it was by no means exhaustive and many more contributed to movable elements of decoration. Professional designers, artists, and agents purchased or created new objects to adorn the house throughout the 1880s. The challenges facing this group included making and purchasing decorative elements to fit particular cultural themes governing certain rooms like the classical Greek, Moorish, Japanese, and English

Renaissance rooms. It is remarkable that Marquand did not employ one firm to oversee the decoration of the mansion, such as the popular Herter Brothers firm as the collector

William H. Vanderbilt had. Instead, Marquand took on the role of coordinating this complex project himself.30

28 Kisluk-Grosheide, 152.

29 The Marquand Residence, 5.

30 Kisluk-Grosheide, 176. 24

At the time Marquand began designing his home, William H. Vanderbilt’s mansion was not only recognized as the pinnacle of lavish architecture, but it was also noted as a model of fashionable interior decoration.31 For the adornment of the rooms,

Vanderbilt had spared no expense. In the end he spent the enormous sum of about eight hundred thousand dollars on the interior decoration of the house, which was contracted out wholesale to Herter Brothers.32 While the method of decoration, through a firm rather than individuals, differentiated Vanderbilt’s and Marquand’s construction projects, many features of the interior design were similar. Like Marquand, Vanderbilt’s interior included an assortment of custom-made furniture, wallpaper, stained glass, decorative art objects—originals and reproductions—and paintings arranged according to the latest precepts of interior design. Also similar to Marquand’s mansion, Vanderbilt’s featured rooms designed according to cultural themes—Moorish and Japanese, for example (fig.

16).

The decoration of Marquand’s and Vanderbilt’s homes was a reflection of the latest fashion for interior design recently imported into the United States from England.

In the October, 1882 issue of Harper’s Monthly, M. E. W. Sherwood wrote about the increasing popularity of interior design in the United States: ‘There are, perhaps, no two words more frequently on the lips of the present generation than these two: ‘Internal

31 Henry J. Duffy, “New York City Collections 1865-1895,” (PhD diss., Rutgers State University of New Jersey, 2001), 10.

32 Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen, “Patronage and the Artistic Interior,” in Herter Brothers: Furniture and Interiors for a Gilded Age, eds. Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen and Katherine S. Howe, (New York: Harry N. Abrams in association with the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, 1994), 82. Craven, 97 notes that the Vanderbilt’s retained veto power over Herter’s selections and that many art objects were collected by the couple themselves and had personal meaning. Nevertheless, Herter had significant creative control over the arrangement of objects. 25

Decoration.’”33 Spurred by popular British writings like Sir Charles Locke Eastlake’s

Hints on Household Taste in Furniture, Upholstery and Other Details (1868), re- published in Boston in 1872, furnishings were beginning to rise to the status of the established fine arts in terms of their aesthetic value.34 Such treatises on interior decoration emerged out of the mid-century Aesthetic movement in England, which celebrated decorative craftsmanship and embraced influences from what were considered exotic cultures, such as Japanese, Chinese, and Islamic. Following this interest in the aesthetic value of decorative arts, many successful artists boasted proficiency in painting and decorative arts like furniture-making and stained-glass window fabrication. An international assortment of artists whom Marquand knew socially and from whom he commissioned work, including Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Samuel Coleman, John La

Farge, Frederic Crowninshield, Louis Comfort Tiffany, Luc Olivier-Merson, and George

Boughton, were not only painters but also designed furnishings. Marquand drew on all of them to contribute to the decoration of his mansion.

The influential American critic and writer on interior design, Clarence Cook, mentioned Alma-Tadema by name in his 1878 The House Beautiful: Essays on Beds and

Tables, Stools and Candlesticks. Cook challenged interior designers to utilize fabrics of modern and daring colors for cushion-covers: “We have serges nowadays, in colors whose delightfulness we all recognize in the pictures that Alma Tadema and Morris, and

Burne-Jones and Rossetti paint.”35 Cook thus acknowledged the influence of

33 M. E. W. Sherwood Harper’s Monthly (October 1882) quoted in Lewis, McQuillin, and Turner, 18.

34 Frelinghuysen, 78.

35 Clarence Cook, The House Beautiful: Essays on Beds and Tables, Stools and Candlesticks (New York: Scribner, Armstrong and Company, 1878), 61. 26 contemporaneous painting on the textile industry, drawing attention to the rich color palette employed by the Pre-Raphaelites in particular. He simultaneously encouraged interior decorators to look upon upholstery with the same eye to aesthetics as they applied to the fine arts. Marquand seems to have taken Cook’s advice to the letter, as Alma-

Tadema himself selected the upholstery for the furniture he designed for Marquand’s drawing room.

The works of art and furnishings that Alma-Tadema created for Marquand’s

Greek style drawing room epitomized the influence of the values of the Aesthetic

Movement and the growing popularity of interior design (figs. 7, 8, and 9).36 The first such work was A Reading from Homer, a naturalistic, if staged and idealized, depiction of the title scene set in classical antiquity and rendered in luminous aqua, flesh-tones, and marble grey-whites. The subject and style are typical of the artist (fig. 17).37 Marquand commissioned the painting through the London-based art dealer Charles Deschamps in

1882. Marquand had advanced a significant sum for the work and upon hearing that

Alma-Tadema was ill, he wrote a concerned letter to Deschamps, indicating, “if he should never be able to finish my picture, it would be bad.” To protect his investment he suggested: “How would it be for me to insure his life for a year. Our Life Co has an agency in London Mr. S G Goodrich 81 Cheapside. Are things of this sort ever done

36 Kisluk-Grosheide, 152. The same author correctly points out the drawing room is the best documented room in the house and focuses much of her analysis on available correspondence. I repeat many of her examples, but I attempt to highlight different sources in my analysis. Charles Deschamps to Henry Marquand [March] 2, 1882, box 1, folder 5, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art. The drawing room came to be known as the “music room” when it achieved notoriety for grand piano Alma-Tadema designed for the room.

37 Now in The Philadelphia Museum of Art (acc. E1924-4-1). The January 24, 1903 New York Times reported a “spirited contest” for the painting, which concluded in the successful bid of $30,300 by Knoedler & Co; the highest price paid of all the paintings in the collection. 27 when partial payments are made[?]”38 While the scheme may have miserly and unfeeling overtones, it is clear from this exchange that Marquand was anxious over the commission, showing that he valued the work of living artists to a great extent.

Ultimately Alma-Tadema recovered and, after learning the identity of his patron, periodically updated Marquand with detailed descriptions of his progress on the painting over the ensuing years.39 Affirming his pride in the painting, Alma-Tadema, who had been named a Royal Academician in 1879, selected it to represent his work at the Royal

Academy in London, where it was shown in the spring exhibition of 1885. Immediately following the exhibition, A Reading from Homer was sent to Marquand in New York in

May that year.

Marquand subsequently employed Alma-Tadema to design Greek-style furnishings for the drawing room, demonstrating an expansion of their relationship and confirmation of Marquand’s faith in the artist’s ability to execute the work to his liking

(fig. 18). In many ways the commission of the custom-designed furnishings—two pairs of settees, a pair of armchairs, four side chairs, two tabourets, a pair of tables, a music cabinet, a pair of corner display cabinets, and a grand piano—was a more complex undertaking than the painting commission, since the specifications were more exacting.

In color, materials, design, and theme the objects had to harmonize with the overall appearance of the room and the dimensions and shape of the furniture had to conform

38 Marquand to Charles Deschamps May 12, 1882, box 1, folder 5, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. Marquand was director of the Equitable Life Assurance Society until his death.

39 Correspondence about the progress of the painting can be found in Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 3, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library and is selectively quoted in Kisluk-Grosheide. 28 physically to the architectural space.40 The project demanded of Alma-Tadema not only an artistic contribution, but also required him to arrange for the fabrication of these items.

Adding to the challenge to no small degree was the location of Alma-Tadema’s studio in

London, with an ocean between him and the room he was to furnish. Alma-Tadema wrote to Marquand about another room Marquand’s mansion in August of 1887, well after the installation of his creations in the drawing room: “I never received the photo of your dining room as promised but I daresay it will arrive in due time and will be most welcome here as a means of realizing in our minds eye the interior of a house where we are regarded as friends. I really long to find an opportunity of passing the threshold of it and revel in all its beauties.”41 This passage reveals that Alma-Tadema had at his disposal only his imagination and Marquand’s descriptions to guide his work. Even after two years had elapsed he had not seen in person the finished product of so large an undertaking.

In 1885, before shipment to the United States, the completed furniture was exhibited in the showroom of Johnstone, Norman and Company, the London firm selected by Alma-Tadema to execute his designs. Melody Barnett Deusner has pointed out that the exhibition of the furniture at the manufacturing company bolstered the firm’s reputation and, along with the exhibition of A Reading from Homer at the Royal

Academy, helped to establish Marquand’s reputation in England as a serious patron of the arts.42 The furniture probably reached the United States around the same time as A

40 Kisluk-Grosheide, 157-158.

41 Allan Marquand Papers, Lawrence Alma-Tadema to Henry Marquand, August 8, 1887, box 48, folder 16, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library

42 Melody Barnett Deusner, “’In Seen and Unseen Places’: The Henry G. Marquand House and Collections in England and America,” Art History 34, no. 4 (September 2011): 760. 29

Reading from Homer.43 The painting was hung amid the classically-styled furnishings, where it helped to communicate the theme and mood of the room.

Alma-Tadema did not, however, have full control over the interior decoration of the drawing room. The artist George H. Boughton, one of Marquand’s most trusted agents and his advisor in Europe, was always on the lookout for objects that might appeal to the collector.44 The two were frequent correspondents and Boughton completed several painting commissions for Marquand, including Marvell’s Last Visit to Milton for

Marquand’s library.45 Boughton was, therefore, well acquainted with Marquand’s plans for the mansion. In August of 1885, while Alma-Tadema’s works were bound for New

York, Boughton was keeping an eye out for decorative objects and sculpture to add to the drawing room even as he was working on the Milton commission. A letter to Marquand dated August 22, 1885 is worth quoting in full as it conveys the typical diligence

Boughton applied to selecting items for the patron—even those he knew would not be centerpieces of the room, but only decorative accents. The letter also suggests that

Marquand himself guided Boughton in his meticulous hunt for the appropriate objects for his home:

It is sometime since I gave you any note of myself so I think on this quiet occasion (the first I have had for some months,) I will try to make amends for my silence. I did not in any way forget you or your interests in the meanwhile, let me assure you, I tried to carry out your various instructions and wishes to the best of my ability all the time I was saying nothing. I went to the sale of the

43 A thorough description of Tadema’s work for Marquand is in Kisluk-Grosheide.

44 The origin of the friendship between these two men is not known, but given their closeness it is conceivable that Marquand was the anonymous “millionaire friend” who helped fund Boughton’s trip to Europe in 1860 mentioned in A. L. Baldry, George H. Boughton (Royal Academician) His Life and Work. (London: Virtue & co, 1904), 5.

45 His labor on this painting in particular are chronicled in the surviving correspondence in the Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. Other paintings by Boughton owned by Marquand were Black-eyed Susan, The Cronies, A Golden Afternoon, Luccombe Chine, Isle of Wight. 30

Wedgewood articles for you, but there was absolutely nothing that you would have cared for to occupy the place you designed for it. The larger pieces were urns of a debased period and a funereal shape, and lugubrious color. The only good things were the tiny cameos and medallions, and the medium sized plaques and with it all, they went for most absurdly large prices. They were bought more for their rarity their uniquesity [sic] in fact than for any art or decorative quality. I had an idea that I could do better by prowling around odd bric-a-brac shops and waiting my chance. I almost had a good chance the other day in London. I found an antique marble, (Greek - ) a woman's head - merely - but it was too much injured to be of any joy to you, so I did not invest. I hope to turn up some such thing, or an old bronze, that would go better in your Greek room than any Wedgewood. Failing this you will find that the modern reproductions of the old bronzes from the Naples museum (Gonpils have them) would be best you can have. Or you can get an original bronze or marble by some clever young sculptor - there are such - you would do well. I have been on the look out for those who work in the true classic spirit, only those do you want. In the meantime I only bought one of Alfred Parsons drawings - a great beauty -and of interest, the "Charlecote" one - for £30. (I think it was). The best of the others were all sold when I had your order to "go in." So I await a chance for you again - with the balance. The Milton picture is well advanced, I did a lot to it before leaving town. The rest I will do on my return and I will be all the better with a fresh eye. Those who see it like it better than the first one. I am off for Scotland in a few days. You may drop me a line if you wish to c/o Fairfax Rhodes, Esq., Eskadale House, Beauty, Invernesshire. Kind regards, Yours faithfully, G.H. Boughton46

Boughton tapped all available resources to assist in outfitting Marquand’s mansion. His letter provides insight into Boughton’s extensive hunt for suitable objects at sales and shops, and his search for possible artists to make appropriate commissions. Throughout extant correspondence, Boughton addressed Marquand not merely as the holder of the purse strings, but as someone knowledgeable of the art market and the art objects themselves.47 Boughton’s selectivity was a reflection of Marquand’s fastidiousness as a collector. No object, no matter how minor, was admitted into Marquand’s home without his approval. Also notable in this letter in particular is that it was generally agreed upon

46 George Boughton to Marquand, August 22, 1885, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

47 Boughton correspondence, box 1, folders 1-3, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 31 that modern reproductions in the spirit of antiquities were perfectly acceptable substitutes for and, in some cases, preferable to poorly preserved originals.

Marquand made another modern commission in the Classical style—painted ceiling panels for the Greek drawing room created by Frederick Leighton (Fig. 19). The commission was arranged through Alma-Tadema, although he himself retained no creative control of the project. He recommended Leighton, who was then the president of the Royal Academy in London and, like Alma-Tadema, reputed for his classicizing paintings.48 Leighton seems to have conceived of the composition—depictions of Greek muses set on the gold ground—but Marquand provided input and feedback. Leighton responded to a letter from his patron, “I agree with you fully about the desirability of a very rich effect of color and decorative aspect in every respect . . . but I gather from what you say that you have found a different idea [illegible] how that effect should be attained.”49 Presumably approving of the subject matter of the paintings, Marquand asserted himself as an interior decorator, advising on color and style. While the two were not entirely in accordance as to the method of execution, they seem to have been in agreement that the panels should be “emphatically not pictures but decorations.”50

Marquand paid the tidy sum of two thousand pounds for the panels, a price that could have gotten him a painting on canvas, more typical of the work of the renowned artist.

For the purpose of furnishing Marquand’s mansion, however, decorative effect superseded all other considerations.

48 Kisluk-Grosheide, 160-162.

49 Frederic Leighton to Marquand, May 23 [1886?], box 1, folder 10, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

50 Leighton to Marquand, May 17 [1886?], box 1, folder 10, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 32

In addition to paintings and furnishings commissioned for the room, Marquand also adorned the walls with paintings by the English artists Thomas Gainsborough and

John Crome, and the French painter, Constant Troyon (a landscape by one of these artists is visible in a photograph of the room, fig. 9).51 Although there is no exact record of which paintings these were, it can be assumed from the auction records that they were all landscapes or genre scenes set in landscapes, typical of the Romantic and Barbizon schools in England and France, respectively. 52 These paintings were certainly not in accord with the classical theme of the room. They were among Marquand’s most prized paintings, however, and he would have wanted them placed in a room in which visitors were received and entertained in order to show them off. Hanging the paintings against patterned wallpaper, as these painting were installed, was in perfect accordance with

Clarence Cook’s recommendations. As Alice Cooney Frelinghuysen notes, “in the 1870s and 1880s, patterning on virtually every surface seemed to be a requisite.” 53 Thus installed, these paintings would have been noted by a contemporary audience as tasteful additions to the décor.

The auction of the Henry G. Marquand Collection in 1903 revealed to the public for the first time the enormous number and diversity of objects that Marquand amassed to decorate his Madison Avenue mansion. The sale commenced on Friday evening, January

23, 1903 before an audience so numerous and enthusiastic that people were turned away

51 Kisluk-Grosheide, 162.

52 The Gainsborough painting was probably Shepherd Boys (the only Gainsborough in Marquand’s Collection by the time of his death). The Crome painting could have been Landscape with Cottage, Old Mill on the Yare, or The Porlington Oak and the Troyon; Landscape and Cattle or A Fisher Boy.

53 Frelinghuysen, 91 and Clarence Cook, "What Shall We Do with Our Walls?" (New York: Warren, Fuller & Co, 1881). 33 at the door.54 The entire auction, spanning eight days, comprised the complete contents of

Marquand’s Madison Avenue mansion, save family portraits and silverware. Paintings and watercolors were brought to the block on the first day at Mendelssohn Hall; and the remainder of the auction continued at the American Art Galleries of the American Art

Association. The week that followed saw one or more sale every day except Sunday.

Saturday’s, Monday’s and Tuesday’s sales were devoted to Marquand’s extensive collection of Chinese and Japanese pottery, bronzes, lacquers, tea jars and bowls.

Wednesday comprised two sales; the first contained cabinet objects, Japanese netsukes,

European ceramics, antique silver, and the second, mezzotints and etchings. Thursday also had two sales: A mix of antique Greek, Roman, Persian, Spanish, Venetian, French and other glass; a mosaic glass panel designed by the American artist John La Farge; antique Greek ceramics; terracotta statuettes and other antiquities; and antique Persian,

Damascus and Rhodian wares went on the block during the day. The evening sale on

Thursday, along with one on Friday, was devoted to Marquand’s library of valuable rare books and illustrated catalogues on the fine arts. The sale ended on Saturday with auction of Marquand’s antique oriental rugs; Gobelin, Flemish, Renaissance, and Portuguese tapestries; antique embroideries and textiles; the famous piano custom-designed for

Marquand’s drawing room by Alma-Tadema; antique and modern furniture, draperies and miscellany.55 The New York Sun, New York Times and New York Tribune, all covered the sale. The Sun meticulously recorded the prices paid and the buyer of each lot.

54 New York Sun, January 24, 1903.

55 Illustrated catalogue of the Art and Literary Property Collected by the Late Henry G. Marquand (American Art Association: 1903). 34

A year earlier Thomas Kirby, auctioneer and one of the founders of the American

Art Association, had recognized the value and potential market appeal of Marquand’s private collection and he aggressively pursued the opportunity to preside over the sale.

On March 20, 1902, only weeks following Marquand’s death, Kirby wrote to Harold

Godwin, Marquand’s son-in-law and one of the executors of his estate, encouraging him to dispose of the collection through public auction rather than a private sale. If the family was seriously considering selling part or the entirety of the collection privately at the time is not known. Kirby may simply have taken the opportunity to insert himself into the proceedings, addressing the notion of the private sale only as foil for arguing to the executors the sure-fire potential for the intact Marquand Collection to set an even better price at auction. Kirby assured Godwin, “there is no doubt in my mind that a large sum total could be obtained at a public sale under our management than could be otherwise.”56

His pitch was effective and Kirby diligently proceeded to make arrangements for the sale, a project that occupied a full year of his time. Kirby took similar steps to prepare and present the Marquand Collection to the public as he had at the beginning of his career when he orchestrated the landmark sale of the George Seney Collection in 1885, an auction made successful by its unprecedented meticulous presentation.57 To advertise the

Marquand sale, Kirby contracted appraisers and experts in the many fields of art

56 Thomas Kirby to Harold Godwin, March 20, 1902, box 1, folder 20, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

57 Duffy, 105.

35 represented by the collection to prepare a richly illustrated limited edition de luxe catalogue.58

Kirby’s foresight and efforts paid off. The 2,154 lots sold for the impressive sum of over seven hundred thousand dollars.59 The auction was a success. Marquand’s collection, on view to the public in its entirety for the first time at the American Art

Galleries during the weeks preceding the sale, was lauded for its high quality. At the conclusion of the sale, the New York Times declared: “Henry G. Marquand, in the history of the world of art collections, will not be put down as one of the enthusiasts of large means who devoted themselves recklessly to gathering the treasures of the centuries. The verdict of the bidders . . . is that he knew what he was buying when he bought.”60 The

Times’ assessment of Marquand’s knowledge of the art market and his eye for quality were corroborated by T. Humphry Ward, a close family friend who had been intimately involved with the assembly of the collection. Upon hearing about the success of the auction, he wrote to Marquand’s son Allan remarking, “naturally I was much interested in the sale of your fathers [sic] affects, and though only to think of the dispersal of all those things he cared for, glad that the sale was a success. It vindicated his taste and courage.”61 Ward, living in England with access to the caliber of art object that interested

Marquand, had been an active agent for some of the collector’s most valuable painting

58 Announcement brochure for the sale and its accompanying catalogue from 1903 scrapbook concerning the sale of the art collection of Henry G. Marquand note that the de luxe catalogue was limited to 250 copies.

59 London Times, February 16, 1903.

60 New York Times, January 31, 1903.

61 T. Humphry Ward to Allan Marquand, March 3, 1903, box 1, folder 20, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 36 acquisitions, many of which were destined for the Metropolitan.62 Ward’s praise of

Marquand included acknowledgement that Marquand demonstrated independence in his selection of art objects, despite his use of agents to facilitate purchases. Marquand carefully evaluated his acquisitions and was the last word on the negotiation of prices and the expenditure of his funds.63 Rather than blindly trust the judgment of his advisors in

Europe, Marquand made a study of the art he purchased, as the many volumes on the decorative arts and paintings in his library attest.64 The popularity of the sale was a testament to Marquand’s connoisseurship.

More critical in his assessment of the auction was the Paris-based art dealer

Jacques Seligmann, who summed up the proceedings to a reporter: “We are not accustomed to such prices as a rule abroad. Of course there were many inferior pictures at tonight’s sale which brought too much, and some good canvases which should have sold for more—but,” he admitted, “this would happen anywhere, and I see that art taste and knowledge is rapidly growing in America.”65 Seligmann’s pedantic tone was a reflection

62 Ward correspondence from box 1, folders 14-16, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives and Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 16, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library shows that Ward worked in association with Charles Robinson and George Boughton and dealers Thomas Agnew and Martin Colnaghi to secure paintings for Marquand by (some of the following attributions may have changed) Frans Hals, Giovanni Battista Moroni (Probably 91.26.2, attribution changed to Italian (Lombard) Painter, about 1540), Thomas Gainsborough, Velazquez, Albert Cuyp (probably 91.26.8, attribution changed to Jacob van Strij), Leonardo da Vinci (91.26.5, attribution changed to Attributed to Giovanni Ambrogio de Predis).

63 Correspondence in Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives and Allan Marquand Papers, Subseries 8B: Henry G. Marquand, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library reveals that Marquand sometimes advanced modest sums of money to his most trusted agents for purchasing objects without advanced approval as the market sometimes requires quick action. In these cases, the agents were well aware of Marquand’s taste, standards, and the particular types of art objects he was most interested in at the time.

64 Illustrated catalogue of the Art and Literary Property Collected by the Late Henry G. Marquand.

65 Unidentified newspaper clipping [January, 1903], box 48, folder 25, Allan Marquand Papers, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. 37 of the editorial coverage that the sale received abroad. A London Times correspondent criticized the lack of judgment exhibited by American “millionaire” buyers, and chided the United States press for claiming that the sale proved the position of New York City as a world-class art center.66 Seligmann’s presence at the auction itself, however, attests to more than the quality of Marquand’s collection. By the 1900s sales in New York could compete with those of Europe as viable sources of artwork for the most discerning of collectors, like those on Seligmann’s roster of clients. The fact that he bid for—and purchased—works at the Marquand sale that he may have considered overpriced, even if directed to do so by a client, shows some measure of acceptance that New York was beginning to influence the art market. In fact, Seligmann was not the only dealer to attend the auction. Samuel Putnam Avery, Paul Durand-Ruel, and Dikran Kelekian, among others, were also active bidders with an international clientele.67 A reporter for the New

York Tribune predicted, “some of the most prized specimens of the old masters, of priceless china and rare tapestries will be taken back to Europe, whence they came, if certain determined bidders have their way.”68 In the end, however, American bidders won out at the Marquand auction. A correspondent for the London Times reported at the conclusion of the sale: “It is understood that all the most important objects in the collection will remain in [the United States].”69 The international rivalry over the works in Marquand’s collection demonstrates that the art objects he selected for his home sustained their value for the next generation of buyers.

66 London Times, February 2, 1903.

67 New York Sun, January 24, 1903. Samuel Putnam Avery had enormous influence over the renowned art collector William H. Vanderbilt.

68 New York Tribune, January 11, 1903.

69 London Times, February 2, 2003. 38

Henry G. Marquand’s Painting Collection: Patronage and Privacy

The prominent place that Marquand’s paintings held in the auction of his collection demonstrates that paintings were privileged among the fine and decorative arts during the Gilded Age, despite the influence of the Aesthetic movement.70 Marquand’s paintings were some of the most laboriously produced commissions and among the most expensive items in his collection. As a result, Marquand applied more thought and consideration to the selection of paintings than other decorative art objects, furniture, or textiles.71 Examining Marquand’s collection of paintings in isolation, therefore, has the potential to reveal important characteristics about his motivations as a collector. A close look at the features of his painting collection reveals that he deviated from prevailing mid-century taste by collecting, commissioning, and retaining a significant number of

American and British paintings.

In their introduction to The Opulent Interiors of the Gilded Age, Arnold Lewis.

Steven McQuillin, and James Turner have pointed out that prior to 1883 collectors in the

United States tended to purchase conservative French artists of the last half of the nineteenth century or Spanish, German, Hungarian, and Italian artists with similar work.72 Andrew Carnegie declared, in his 1886 book Triumphant Democracy, or, Fifty

Years’ March of the Republic, “the United States now possesses more and finer examples of the modern French and German schools of painting than are to be found in Europe.

70 The price paid for A Reading from Homer at the Marquand sale received more prominent press coverage than the highest price paid overall which was for a Persian rug, which went for $38,000.

71 This point is borne out in the correspondence, which chronicles paintings purchases in the most detail.

72 Lewis, McQuillin, and Turner, 24. 39

The modern Spanish and Italian schools are also well represented.”73 William H.

Vanderbilt’s collection of paintings, which included works by artists such as Millet, Diaz,

Meissonier, Gerome, Fromentin, Fortuny, Couture, Villegas, Knaus, Corot, Jules Dupre,

De Neuville, Detaille, Rousseau, and Madrazo, reflected this trend.74 In contrast,

Marquand’s collection of paintings contained a higher concentration of English and

American painting.

Carnegie noted that the English school was not very well represented in the private collections in the United States for reasons of taste: “American taste gravitating rather to the realism of the French than to the romantic idealism of the British school.”75

The uncharacteristic prevalence of paintings by British artists of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Marquand’s collection may have been a reflection of Marquand’s particular taste. But certainly Marquand’s reliance on George Boughton as a buying agent would have influenced his choices. While Boughton emphatically characterized himself as an American artist living in England rather than a British artist, his connection to

British artists and the art market in London made English paintings more readily available to Marquand.76

73 Andrew Carnegie, Triumphant Democracy, or, Fifty Years’ March of the Republic (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons: 1886), 326.

74 Craven, 104-105 notes that Vanderbilt considered constructing a public museum with a $5 million endowment across the street from his mansion, presumably, with his collection of paintings serving as its nucleus. His plans were thwarted as the land was unavailable. Ultimately he left $100,000 to the Metropolitan Museum of art, but left his house and collection to his youngest son, George, who placed the paintings on extended loan to the Metropolitan Museum of Art 1902. The collection was withdrawn in 1920 and sold at auction.

75 Carnegie, 326.

76 George Boughton to Marquand, January 23 1893, box 1, folder 3, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives in reference to organizing for the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, refers to himself as the “doyen of the Exiles” (American in England) and indicates that his nationality has been a “vexed question.” 40

The representation of so many American artists, artists working in the United

States, or American expatriate artists, in his personal collection—including Boughton,

Edwin Austin Abbey, Carroll J. Beckwith, Eugene Benson, Edwin Howland Blashfield,

Karl Bodmer, Thomas Cole, Frederick Stuart Church, Charles Coleman, Kenyon Cox,

Eastman Johnson, John Frederick Kensett, Amanda Brewster Sewell, Frank D. Millet— demonstrated Marquand’s commitment to the development of art in the United States and track his evolution in taste in step with fashion: from Hudson River School landscapes and antebellum period paintings to postwar taste for Barbizon and American Renaissance school paintings. In this endeavor, Marquand was allied with the collector John Taylor

Johnston. Johnston’s collection contained such a large number of American paintings— comprising over one-third of his collection—that American artists were listed separately from “Foreign Artists” in the catalog for the 1876 auction of his collection.77 Johnston was the first president of the Metropolitan, and he and Marquand shared similar ideals about the museum’s role in providing great examples of works of art from the world over to inspire a new generation of artists in the United States. But their commitment to

American artists extended beyond their work for the Metropolitan, and, indeed, began before the museum was formed.78

E. A. Alexander, in his profile on Marquand for Harper’s New Monthly

Magazine, recounted what may be the origin of Marquand’s collection of American

77 According to Frederick Baekeland, “Collectors of American Painting, 1813 to 1913,” American Art Review 3, no. 6 (November-December 1976): 122, 33.6 percent of his collection of 286 paintings in 1876 were by American artists. Johnston Collection auction catalogue, 1876, box 11, folder 25, John Taylor Johnston Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

78 Unfortunately, little is known about Marquand’s collection or collecting habits prior to the construction of his Madison Avenue Mansion. Presumably, Marquand and his family had a residence in Manhattan prior to the construction of the Madison Avenue home, as his business interests—among them The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Equitable Life Assurance Co., and St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern Railway Company—were all headquartered in New York City, but the location is unknown. 41 paintings. He described, but did not state explicitly, Marquand’s membership in what was probably the American Art Union, an organization formed in 1844 to promote the work of American artists.79 Membership in the Art Union required a subscription fee of five dollars, which went toward administrative expenses and funded the production of an engraving from an American painting which was distributed to each member. The Art

Union also maintained a gallery for the display of American art and published a monthly bulletin. In addition to these activities, the Art Union conducted annual lotteries to distribute the works displayed in the gallery. Alexander noted that Marquand was encouraged to attend these events since he was known among his peers as a supporter of living artists, even though he was not a wealthy man at the time. The method of distribution by lottery was extremely effective in promulgating the work of American artists, but was found to be an illegal for of gambling and the Art Union was disbanded in

1853.80

Marquand and Johnston did not simply buy the works of living artists as a show of support, but they maintained social and professional relationships with artists as well.

Traveling in Europe in 1843 as a young man in his mid-twenties, Marquand befriended artists and became accustomed to the practice of visiting artists’ studios.81 The opportunity to continue this activity in the United States did not present itself until the late 1850s when Johnston and his brother commissioned Richard Morris Hunt to construct a building of artist studios at 51 West Tenth Street, the first such building in the

79 E. A. Alexander, “Mr. Henry G. Marquand,” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 94 no. 562 (March 1897): 565-566. Marquand is listed as member of the Art Union in American Art Union, Transactions of the American Art Union for the Year 1847, (New York: G. F. Nesbitt, 1848), 99.

80 Winifred E. Howe and Henry Watson Kent, A History of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, With a Chapter on the Early Institutions of Art in New York, (New York: Gilliss Press, 1913), 57-62.

81 Alexander, 563. 42

United States (fig. 20).82 The Studio Building, as it was known, provided artists with space to work, live, and display their art to potential buyers.83 As Neil Harris described:

“Its three story, red brick façade disguised an artistic Valhalla. A large exhibition room dominated the ground floor, surrounded by studios, many with attached bedrooms.

Several dozen other studios took up the floors above, containing some of America’s most famous artists.”84 Tenants included established artists, many of whom had representation in Marquand’s private collection, such as John Ferguson Weir, Emanuel Leutze, John La

Farge, Frederic Church, John F. Kensett, Albert Bierstadt, Eastman Johnson, Winslow

Homer, and William Merit Chase. Hunt himself ran an architecture school out of the building (fig. 21).85 Linda Skalet described the social scene that coalesced at the Studio

Building, “it was the scene of glittering receptions where artists mingled with the ‘best’ society. In fact, it was considered a privilege to attend artists’ evenings, and invitations were much sought after.”86 The Studio Building provided a venue for artists to stage their works and make sales. Simultaneously, it helped to raise the status of professional artists in New York.

A small, undated, visitor’s book in the John T. Johnston Collection probably from a similar artist reception held annually by Johnston between 1870 and 1875, is an important record of the social standing of artists and the strong connections among

82 Neil Harris, The Artist in American Society: The Formative Years, 1790-1860 (New York: George Braziller, 1966), 268. Heckscher, “Hunt and the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” 174 cites 1858 as the year the Studio Building opened, Linda Henefield Skalet, “The Market for American Painting in New York, 1870-1915” (PhD diss., Johns Hopkins University, 1980), 17 notes 1857 as the opening year.

83 Skalet, 16.

84 Harris, 268.

85 Ibid, 269, and Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 95-97.

86 Skalet, 17. 43 collectors, dealers, artists, critics, and the men who ran the Metropolitan. Marquand’s signature indicates that he was in attendance at the reception, as were other of the

Metropolitan’s trustees such as William Tilden Blodgett, William J. Hoppin, Marshall O.

Roberts, and John Quincy Adams Ward; the first architect of the Metropolitan, Calvert

Vaux; the artists (many of whom rented space in the Studio Building) Emmanuel Leutze,

Winslow Homer, Samuel Coleman, Eugene Benson, John Ferguson Weir, Elihu Vedder, and Eastman Johnson; the dealers Michael Knoedler, Samuel Putnam Avery; and the critic Henry T. Tuckerman, to name a few.87 Both Marquand and Johnston owned paintings by the artists in attendance, and Marquand likely attended such events with regularity.

Wayne Craven has noted that collecting American painting during the middle of the nineteenth century was not uncommon. Many collectors, however, later purged their collections of American works in the decades following the 1860s, in favor of more fashionable French and German salon pictures that were becoming available to buyers in the United States.88 Indeed, Vanderbilt’s painting collection originated with American paintings, but after the death of his father in 1877, which left him with a significantly increased fortune, he turned to collecting European painting.89 Johnston was forced to sell his collection in 1876 after his railroad went into receivership, so it cannot be determined if he would also have acted contrary to the fashion by retaining his American paintings. It is not known precisely when Marquand began collecting American paintings, but his

87 Note in front of the visitor’s book, box 10, folder 10, John Taylor Johnston Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives reads, “Undoubtedly signatures of guests at one of fathers Artists receptions, held annually at No. 8 Fifth Ave. from about 1870-1875. [signed] J. Herbert Johnston, 1915.”

88 Craven, 42.

89 Ibid., 102. 44 active support of American painters also waned in the 1870s as he become increasingly involved in the administration of the Metropolitan. The change in course of Marquand’s collecting away from American painting was undoubtedly a reflection of contemporary taste. The retention of these paintings in his collection throughout his lifetime, however, suggests that he continued to see value in the American works he owned for decades after they fell out of fashion.

The most notable contrast between the construction of Marquand’s home and the arrangement of his art collection and that of Johnston and Vanderbilt is that Marquand did not create a gallery space for his collection of paintings. Marquand’s colleague at the

Metropolitan, Johnston, had maintained a gallery for his painting collection on the second floor of the stable behind his house at 8 Fifth Avenue beginning in 1860 when his collection outgrew his home.90 Vanderbilt had planned painting galleries in the original design of his 640 Fifth Avenue mansion (figs. 22 and 23).91 Residential art galleries in

New York City can be traced as far back as 1831, when Luman Reed had a gallery constructed for his collection of European old master and contemporary American painting at 13 Greenwich Street. Other patrons of domestic galleries included Marshall O.

Roberts and Alexander Turney Stewart, who were trustees with Marquand at the

Metropolitan (fig. 24).92

Domestic galleries enabled private individuals to share their collections with the public, albeit on a limited basis, while restricting access to the rest of the home.

90 Bolin, 203.

91 Baker, “Richard Morris Hunt: An Introduction,” 7. Marquand’s mansion was already under construction by the time Vanderbilt’s galleries opened to guests in March of 1883.

92 Bolin, 202-204. Robert’s gallery was constructed in 1853-54 and a second gallery was added in 1874. Stewart’s gallery was constructed in 1864-69. 45

Commenting on Vanderbilt’s mansion in the introductory text to Mr. Vanderbilt's House and Collection, Earl Shinn notes, “the leave to make this unprecedented revelation [of his home] comes from a free-hearted open generosity that feels there is nothing to conceal and believes there is something to instruct.”93 Shinn commended Vanderbilt for allowing his house and its contents to be published, characterizing it as a charitable and public- spirited gesture. But costly, limited-edition publications such as Mr. Vanderbilt's House and Collection would have been out-of-reach for any class of citizen, with the exception of his wealthy peers. Thus the publication would have served to bolster Vanderbilt’s social reputation more than reach a public audience.

George Sheldon’s 1883 multi-volume tome Artistic Houses, featured both

Vanderbilt’s and Marquand’s mansions. Of Vanderbilt’s collection of paintings, Sheldon commented, “the influence of his brilliant array of pictures is an important element in cultivating the artistic taste of the metropolis.”94 Sheldon, however, misled readers as to the accessibility of the collection. In reality, only invited members of the “metropolis” who were a part of Vanderbilt’s extended social circle would have the benefit of direct contact with the works of art; on Thursdays from 11:00am to 4:00pm.95 A more open invitation, to three thousand of Vanderbilt’s business associates on December 20, 1883, proved too disorderly for Vanderbilt, and he limited access to his galleries as a result.96

Johnston’s gallery was likewise open weekly by invitation. The guest book for visitors to his art collection from 1865 to 1878 reveals that people traveled from all

93 Strahan [Shinn], introduction to Mr. Vanderbilt’s House and Collection.

94 George Sheldon, Artistic Houses vol. 1 (1883-1884; repr., New York: Benjamin Bloom, 1971), 119.

95 Ibid.

96 Lewis, McQuillin, and Turner, 23. 46 across New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Connecticut, Massachusetts, other states in the United Sates, and even internationally to see his collection. The number of guests, however, was limited to around twenty per day, few enough that the names recorded for the eleven years from 1865 through 1876 occupy little more than half the available pages of the register.97 Because Marquand’s mansion had no formal picture gallery like Vanderbilt’s and Johnston’s, the world outside his intimate social sphere had even more limited access to the collection of art within the walls of his home.

Melody Barnett Deusner has noted in her recent article about Marquand’s personal collection: “As the Marquand mansion featured no dedicated picture gallery or scheduled days for public visitations, its interiors remained generally inaccessible and invisible to the public.”98 Owing, in part, to the fact that Marquand’s home lacked a gallery space where his pictures could be seen by even a limited public, he included works of art from his collection in loan exhibitions at the Metropolitan’s new galleries beginning in the decade of the 1870s.99 Andrew Carnegie observed the ongoing trend in the late 1880s: “[Private collections] are often put on exhibition as loan collections, and exert a most beneficial influence in creating a taste for art.”100 In fact, one of the founding purposes of the Metropolitan was to provide a venue for loan exhibitions comprising

97 Visitor’s book, 1865-1878, box 10, folder 9, John Taylor Johnston Collection, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

98 Deusner, 765.

99 The museum was incorporated in 1870, but did not open its doors until February of 1872, initially in rented space at 681 Fifth Avenue, known as the Dodworth Building. The following year the museum moved to larger rented quarters in the former mansion of Mrs. Douglas Cruger at 128 West Fourteenth Street, before moving to its permanent home on Central Park in 1880.

100 Carnegie, 326. 47 great works from the many private collections in New York City.101 The works Marquand put on view in such loan exhibitions, however, represented only a very small proportion of his collection.102

The omission of a domestic gallery in Marquand’s home should not, however, be seen as an oversight or indicative of a lack of public spirit. Rather, it was a choice

Marquand deliberated over, evidenced by unexecuted plans for an addition of gallery drawn up by Richard Morris Hunt in 1887, years after the construction of the mansion was complete.103

Hunt was particularly well qualified to include a gallery in the original designs for

Marquand’s mansion. In Paris he had worked under Hector Lefuel on the new Louvre, with its modern public galleries, and domestic picture galleries were de rigeuer in

European mansions. Furthermore, Hunt had constructed galleries for other elites in the

United Stated, such as William P. Wright.104 Marquand considered adding a painting gallery to his home, however, only years after the mansion was constructed, in 1887. The timing of the proposed painting gallery coincided with intense period of acquisitiveness

101 C. C. Cole, the brother of Henry Cole, Superintendent of the South Kensington (now the Victoria and Albert) upon which the Metropolitan was modeled, emphasized the importance of loan collections for nacient Museums in his remarks at the November 23, 1969 meeting to discuss the formation of the Metropolitan. The Metropolitan was especially reliant on loans to fill the galleries during the first few decades of its existence when its permanent collection was sparse. It was at this meeting that Marquand was elected to serve on the Provisional Committee to establish a museum of art in New York.

102 For example the March, 1874 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of the Loan Exhibition of Paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1874), 8 lists Marquand’s loan of two painting: Florent Williams A Mother’s Prayer, and Pierre Edward Frere’s Interior with a Girl Reading. John Taylor Johnston, his personal painting gallery notwithstanding, also loaned works of art for display at the museum.

103 Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, 546. Unfortunately, the record is silent on the evaluation process surrounding the construction of a private gallery.

104 Carol Troyen, “Innocents Abroad: American Painters at the 1867 Exposition Universelle, Paris,” American Art Journal 16, no. 4 (Autumn, 1984): 20. Hunt constructed William P. Wright’s gallery as an addition to his Weehawken, New Jersey home in 1856 and went on to construct a gallery for Caroline Astor at 840 Fifth Avenue in 1891. See Bolin, 202-204. 48 for Marquand. He was in the process of securing several valuable old master paintings, including van Dyck’s 1634-1635 portrait of James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and

Lennox, from Lord Methuen’s collection in England. It is possible that Marquand envisioned creating a domestic gallery expressly for his collection of old masters. It is not certain why he decided against the plan, but it can be surmised that Marquand considered a domestic gallery to be inadequate for the public display of his old master painting collection. Marquand ultimately determined that these paintings should be on view to the public at the Metropolitan, and after placing them on loan there for a short time he gave them to the public institution outright in 1889, 1890 and 1891.105 Thus, the galleries of the museum served as Marquand’s public gallery space. The objects he gave to the museum were intended for public display, while those that remained in his home were solely for the enjoyment of his family and close friends. Marquand therefore chose a model that would more cleanly separate his private and public art collections and more effectively reach his intended audiences.

While Marquand supported living American artists by commissioning and buying paintings for his private collection, the only American paintings he gave to the museum were John Trumbull’s portrait of Alexander Hamilton, painted in 1804-1806 and two portraits by Trumbull’s student, Charles Elliott.106 He likely deemed these paintings suitable for display in the museum, especially the Trumbull portrait, due to their historical content.107 Instead of American paintings, Marquand presented to the museum

105 The Marquand Collection of paintings is discussed further in chapter two of this thesis.

106 Accession numbers of the Elliott portraits are not known, nor are the dates of their deaccession.

107 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 81.11. This was Marquand’s first gift of a painting to the Metropolitan. All except two that followed were European old masters or English school. 49 more valuable and difficult to acquire European old master paintings, examples of which were scarce in the United States at the time. Marquand’s patronage of living artists,

American and European, remained a private endeavor, contained within the realm of his home.108

Conclusion

Marquand’s assembly of his private collection was a reflection of complex social forces among the elite of New York City combined with his particular values and ideals with regard to living artists. Through the construction of his Madison Avenue mansion,

Marquand established himself an important patron of living artists. In amassing the collection that was auctioned at his death, Marquand followed trends but also exercised connoisseurship. As a result he formed a valuable and varied collection that an international pool of bidders clamored over at the auction in 1903. Through his patronage of living artists through commissions and outright purchases, Marquand revealed his commitment to advancing art and design in the United States.

His private collection was, however, was not intended for public enjoyment or edification. Once artworks were installed in Marquand’s mansion, they were rarely seen by anyone outside of his social circle. Marquand’s consideration of adding a picture gallery to his mansion in 1887 when he first began acquiring European old master paintings suggests that he viewed these objects differently than the artwork that decorated his mansion. As a trustee of the Metropolitan who was increasingly devoting his time and expertise to the management of the institution, Marquand was well informed as to

108 Marquand’s American paintings, along with other paintings in his private collection were included in the first day of the auction, January 23, 1903 at Mendelssohn Hall. 50 availability of artwork to the public. He knew that the public lacked access to quality old master paintings. There were few such works in private collections United States during the 1880s and fewer still in public galleries. He was thus aware that the public display of

European masterpieces would have significant cultural value and tremendous popular appeal. Likely determining a domestic picture gallery insufficiently accessible, Marquand chose to use the Metropolitan as his public gallery space. Lewis et al have observed that in the 1870s, private galleries competed with public institutions for primacy, but by the

1880s “collectors were increasingly inclined to think of their prized objects as instruments of public education.”109 Beginning in the 1880s, Marquand began purchasing and donating outright a variety of works of art for the Metropolitan’s permanent collection; paintings, decorative arts, and sculpture reproductions. By utilizing the museum’s gallery space in this way, he provided a more open arena for artwork to be viewed than could have occurred in his home. The objects he put on view in the galleries of the Metropolitan were intended to support living artists and artisans by presenting them with models of master craftsmanship and artistry designed to inspire and instruct.

109 Lewis, McQuillin, and Turner, 23. 51

CHAPTER TWO

ENCYLOPEDIC GIVING: HENRY G. MARQUAND’S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART

Henry G. Marquand’s gifts of fifty old master and English school paintings to The

Metropolitan Museum of Art from 1889 through 1891 have long taken center stage in discussions of his contributions to the museum. Scholarship on Marquand’s many other gifts of art objects and funds in support of programming is virtually nonexistent. This oversight had led to a mischaracterization of Marquand’s role as a benefactor. Through the examination of underused and newly available material in The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives, I will chronicle for the first time Marquand’s major gifts to the museum from 1879-1900, including donations of Native American and European ceramics, ancient Roman and Venetian glass, European metalwork, plaster casts of classical sculpture, old master and English school paintings, and Etruscan, Greek, and Roman

Bronzes, and of funds to support the art schools of the museum. I will begin with a brief overview of Marquand’s relationship to the Metropolitan as a trustee and its most influential early donor. In order to place his contributions in context, I will proceed roughly in chronological order from his first gift of artwork, which was made in 1879, through 1900. By doing so, I will put his gifts of old master paintings in their appropriate context among his other gifts, and a more complete characterization of his role as a donor will be revealed. I will demonstrate that during the years before the museum had any significant endowment fund for acquisitions, Marquand filled the role of both curator and financier, using his insider’s knowledge of the needs of the museum and the international

52 art market to make purchases that built a foundation for the museum’s encyclopedic collections and its consequent international reputation as a world-class art museum.

Henry G. Marquand, Museum Administrator and Donor: An Overview

Marquand was an influential and stabilizing figure in the administration of the

Metropolitan from the earliest days of its founding. Tapped for his ability as a successful business man and his reputation as a patron of the arts, he was named a member of the

Provisional Committee of fifty men assembled in 1869 to conceive of a guiding vision for what would become The Metropolitan Museum of Art.1 In 1871 he joined the museum’s

Board of Trustees, and was immediately appointed a position on its Executive

Committee, the administrative heart of the Board. Recognized for his sound business sense and his successful career in finance, Marquand was appointed treasurer in 1883 to manage the museum’s growing monetary assets. He participated in a wide range of museum activities through his membership to various committees, including the Supply,

Building, Painting and Sculpture, and Finance Committees. The museum had no paid staff until Luigi P. di Cesnola was elected director in 1878, and curatorial departments were not formed until 1886.2 The committees, therefore, had a tremendous influence in all aspects of managing the museum and its collection. When Marquand succeeded John

1 In December of 1869, Samuel Putnam Avery, secretary of the Provisional Committee, wrote to George Putnam, a founder of the Metropolitan, suggesting the names of men who he thought would be appropriate for the “general committee” He said of a group, including Marquand, “valuable hints which would facilitate your labors could be furnished by the following gentleman if they choose to do so and I suggest that you give them a chance.” Avery to Putnam, December. 1869, Museum Administration - Office of the Secretary Records – Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

2 Two curators appointed to curatorial departments during this year; William H. Goodyear (who had been an staff since 1882 as the only general curator) as the curator of paintings, and Isaac H. Hall as curator of sculpture. The curators were not classed as staff, but officers of the museum, under the director (to distinguish them with officers of the corporation, which included the positions of president, treasurer, secretary and librarian). 53

Taylor Johnston as the museum’s second president in 1889, he was thoroughly acquainted with all areas of the museum’s administration and collection development.

Johnston had named Marquand as a potential successor for the presidency as early as

1881, but Marquand did not assume the post until Johnston resigned due to ill health.3

Marquand served as president until his death in 1902, steadily guiding the young museum to solid ground alongside the outspoken director Cesnola. In all, Marquand worked over thirty years for the museum wholly without remuneration.4

Marquand was affiliated with the museum before the organization possessed gallery space or owned a single work of art. He witnessed the physical growth of the institution from its original temporary quarters in a modest row house at 681 Fifth

Avenue in December of 1871, to a larger rental on Fourteenth Street in May of 1872, to its permanent home on the eastern edge of Central Park, which opened to the public

March 30, 1880.5 Successive expansions to the north and south more than tripled the museum’s footprint by 1894. In 1902 an eastern addition designed by Richard Morris

Hunt extended and reoriented the entrance from the south to Fifth Avenue, transforming

3 Following up on a conversation the two had in person in a letter from Luigi Palma di Cesnola to John Taylor Johnston, November 5, 1881, Johnston, John Taylor - as President, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives, Cesnola recounts Johnston’s wish for Marquand to have the vice presidency in lieu of William Prime, as Marquand “would make a good president of the museum.” The proposed change never occurred, and when Marquand was elected president it was without first serving as vice president. Prime continued to serve as vice president through Johnston’s term and continued under Marquand. Johnston made an earlier attempt to resign, in 1887, but was persuaded to remain by petition of the trustees (Marquand included). See trustees to Johnston, January 3, 1887 Johnston, John Taylor - as President, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives, and Johnston to trustees, January 11, 1887, Johnston, John Taylor - as President, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives

4 Trustees, and other positions on the Board, which included the positions of treasurer and president were not paid.

5 A comprehensive architectural history of the Metropolitan was written by Morrison H. Heckscher, “The Metropolitan Museum of Art: An Architectural History,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin.53, no. 1 (summer, 1995): 1-80. 54 the look of the museum with its iconic Beaux-Arts façade and further expanding gallery space to 151,500 square feet.6

While the physical structure of the museum developed at a rapid pace, its permanent collection of art lagged. The foundation had been laid by the 1871 purchase of

174 mostly Dutch and Flemish paintings from Museum Trustee William Tilden Blodgett, who had acquired the paintings in Brussels and Paris in close consultation with Johnston.

A large collection of Cypriot antiquities assembled by Cesnola constituted an idiosyncratic strength of the museum’s early collection. And in 1887 a large group of

Modern paintings and drawings bequeathed by Catharine Lorillard Wolfe, a dedicated early member of the museum, added to the eclectic mix. Recognizing the need to build a strong and comprehensive permanent collection befitting the new, permanent gallery space, Marquand began donating works of art and funds to the museum in 1879. His copious and consistent giving earned Marquand recognition as the Metropolitan’s most influential donor of the 1880s and 1890s.

Marquand leveraged his insider’s knowledge of the museum to target his donations at the institution’s most pressing needs. By his death in 1902 he had given nearly 2,400 art objects and over one hundred thousand dollars in funds to support acquisitions and programming. The choices he made while purchasing works of art on behalf of the museum were not principally guided by fashion or taste, as was typical of his private collecting. Rather, the methodology Marquand employed was guided by the museum’s stated goals; the encyclopedic aspirations for its holdings as stated in its founding documents, which aimed to embrace, “not only collections of paintings and

6 A schematic poster depicting the relative floor space occupied by collections after major expansions to the Central Park building, undated, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives, indicates (in square feet) 36,500 in 1880, 104,500 in 1894, and 151,500 in 1902. 55 sculpture, but . . . also . . . drawings, engravings, medals, photographs, architectural models, historical portraits, and specimens illustrating the application of art to manufactures,”7 and its educational mission of, “encouraging and developing the study of the fine arts, and the application of arts to manufacture and practical life, of advancing the general knowledge of kindred subjects, and, to that end, of furnishing popular instruction.”8 The trustees wished to form a comprehensive collection of the fine and decorative arts to educate and inspire the public. With a significant outlay of expertise and money, Marquand assisted the museum in reaching that goal.

Therefore, Marquand must be seen as a different kind of collector when he bought for the museum than when he bought for himself, one guided by administrative concerns preeminently. This characterization does not, however, preclude the fact that he made personal choices. All of his experience in matters of art and business were brought to bear when he negotiated the market to make purchases. Marquand’s museum donations, therefore, were facilitated by his experience as a private collector and patron of the arts and an extension of his administrative work at the Metropolitan. Since his donations were absorbed into the museum so seamlessly, most of Marquand’s contributions have been overlooked. Many of the gifts escaped public recognition even contemporaneously. E. A.

Alexander noted in a 1897 feature article on Marquand in Harper’s New Monthly

Magazine, “all of Mr. Marquand’s benefactions have been made in the most unostentatious manner possible, and although his gifts to the Metropolitan Museum have

7 Plan of organization for the museum reported by the sub-committee of the Provisional Committee (Marquand was not among the 13 men comprising the sub-committee) January 4, 1870, quoted in Winifred E. Howe and Henry Watson Kent, A History of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, With a Chapter on the Early Institutions of Art in New York (New York: Gilliss Press, 1913), 122.

8 Charter of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, State of New York, Laws of 1870, Chapter 197, passed April 13, 1870. 56 been continual, the mode of their presentation has been so modest and unassuming that their importance has never had proper widespread recognition.”9

Marquand’s colleagues at the museum, however, were well aware of the integral part he played in the development and success of the museum. The memorial resolution presented to the family of Henry G. Marquand after his death in 1902 encapsulated over thirty years of administrative work for the museum and contributions as the museum’s most enduring and consistent donor:

The Trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art desire to express their profound sorrow at the death of their late President, Henry G. Marquand, who, for many years has devoted his time, his energies and highly cultivated taste to the building up and progress of the Museum, and by his munificent gifts of many rare and valuable treasures, especially the Gallery of Old Masters which bears his name, and generous contributions to the Endowment Funds, added greatly to its collections. In the management of the affairs of the Museum his wise and considerate measures coupled with his enthusiasm and gentle and kindly disposition, led many to join in promoting its success. In emergencies his courage and patience never faltered, and his calm judgment, generous, amiable and cordial temper won the sincerest respect, admiration and affection of his fellow Trustees.10

Even as the trustees were imparting their gratitude for Marquand’s part in “the building up progress of the museum,” the atmosphere of the Metropolitan was changing. A decade later, Metropolitan museum historian Winifred E. Howe reflected, “the time has passed when the individual zeal of such enthusiasts as Mr. Henry G. Marquand could control so great an institution.”11 Due to rapid changes that occurred within the museum’s structure and finances following his death—including the museum’s receipt of a five million dollar endowment fund for acquisitions and the increased professionalization of the curatorial

9 E. A. Alexander, “Mr. Henry G. Marquand,” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 94, no. 562 (March 1897): 564.

10 Metropolitan Museum of Art memorial resolution for Henry G. Marquand, Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 22, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

11 Howe, and Kent, 283. 57 departments—Marquand’s era had passed. In order to appreciate the extent to which

Marquand influenced the development of the museum from the 1880s through 1900, it is necessary to reconstruct and contextualize his efforts to build the museum’s encyclopedic collection.

Pre-Columbian Ceramics (1879, 1882)

Marquand made his first gift of art to the Metropolitan in 1879. It comprised a collection of North American pre-Columbian ceramics unearthed in Missouri and known as Mound-Builders pottery (figs. 25-28).12 The collection included vessels crafted in the shape of shells, human, and animal figures, some retaining traces of original pigment.

This group of objects was not merely significant for being Marquand’s first gift of artwork to the Metropolitan; it was also the first example of pre-Columbian objects produced in the region now occupied by the United States to enter the museum’s collection. Marquand approached Johnston, then the museum’s president, with his offer, writing him from Newport on October 1879:

I have a small but valuable collection of mound builders pottery. It has been seen by Gen. Di Cesnola [the museum’s Director] & he is of the opinion that it would be a desirable acquisition for the Met Museum of Art with a view that it may be [illegible] in a more permanent place & serve a more useful purpose than it can in any private hands. I have the pleasure to offer the collection to you for the Museum. There are about 75 pieces. It can rest here if it suits your pleasure to receive it.13

It is not known if the collection of pottery was ever on display in Marquand’s Newport home, Linden Gate, but it is possible that at least some of the items had played a part in the decoration of his summer retreat, which was nick-named “Bric-a-Brac Hall” for the

12 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 79.8. The Mound-Builders are now referred to as the peoples of the Mississippian culture.

13 Henry Marquand to John Taylor Johnston, October 18, 1879, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Ceramics, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 58 preponderance of decorative art objects that adorned the rooms. Whether on display at

Linden Gate or in storage there, the pottery would only have been seen and enjoyed by the family and perhaps a few invited guests. To reach a larger audience, Marquand sought to display these works in the galleries of the museum.

Johnston and the Board of Trustees approved the acquisition shortly after receiving the offer, and Marquand made arrangements with Cesnola for the shipping and receipt of the gift. The collection was sizable and fragile and shipping methods limited.

To ensure their safe transit, Marquand himself oversaw both packing and shipping. On

November 23rd he informed Cesnola:

My room here where the pottery was stored, is undergoing some rep’s, and for prudence sake I have taken down the 82 pieces & put them in 3 [cases?]. I will have them go down Monday night in same boat, so that I can see they are not roughly handled. On Tuesday I will direct then sent to Museum and they can stay in the basement until ready to place them.”14

In the early years of the museum it was typical for the trustees to play multiple roles. In this case Marquand served as courier, conservator, and registrar, in addition to being the donor of the works of art.

Noting the novelty of the Mound-Builders pottery to the museum’s collection, the

Annual Report for that year suggested, “these relics . . . are very important to the

Museum, as in the future one of its features should be a collection of the ancient arts of

America.”15 In fact, the museum already owned one pre-Columbian artifact: two years earlier, in 1877, the donor G. L. Lespinasse gave the museum a thirteenth century Maya

14 Marquand to Cesnola, November 23rd, 1879, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Ceramics, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

15 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1880 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1880), 8. 59 relief.16 But with Marquand’s gift, the museum’s pre-Columbian collection significantly expanded. The Missouri pottery likely had a special significance in the late 1870s. The

United States, in the wake of the Civil War that had threatened its integrity, celebrated its centennial in 1876 and patriotic feelings permeated the popular consciousness. Relics of ancient culture from the United States soil were prized as scientific and artistic evidence of an enduring heritage—even if little actual cultural continuity was present—lending antiquity to the nation’s inheritance.

Though it could have been on display earlier, the first record of the Mound-

Builder’s pottery exhibition in the galleries of the museum dates from 1901. Handbook

Number 10, a general guide to the collections printed by the museum, listed three cases of these objects, which may have comprised the entire collection.17 The museum did not formally accession or credit the objects to Marquand at the time, and in 1914 the entire collection was placed on long-term loan to the American Museum of Natural History without accession numbers or accurate credit lines. This oversight was corrected in recent time, after the objects were returned to the Metropolitan. The Mound-Builder’s pottery is now listed in the Metropolitan’s on-line collection database as “Gift of Henry G.

Marquand, 1879.”18

In 1882, Marquand followed his gift of North American pre-Columbian pottery with a collection of around seventy Inca ceramics, textiles fragments, and a few metal

16 Metropolitan Museum of Art Accession number 77.8.

17 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Handbook Number 10: A General Guide to the Collection (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1901), 7-8.

18 Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/works_of_art/collection_database/ (accessed September 14, 2011). 60 artifacts (fig. 29).19 He had originally purchased the objects as a group, collected between

1875 and 1879 by United States Minister to Peru, Richard Gibbs. The narrow window of time between Marquand’s purchase of this collection, sometime after 1879, and his donation to the museum indicates that this collection may have never entered his home and that the purchase was made expressly to enrich the museum’s then scant holdings of pre-Columbian antiquities.

The Charvet Collection of Glass (1881, 1883)

Two other pre-assembled collections purchased by Marquand on behalf of the museum were the Charvet collections of Roman, Grecian, Egyptian, Mesopotamian,

Venetian, and Islamic glass containing over six hundred pieces total (figs. 30 and 31).

The first collection was composed exclusively of remarkably well-preserved ancient glass, including brilliantly-colored and intricately decorated vessels in a variety of shapes, from ancient cultures ranging from Rome to Mesopotamia. Marquand purchased the collection in 1881, while the renowned collector who assembled the glass, Jules

Charvet, was still living. Marquand purchased the second collection, which contained elaborately blown, molded, and tooled Venetian and Islamic wares from the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries after Charvet’s death, in 1883.20

The first Charvet collection acquisition was arranged, and probably initiated, by

Cesnola, who was traveling in Europe the summer of 1881, and wrote to Johnston on

August 31st from Turin:

19 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 82.1.

20 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 81.10 and 83.7. 61

I have concluded the purchase of the Charvet Collection and sent last evening the contract to Mr. Marquand. In a week or so I shall be in Paris to take possession of the collection as I am anxious it should reach New York contemporaneously with me. I have requested a friend of mine to attend the packing of the pieces, and on my arrival in Paris I will have nothing else to do but to examine the packages count them, and have them packed in cases made expressly for them.21

Marquand later commended Cesnola on his skill in negotiating the acquisition, writing to him on September 15th: “I was delighted to get your letter with the contract showing all was complete. You have shown yourself to be a good business [illegible] man. I could not have stood out as you have done. You have saved [us?] a lot of money.”22 Indeed in this case the price of the acquisition was of perhaps more concern to Marquand than the content, as he footed the fifteen thousand dollar bill.

Cesnola’s interest in this acquisition, on the other hand, was personal. During his twelve years of service as United States consul to Cyprus, Cesnola oversaw several large- scale archeological digs, amassing a large collection of antiquities, the bulk of which he sold to the Metropolitan. In order to fund the digs, Cesnola had sold off many of the best ancient glass objects during the excavation, some of which subsequently entered the

Charvet collection.23 Cesnola must have been eager to reunite these objects within the walls of the museum where he now served as director.

Marquand, however, also had a stake in the acquisition, but one that fell outside his interest as an administrator of the museum. Before the glass arrived in New York,

Marquand wrote: “I would retain the duplicates for myself. . . only as are not wanted . . . I

21 Cesnola to Johnston, August 31, 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

22 Marquand to Cesnola, September 15, 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

23 W. H. Goodyear, “The Charvet Collection of Ancient Glass in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York,” American Journal of Archaeology 1 (1885):164. 62 shall not even retain all duplicates only a few such as would be a pleasing cabinet collection . . . I would [illegible] in my mind be paying the extra 1000 fcs for my little cabinet.”24 In 1881, Marquand was just embarking on the long and consuming project of decorating his newly-constructed Madison Avenue mansion, and took advantage of his financial control over the Charvet collection purchase to make a selection from the acquisition for his private collection. Marquand wanted the highest quality objects from the Charvet collection to remain with the museum, and those that formed a representative set of the scope of the collection. He realized that by acquiring a pre-formed collection of objects, some items might prove superfluous for the purposes of the museum. He therefore felt comfortable taking duplicate items, as their removal did not injure the strength of the museum’s holdings.

After learning that the glass had arrived at the museum that October, Marquand wrote to Cesnola from Newport, “I am so pleased that the glass is safe. I am practicing self denial not to rush down & see it. Nothing gives me more delight than to supplement

& [perfect?] your [illegible] in the Cypriot collection & to have it well placed.”25 His unabashed enthusiasm may have been partially inspired by the anticipation of adding to his private collection, but Marquand emphasized his collegial spirit in his letter to

Cesnola, noting the collecting goals that were met by the museum generally, and Cesnola in particular, through the purchase.

William Henry Goodyear, named the first curator of the Metropolitan in 1882, had been involved in the negotiating the Cesnola collection in Cyprus with his teacher the

24 Marquand to Cesnola, September, [date illegible], 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

25 Marquand to Cesnola, October 22, 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 63 archeologist Karl Friedrichs in 1869. Years later, in 1885, while working at the

Metropolitan, Goodyear wrote an article on the Charvet collection for the first volume of the American Journal of Archeology.26 He noted the presence of ancient glass excavated by Cesnola in Charvet’s collection, and proudly asserted: “The magnificent collection of

Cypriot glass in New York has its appropriate supplement and extension in the Charvet collection.”27 Goodyear had already acknowledged that the Charvet collection “has served as the text for an archaeological treatise which has become the only adequate compendium of the subject” and noted that the Charvet collection catalogue, written by art historian Wilhelm Froehner in 1879, was groundbreaking scholarship on ancient glass.28 The union of the Charvet collection with the Cypriot glass in the Cesnola

Collection at the Metropolitan therefore had the potential to bolster scholarship on ancient glass, and importantly for New York-based Goodyear, American scholarship on this class of archeological objects, which could be conducted within the galleries of the

Metropolitan.

The museum’s Annual Report for 1881 also emphasized the importance of representing a continuous history of works in glass. Acknowledging Marquand’s gift, the president’s report immediately set it in context:

During the past year Mr. Henry G. Marquand, of the Trustees, has enabled the Museum to acquire, at a cost of $15,000, a collection of Grecian, Roman and Medieval glass, which admirably continues the historical sequence in the art. While the collection alone is of great interest and value, it possesses and confers large additional illustrative importance by being brought into connection with the Cypriot Collection already in the

26 Art History Webmasters Association, “Dictionary of Art Historians: Goodyear, William Henry,” http://www.dictionaryofarthistorians.org/goodyearw.htm (accessed 9/14/2011).

27 Goodyear, 164.

28 Ibid. 64

Museum, and also in relation with another valuable acquisition illustrating the later history of the fabric.29

The other valuable acquisition referred to in the above passage was gift of Venetian and other European glass from the period of the revival of the craft at Murano through to modern times given by James Jackson Jarves the same year. Jarves’s public-spirited motivation for giving his collection of glass to the Metropolitan was nearly identical to

Marquand’s for his gift of Mound-Builder’s pottery. Jarves is quoted in the Annual

Report, “persons who are able to do so, should form collections, on systematic plans, in special departments of art, and place these collections where they will do most good, in public Museums.”30 Jarves may not have been aware that Marquand’s gift of the Charvet collection would coincide with his own, but would likely have been pleased—if not for the continuum it created, for the fact that the collections did not compete. After providing the details of the gifts from Marquand and Jarves, the Annual Report considered the fortunate acquisition of the two collections at once: “The addition of the two collections to the previous possessions of the Museum, enables us to illustrate the history of the manufacture of glass, with few interruptions, from the invention of the art down to our own day.”31

This moment was perhaps the first opportunity the museum had to celebrate the completion of an encyclopedic representation of any classification of object. Cesnola realized that this goal was close at hand, and just after concluding the purchase of the

Charvet collection, he summarized in celebration: “The glass collection of our Museum I

29 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1881 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1882), 8.

30 Ibid.

31 Ibid. 65 most emphatically declare that with the Marquands [sic] generous gift and that of Jarves

(if the collection is all what the latter says it is) will be the most valuable the most complete, and the richest in the world. I have seen all the great Museums of Europe and I know what treasures they have.”32 Not only had the museum amassed a comprehensive collection of glass, but, in Cesnola’s estimation, by doing so the Metropolitan out- acquired European museums, a true victory for the young institution.

Following the death of Charvet in 1882, Marquand initiated the second purchase of glass from his collection. With a typical economy of words, Marquand wrote to

Charles Deschamps, one of his European buying agents, “I hear Mr. Charvet of Paris died, 6 Sept, I would like some of his glass.”33 The mechanics of the acquisition do not appear in the records of the museum, probably due to the fact that Cesnola did not play as large a role in this acquisition as he had done in the previous Charvet purchase. This later group of 267 pieces comprised mostly French and Venetian glass of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, thus Cesnola did not have a personal stake in the objects.

Additionally, the museum’s collection already contained similar objects as a result of the

Jarves gift. Another such purchase may not have been viewed as essential and requiring the efforts of multiple museum staff or trustees. Nevertheless, aware of the quality of the first Charvet collection, Marquand paid four thousand dollars for the group. He

32 Cesnola to Johnston, August 31, 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

33 Marquand to Charles Deschamps, September 21, [1882], box 1, folder 5, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

66 personally must have viewed this second acquisition as a sound investment for the museum.34

Again, this gift of glass was not solely for the benefit of museum and enrichment of the public, but also to augment Marquand’s private collection. He notified Cesnola of his scheme: “When the Charvet collection comes I [want?] nothing from it. Except, if . . .

6 or 8 duplicates can be spared. If not I want from [illegible] cypress duplications some four iridescent pieces now in the basement in exchange. I will show you how it may be done without any injury to our glass.”35 By shipping the collection to the museum,

Marquand dodged the customs tariff that otherwise would have applied to the personal importation of such objects. His intimate knowledge of the museum’s collections—not just of objects on display, but those in storage—allowed him to identify the superfluous examples of glass and spirit them away to his mansion. Marquand’s purchases of glass simultaneously increased his private collection and that of the museum. Although the acquisitions themselves blurred the boundary between his private and public collecting endeavors, he maintained clarity on the purpose of each collection and acted accordingly.

European Metalwork (1883, 1887)

In 1883, the year of the second Charvet collection gift, Marquand also donated a valuable collection of nearly three hundred European metalwork reproductions known as the “Russian Treasures” (figs. 32-33).36 The collection included reproductions of

34 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1883 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1884), 15.

35 Marquand to Cesnola, June 28, 1883, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Glass, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

36 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 83.18. 67

Scythian and European decorative metalwork objects spanning the fourth through the seventeenth centuries, held principally in the Imperial Russian Collections and also collections in England, Austria, and France. Today reproductions of original objects may not be perceived as viable museum objects, but at the end of the nineteenth century in the

United States, acquiring reproductions was often the only option available for building collection of the encyclopedic scope to which the Metropolitan aspired. Nor were the reproductions inexpensive. The group of objects, fabricated from precious metals with acute attention to detail using the latest technology in electroplating, cost Marquand over twenty thousand dollars.37

Museums in the United States were not the only institutions interested in acquiring reproductions. Newer museums in Europe concerned with collection-building also looked to reproductions to fill their galleries. The South Kensington Museum (now the Victoria and Albert) took on the mission to form an encyclopedic collection of the industrial arts. On the South Kensington’s behalf, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs

Earl Granville approached the Russian Government for permission to obtain reproductions of metalwork held in the Imperial collections. Close connections with the

South Kensington Museum enabled the Metropolitan to place an order simultaneously through the London-based manufacturers Elkington & Co. entrusted with the work.38

A letter from Marquand to Cesnola, dated August 9, 1880, begins the museum’s record of this acquisition. He reports: “We had a meeting of the Ex[hibition] Committee

37 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1883 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1884), 12-13.

38 See two files entitled Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Reproductions 1883 - European Metalwork (Russian Treasures) [two files], Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 68 of Museum & the general opinion of all, (sans one), was that we ought to get the Russian reproductions.”39 There may have been near consensus to move forward with the purchase, but it was not clear from the outset where the money to fund this opportunity would come from. Marquand did not immediately volunteer to pay the bill himself, although he was involved in raising the funds from the outset, perhaps in his new role as the museum’s treasurer. In July of 1881, Cesnola, who had been traveling in London where he was working out the details of the acquisition in person with representatives from the South Kensington Museum, updated Johnston on his progress:

I have asked Mr. Henry Stevens to forward you some photographs which Sir Philip [Sir Philip Cunliffe-Owen, Director of the South Kensington Museum] gave me, to show you; they represent some of the articles the South Kensington is going to reproduce from the Russian “art treasures.” He also gave me a catalogue of the objects he is going to reproduce, which I will send to Mr. Marquand tomorrow, as I owe him a letter. What a wonderful thing it would be if we could secure a set of those reproductions! But I fear we will not be able to get it as it is very costly. Mr. Marquand may induce Jay Gould to present such a set; and this is the reason why I will write to him more fully on the subject tomorrow, so that he may read my letter to Gould if he thinks so.40

A few months earlier, Jay Gould had bought Marquand out of his controlling interest in the St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern Railway Company, a move that must have demoralized Marquand, who was forced into selling his stock in response to Gould’s underhanded maneuvering. It is astonishing to think that Cesnola would have considered it prudent for Marquand to approach Gould about a money matter at this moment, unless

39 Marquand to Cesnola, August 9, 1880, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Reproductions 1883 - European Metalwork (Russian Treasures) [two files], Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

40 Cesnola, written from Paris, to Johnston July 1, 1881, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Reproductions 1883 - European Metalwork (Russian Treasures) [two files], Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 69 he saw it as an opportunity to shame the tycoon into giving. In 1883, when most of the reproductions were completed, however, Marquand himself paid the bill.41

Sir Philip Cunliffe-Owen, director of the South Kensington Museum, wrote to

Cesnola in March of 1883, alerting him that the order was nearly complete and noting,

“when you see what these reproductions are you will realize yourself that they are altogether something quite novel as art objects.”42 Thus, the reproductions were not seen simply as illustrative of the originals, but as artistic works in their own right. The announcement of the collection in the Annual Report for 1883 shows that the trustees believed that the reproductions would hold their own among the authentic objects already in the collection:

Among the earliest purchases we made [in 1883], was a small but very interesting collection of fac-simile reproductions of beautiful works in metal, especially in gold and silver. In the industrial as well as the ornamental arts, the production of those class of luxurious wares has been characteristic of the most civilized as well as of so-called barbaric peoples. The art illustrated is of the most ancient origin. The Greek traditions ascribed its wonderful products in the hand of their heroes to Phoenician fabrication. The Cesnola Collection contains many superb examples of this work in silver and gold. Within the past year we have added notably to our possessions in this department.43

Like the first Charvet acquisition, the metalwork reproductions directly expanded the collection of objects initiated in the acquisition of the Cesnola collection of Cypriot antiquities. This connection may account for Cesnola’s intensive involvement in both acquisitions.

While there is not much extant documentation recording Marquand’s feelings about the objects, it can be assumed that his interest was more than superficial.

41 Cunliffe-Owen to Cesnola, March 15, 1883, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Reproductions 1883 - European Metalwork (Russian Treasures) [two files], Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

42 Ibid.

43 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1883 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1884), 12. 70

Marquand’s father and eldest brother had been silversmiths and importers of English silver, renowned for the quality of their wares under the hallmark Marquand Bros.44

Henry’s work keeping the books at their shop on 181 Broadway as a teenager put him in good stead for the career in finance that would follow, but also gave him direct exposure to matters of connoisseurship of the decorative arts, especially works in metal.45

Later, in 1887, Marquand had the opportunity to purchase another collection of metalwork, this time over seven hundred original European works in wrought-iron: locks, keys, door hinges, knockers, and drinking and serving vessels, chiefly from the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries.46 Little is known about this purchase except that it was made hastily by Marquand at auction in Nuremberg, Germany, while he was traveling through the region, and presented to the museum that year.47 The museum’s 1894 publication

Handbook no. 11: Reproductions in Metal of Objects Selected from Museums and Private

Collections in Russia, England, etc. cataloging the contents of gallery 15, perhaps erroneously attributed the bulk of the objects on display to Marquand’s later gift.48 More likely, the “Russian Treasures” were exhibited with a selection of items from Marquand’s second gift of iron wares. Thus Marquand’s later gift joined his first to tell a more

44 Cynthia Saltzman, “‘American Citizen . . . Patron of Art’: Henry Gurdon Marquand and van Dyck’s Portrait of James Stuart,” in Old Masters, New World: America’s Raid on Europe’s Great Pictures (New York: Viking, 2008), 21 notes that Marquand Bros. was succeeded by Ball, Tomkins & Black after Frederick Marquand sold the store in 1838.

45 Saltzman, 20-21.

46 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 87.11.

47 Marquand to Cesnola, January 21, 1887, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Misc., Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. The purchase was made during travels that year that took Marquand through France, Italy and Switzerland as well.

48 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Handbook no. 11: Reproductions in Metal of Objects Selected from Museums and Private Collections in Russia, England, etc. (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1894), “Note”. The Handbook erroneously notes that acquisition was made in 1888, not the year of the gift, but the year it was listed in the Annual Report. 71 complete story about the development and diversity of European metalwork, bringing the museum closer to its encyclopedic goal.

Plaster Casts (1886-1895)

In 1886 Marquand wrote to John Taylor Johnston from Newport, Rhode Island with the idea to expand the Metropolitan’s collection of European sculpture:

In my opinion, the Met Museum of Art stands in need of casts of the best antique works more than anything else . . . I beg to say that I will pay to the Met Museum of Art during the year 1886. The sum of Ten Thousand dollars 10000$ and you will thus be provided with the funds to pay in part for a full collection of casts of which we stand so much in need.49

As was the case with the reproductions of the “Russian Treasures,” Marquand felt that the museum could not fulfill its mission of amassing a comprehensive representation of art without including reproductions, especially if the museum was to exemplify Europe’s great masterpieces. The museum was already collecting plaster cast reproductions of architectural elements and models. Marquand’s funds would provide the museum with reproductions of ancient Egyptian, Assyrian, Persian, and archaic and ancient Greek statuary and reliefs (fig. 34).50

Lacking the buying power to acquire original sculpture and architectural fragments, but wishing to show accurate facsimiles of them, other museums in the United

States, like the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, were actively collecting plaster casts.

49 Marquand to Johnston, October 10, 1885, Marquand, Henry G. - Gift - Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

50 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of the Collection of Casts (New York: Gilliss Press, 1908). Objects in the cast collection, Marquand contributions included were never accessioned. The bulk of the collection was in storage and long-term loan to various institutions and in recent years most of the collection has been given or sold at auction. Due to the fact that they were never accessioned, individual objects are difficult to trace. Purchases from Marquand’s funds are identified in the above handbook, but later acquisitions were not identified by donor in subsequent publications. It is therefore possible that he sponsored purchases of other schools of sculpture. 72

European museums too were collecting casts to provide their collections with comprehensive representation of three-dimensional masterpieces. The Metropolitan looked to the example set by the Royal Museum in Berlin, the South Kensington

Museum, the Fitzwilliam Museum in England, and the Museums of Strasburg, Dresden,

Bonn, Vienna, Munich, and Nuremberg, Germany. The collection of casts at the Palace of the Trocadéro in Paris, which was formed under auspices of Eugène Viollet le Duc, was singled out as exemplary.51 Considered options for expanding the collection in this direction just after the opening of the new, permanent museum building in Central Park,

Cesnola had visited the South Kensington and British Museums in 1881 “several times and studied the question of casts.”52

The cast collection originated in 1880 with a donation of architectural casts from

Richard Morris Hunt, Marquand’s friend and architect.53 But the first major contribution to the collection was an endowment fund specified for the purchase of architectural casts bequeathed in 1883. Levi Hale Willard, a New York businessman, included a provision in his will for the museum to receive one hundred thousand dollars for “the purchase of a collection of models, casts, photographs, and other objects illustrative of the art and science of architecture.”54 The will stipulated that the funds were to be spent under the auspices of a special commission of architects appointed by the New York chapter of the

51 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Special Committee to Enlarge Collection of Casts: Report of Committee to Members and Subscribers, February 1, 1892 (New York: De Vinne Press, 1892), 23.

52 Cesnola to Johnston, June 19, 1881, Museum Administration, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

53 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the year ending May, 1881 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1882), 13.

54 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of the Collection of Casts (New York: Gilliss Press, 1908), vii. 73

American Institute of Architects. The commission included Napolean Le Brun, A. J.

Bloor, Emlen T. Littell, and Pierre Le Brun as purchasing agent. The work of the commission continued until 1894 when its final report was made to the trustees of the museum. Their acquisitions included full-sized sections of the Parthenon, Temple of

Vespasian, Monument of Lysikrates, and models of the hypostyle hall at Karnak, the

Parthenon, the Pantheon, and the cathedral at Notre Dame.55 Although the first works were purchased in 1883, the year the funds came to the museum, they were not put on view in the galleries until 1889. By then work on the first, southern extension of the museum’s Central Park building was complete, significantly enlarging public exhibition space, and the first curator of casts, John A. Paine, was hired to manage the collection.

Willard’s bequest was limited in scope, supporting the acquisition of architectural reproductions only. Marquand’s decision to fund casts of sculptural works demonstrated his sensitivity to the needs of the museum and his willingness to use his own money to fill the gaps in the collection. Naturally, Marquand’s proposition to fund the collection was welcomed by the Executive Committee, and only eighteen days after the proposal was made, October 28, 1886, the Committee reported the gift: “From Henry G.

Marquand the sum of $10,000 to be paid to the Museum in 1886 for the purpose of getting a collection of casts after the best known statues and sculptures of Ancient Greece now existing in the different Museums in Europe.”56

55 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of the Collection of Casts (New York: Gilliss Press, 1908), vii.

56 Extract from the minutes of a meeting of the Executive Committee held October 28, 1885, Marquand, Henry G. - Gift - Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 74

The museum considered acquiring the molds that would enable it to produce the casts itself and serve as a supplier to other museums in the United States. But William J.

Hoppin, a former trustee of the museum, advised the director against proceeding in this direction, citing the importance of having the original work on hand to ensure the accuracy of the reproduction.57 The acquisition of casts, then, required ordering reproductions from numerous institutions throughout Europe. This daunting task was entrusted to A. S. Murray, keeper of Greek and Roman Antiquities at the British

Museum. Murray had the advantage of experience, connections, and geographical proximity to the institutions in Europe holding the originals and the firms employed to produce the casts.

While Marquand’s initial gift of ten thousand dollars was never lost to posterity, his subsequent contributions, of both money and time, have largely been overlooked. In fact, Marquand’s involvement in funding and fundraising for the collection of sculptural casts occupied him increasingly over the nine years following his 1886 gift. Cesnola, the

Metropolitan’s key contact with Murray, wrote to him March 4th of 1887 with news of

Marquand’s continued benevolence:

Through the generosity of a dear friend of mine the Museum is now in a position to increase its collection of plaster casts every year by an addition equal to the first selection you have made for us—in other words a sum of money has been given to the Museum for this year, and an equal sum for every succeeding year has been promised for the purpose of endowing this Museum with as complete a collection of plaster casts, as it can be made, of all the important sculptures of ancient, medieval, and modern times, of every possible nationality etc, etc, excepting however architectural plasters, as this Museum has a special fund already for such a collection (now being made) which was bequeathed to us three years ago.58

57 Hoppin to Johnston, September 28, 1880, Casts - Moulding, Sale & Exchange - General, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

58 Cesnola to Murray, March 4, 1887, Marquand, Henry G. - Gift - Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 75

Cesnola’s enthusiasm to continue working with Murray to collect sculptural casts is clear not only from the tone of the letter, but also from the fact that Cesnola wrote to Murray the very same day he received the confirmation of Marquand’s pledge: “I mean to pay 5 to 10,000 per year for casts.”59 The actual amount of additional funds supplied by

Marquand cannot be confirmed, since the sums were not recorded in the museum’s

Annual Reports. It can be assumed, however, if he followed his pledge to the letter, the arrangement continued at least through 1891, when a special committee was formed to enlarge the collection of casts, with Marquand serving as chair. At one of the meetings of this Committee held the year it was formed, a resolution was made that suggests the extent of Marquand’s contributions up to that point:

RESOLVED, that the President of the Museum, who has already given it so large a collection of Casts and who has so generously contributed to the new collection now to be formed, be requested to permit the application of his subscription to the completion, so far as possible, of the Assyrian and Greek and Roman departments, so that a distinct part of the collection may bear his name as the donor.60

The resolution indicates that Marquand planned to continue his contributions of funds over the ensuing years. And, in fact, records of the Committee show that Marquand was one of the most generous contributors to the Committee’s subscription fund, giving at least two major gifts, of twelve thousand and eight thousand dollars, after 1891.

The mission of the Committee was to “obtain for the Metropolitan Museum of Art a complete collection of casts, historically arranged so as to illustrate the progress and development of plastic art in all epochs and mainly in those which have influenced our

59 Marquand to Cesnola, March 4, 1887, Marquand, Henry G. - Gift - Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

60 Extract from a meeting of the Special Committee to enlarge the cast collection, December 7, 1891, Marquand, Henry G. - Gift - Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 76 own civilization.”61 This committee initiated aggressive fundraising campaigns and seems to have swallowed whole any authority that the cast’s curator John A. Paine may have had over the selection of objects. In June, 1891, the Committee printed extensive lists of sculptural and architectural casts needed to form a comprehensive collection.62

The booklet notes that the selections for the Chaldean, Assyrian, Persian, Greek and

Roman periods were made by Edward Robinson, curator of Classical Antiquities of the

Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, who had recently formed a comprehensive collection of casts at the Slater Memorial Museum in Norwich. Robinson also prepared lists of Italian and German Renaissance objects for casting, added to by Arthur Frothingham, Jr., professor of archeology at Princeton University. Frothingham also prepared lists of early

Christian, Mediaeval, and French Renaissance objects. The Egyptian list was prepared by

Marquand’s, son, Allan Marquand, who was a professor at Princeton University along with Frothingham, and was responsible for founding the art and archeology department there. The Committee also included members with knowledge of both art and architecture; Edward D. Adams, George F. Baker, Robert W. de Forest, John S. Kennedy,

Pierre le Brun, Howard Mansfield, A. C. Merriam, F. D. Millet, F. W. Rhinelander,

Augustus Saint-Gaudins, Louis C. Tiffany, J. Q. A. Ward, William R. Ware, and Stanford

White.63 Thus equipped with expertise in art and architecture, and with Pierre le Brun serving on both the special committee and the Willard commission, the group was

61 Robert W. de Forest, Special Committee to Enlarge the Collection of Casts Report of the Vice Chairman, January 20, 1894 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1894), 2.

62 Metropolitan Museum of Art Special Committee on Casts, Tentative Lists of Objects Desirable for a Collection of Casts, Sculptural and Architectural, intended to illustrate the History of Plastic Art (New York: De Vinne Press, 1891).

63 Metropolitan Museum of Art Special Committee on Casts, iii-iv. 77 prepared to oversee the collections of casts, sculptural and architectural, and advocate for a scientific display of these works that incorporated both.64

The Committee also had to take into account two new funds established for the purpose of purchasing casts. George W. Cullom’s bequest for this purpose came through in November of 1891, the year the committee was established. Another bequest was made by the Metropolitan’s first president, John Taylor Johnston, who passed away in

1893, but had made a provision for continued financing of the Committee’s work. His children added twenty-five thousand dollars to the ten thousand for casts of work from the Italian Renaissance.65 Marquand was the only major living donor of funds for cast acquisitions; hence he was a vested leader of the Committee.

The Committee was successful in obtaining additional space for the display and maintenance of the collection in the newly constructed north wing of the building in

1893. The exhibition space would encompass the “ground floor of the new wing, including a corridor and two pavilions.”66 A portion of the west basement of the wing was allotted for temporary use as a workshop for repairing and remounting casts. The

Committee was not satisfied with the display space, however, as there was not room to exhibit the complete collection of casts. The Committee’s ultimate objective was never realized: to secure a new building exclusively for the display of casts.

Both the cast collection and the Special Committee received their share of criticism. William Prime, who had served as vice president of the museum from 1874

64 de Forest, Special Committee to Enlarge the Collection of Casts.

65 Johnston heirs to Marquand, December 4, 1893, Johnston (John Taylor) Fund and Collection of Casts, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

66 de Forest, Special Committee to Enlarge the Collection of Casts, 21. 78 through 1891, was critical of both and wrote to Cesnola expressing his feelings on the matter. He shared his advice liberally, ignoring repercussions as he spoke, in 1895, “as a member –not as a Trustee.”67 Prime advised Cesnola to: “Get rid of two thirds of your plaster as soon as you can.” In his opinion, “I don’t think your plaster casts are of much more value than would be a gallery of copies of Turner & Gainsborough & other paintings.” Although he did admit: “The Marquand Collection [of casts] was all that was desirable.” Reacting to the Special Committee on Casts, Prime asserted: “It is also, as I have often told you, high time that the whole system of work by committees be abolished. The Director & under him the Curators of Departments, should have entire charge of all purchases of all kinds.” Indeed, the committees of the museum were both more specialized in their roles and more influential over curatorial decisions than the sparse curatorial staff.68 Prime’s observation was certainly accurate in the case of the curatorship of the collection of casts, as Paine’s influence was overwhelmed by the populous Committee. Prime’s letter may have had an impact: the Special Committee was dissolved that year.

Endowment Fund for the Art Schools (1887)

The next major gifts of funds that Marquand contributed to the museum was a thirty thousand dollar endowment dedicated to the educational mission of the institution, namely, the museum’s art schools (fig. 35). The art schools were established in 1880, the

67 This and the following quotations from a letter from William Cowper Prime to Cesnola, August 14, 1895, Museum Administration, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

68 In 1895 there were only three curators on staff, representing three curatorial departments; painting, sculpture, and casts. In contrast, there were four standing trustee committees governing curatorial matters in the same fields, and also on “Objects of Art and Textile Fabrics,” with four trustees serving on each of these committees. 79 year the museum moved into its permanent quarters on Central Park, although classes were held in various rented locations outside the main building until 1889 when subsequent extensions to the building afforded room for this program.69 In 1879 the

Annual Report of the museum announced the gift that made the art schools possible:

The subject of Industrial Art-Schools has engaged the anxious attention of the Trustees. A gentleman of large means, leisure and experience [Gideon F. T. Reed of Swampscott, Mass.], with whom the subject has been a study for many years, has kindly offered to assist the projected schools with money, time, and the result of his experience. With his valuable aid, no doubt is felt of a prosperous beginning to this attempt to supply a long felt want.70

The trustees had made the establishment of art classes a priority because they viewed the study of art fundamental to the purpose of the museum. The artworks assembled in the museum were not just for the enjoyment of the public, but for their education as well, and for the advancement of the quality of craftsmanship and manufactured goods in the

United States. The circular sent to local employers and workmen outlined the objectives of the art schools and identified intended students:

Your attention is especially called to the enclosed circular, giving notice of the establishment of Industrial Art-Schools in New York. Manufacturers of artistic objects in France, England, and Germany, long ago discovered the necessity for the more thorough education of their workmen and apprentices in designing, and established schools for the purpose. These schools have not only raised the standard of taste in the community, but, as is well known, have been the means of enriching the manufacturers. The Trustees of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in taking the initiative in this work, earnestly invite your co-operation, and request that you will interest your workmen and apprentices in it, urging the attendance of those who give promise of development, and afford them other assistance that may be in your power.71

The museum sought to raise the standard of the design of objects manufactured in the

United States through classes that were initially given tuition-free and predominantly in

69 Howe and Kent, 247.

70 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1879 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1879), 12.

71 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1880 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1880), 10. 80 the evening hours. These guidelines provided opportunities for members of the working class.72

After a successful first year, the art classes were expanded to include instruction in drawing and design, modeling and carving; carriage drafting and construction, decoration in distemper, and plumbing.73 The curriculum for 1885 included a class in color, composition, free-hand drawing, and drawing from life; sculpture modeling; architecture and draughtsmanship; chasing and repousse work in metals, perspective anatomy and decorative design; decorative clay modeling; cabinet drawing and interior designing, and a mechanical class.74 The classes were intended to complement and use as examples the museum’s diverse collections of the industrial arts—metalwork, ceramics, woodwork, glass, etc. During the first ten years of the art schools’ operation, however, classes were held in locations outside of the museum, and they did not take advantage of the art collections. Nevertheless, in 1886 enrollment was up to 248 students, and by the time Marquand established his endowment fund the art schools were a thriving, vital component of the museum’s operations.75

Marquand’s faith in the longevity of the art schools program is evidenced by his decision to create the endowment fund, which was to be held in perpetual support of the

72 Tuition was charged after the first year, as an important donor to the program, Richard T. Auchmuty believed that “people seldom vale what they receive for nothing . . .” Quoted in Howe and Kent, 203.

73 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1881 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1881), 11-12. The plumbing class lasted only one year, and the carriage design class lasted several years while assistance from the Committee of the Carriage Builders’ National Association persisted.

74 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1885 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1886), 9-10.

75 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1886 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1887), 17. 81 art schools with expenditures to be made only from the interest the fund accrued each year. Only a few years after his donation, however, the art schools began to be criticized by the trustees who started to see them as irrelevant to the core mission of the museum, centered on its art collection. Though the move of the art schools from various locations around Manhattan into the main building served to bolster the program by fostering connections to actual examples of works of art, the opposite occurred. It was recognized shortly after the move into the main building that the curriculum of the art schools, accustomed to operating in satellite locations, did not make good use of the collections.

Furthermore, the art classes had become less connected to the industrial arts over the years and more typical of basic instruction in the fine arts offered by other established art schools in the city, such as the Art Students League and the National Academy of

Design.76

By 1894 there was enough opposition to the art schools among the trustees that all classes, except those in architecture, were abolished. The Schools Committee proposed shifting attention to public lecture offerings in order to maintain an educational component in its programs while returning emphasis to the museum’s collections.77 The architecture classes were refocused on the museum’s holdings and the new curriculum centered on a “systematic study of the Willard collection of casts.”78 In response to the dissolution of most of the art classes, Marquand determined that his endowment fund would better be applied to other proposes. He wrote to the trustees in November of 1894:

76 Howe and Kent, 248-249.

77 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1892 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1893), 26. In 1892 the museum entered an agreement for a standing lecture series with Columbia College (now Columbia University).

78 Howe and Kent, 249. 82

I therefore desire that the income from the $30,000 donated by me to the Art Schools Fund shall be hereafter appropriated entirely to the purchase of objects of art in any department of the Museum which may be deemed wise by the Executive Committee, and that the said principal be transferred by the Finance Committee to the General Endowment Fund of the Museum.79

Later, in 1891, Marquand added fifty thousand dollars to the general endowment. The loose restrictions put upon these sums of money demonstrate his faith in the trustees and staff of the museum to make these decisions for the institution.

After the art schools were dissolved, the museum refocused the educational component of its mission on the collections. The trustees still abided by the museum’s founding purpose to “furnishing popular instruction,” but with a less pedagogical agenda.80 The trustees determined that their main responsibility would be to build and present collections in an edifying manner rather than provide structured curriculum.

Old Master and English School Paintings (1889, 1890, 1891, and 1900)

Marquand’s first donation of a painting, in 1881, was a portrait of Alexander

Hamilton by John Trumbull painted in 1804-1806 (fig. 36).81 It was the only American painting he gave to the Metropolitan, save two portraits by Charles Elliott, a student of

Trumbull’s, which Marquand gave in 1900 and have since been deaccessioned from the museum’s collection.82 Eight years after the Trumbull gift, Marquand officially offered the museum a group of thirty-five European old master and English school paintings,

79 Marquand to trustees, November 19, 1894, Marquand, Henry G. - General correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

80 Charter of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, State of New York, Laws of 1870, Chapter 197, passed April 13, 1870.

81 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 81.11

82 Accession number of the Elliott portraits is not known, nor the date of deaccession. 83 painstakingly assembled through dealers, auctions, and directly from the collections of

British nobility over the course of several years (figs. 37 and 39).83 The collection consisted of paintings by Rembrandt, Jacob van Ruisdael, Casper Netscher, Hendrick

Sorgh, Thomas Gainsborough, John Constable, J. M. W. Turner, Anthony van Dyck,

Lucas van Leyden, John Crome, Gerard ter Borch, Francisco de Zurbarán, Diego

Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, Tommaso Guidi Masaccio, Johannes Vermeer, David

Teniers the Younger, Jan van Eyck, Cornelis Van Ceulen Jansen, Jürgen Ovens, and

Frans Hals.84

By adding recognized masterpieces to the museum’s paintings collection,

Marquand wished to build upon the group of 174 paintings by such artists as Anthony van Dyck, Maarten van Heemskerck, Nicolas Poussin, Salomon van Ruysdael, and

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo that formed the core of the museum’s painting collection since

1871. The so-called “purchase of 1871” was initiated by trustee William T. Blodgett while he was traveling in Europe in 1870. The outbreak of the Franco-Prussian war that year disrupted the Parisian art market and dealers were anxious to make sales. In August and September, Blodgett purchased Dutch, Flemish, French, and English paintings in three large groups through the dealers Léon Gauchez and Étienne Le Roy. The dealers presented the groups of paintings as the former collections of several private individuals, but in fact they misled Blodgett as a tactic to move en masse miscellaneous inventory

83 The year of Marquand’s first gift of old master paintings coincided with his election as president of the museum. However, since Marquand was identified as a successor by Johnston in 1881, before he made many of his donations to the museum, his gift was likely not a bid for the vacant position. It would have nevertheless stregnthed his position as a leader and set an example for trustees.

84 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 89.15. The original attributions are recoded here, although the attributions of 21 of the 37 works have since been changed or down-graded to school or workshop of the artists. 84 with no esteemed provenance.85 Since the museum did not have a store of funds for acquisitions at the time, the cost of the collection was fronted by Blodgett and President

Johnston, who wished the collection to go to the museum. The two were repaid once funds were raised and the purchase was officially accepted by the trustees in March of

1871.86 The “purchase of 1871” established the museum’s painting collection and pleased the trustees and the public when on displayed at the museum’s inaugural opening on

February 22, 1872.

The perception of the “purchase of 1871” as a valuable collection did not endure the test of time, and skepticism developed around European dealers. Reflecting on acquisitions of foreign works made in the United States earlier in the century, Andrew

Carnegie noted in 1886: “European dealers, taking advantage of the comparative ignorance of the country in art matters, flooded the principal cities with alleged examples of the old masters.”87 Indeed, the quality of “purchase of 1871” was increasingly questioned as time wore on and more high quality European paintings arrived in the

United States. William Howe Downes, A writer for the Atlantic Monthly, presumably had the “purchase of 1871” in mind when he offered this harsh assessment: “When the

Metropolitan Museum was opened, not so very long ago, there was a queer assortment of

Things in one of the galleries, dark mysteries, without form or color, which purported to be pictures, and which the catalogue coolly asked us to believe were painted by the

85 Research conducted by Katharine Baetjer, “Buying Pictures for New York: The Founding Purchase of 1871,” The Metropolitan Museum Journal 39 (2004): 161-245 has uncovered the manipulate tactics of the dealers.

86 Ibid., 161-245 and Robert W. de Forest, “William Tilden Blodgett and the Beginning of the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 1, no. 3 (February, 1906): 37-42.

87 Andrew Carnegie, Triumphant Democracy, or, Fifty Years’ March of the Republic (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons: 1886), 316. 85 greatest artists in the world.”88 Gauchez’s and Le Roy’s ruse was not uncovered until recently, when the museum’s Curator of European Paintings Katharine Baetjer conducted extensive provenance research on the collection for her 2004 article on the subject.

Nevertheless, Marquand must have recognized that the “purchase of 1871” had few real first-rate works among it. He likely attributed the lack of quality to the speed of the acquisition and the eagerness of the trustees to buy the painting collection in bulk instead of exercising caution and selectivity. Through the 1880s Marquand would make it his mantra and method to “go slowly & acquire the best,” as he stated in a letter to Charles

Deschamps, one of his European buying agents.89 To avoid duplicitous dealers, he mobilized a team of European advisors and often traveled overseas himself to assess paintings before granting his approval. The fact that Downes’s harsh assessment of the early painting collection at the Metropolitan was made in comparison with the newly installed Marquand Collection of paintings, which he praised, vindicated Marquand’s methodology.

In 1882 Marquand wrote to his friend and buying agent in England, George Henry

Boughton, about his plans to give the museum collection of old master paintings.

Boughton replied:

That is a very noble and public spirited idea of yours to enrich the Met. Mus. of New York with your magnificent works. I wish there were a few more like you! Never mind it will be a grand example. With this destiny of your pictures in view I shall ever strive to get you the best to be had and to see that your money is well laid out. In fact I have always done that, and as for my own trouble in the matter I delight in it, and need no

88 William Howe Downes, “the Old Masters in New York,” Atlantic Monthly 64, no. 381 (July, 1889): 38.

89 Marquand to Deschamps, August 16, 1882, box 1, folder 5, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 86

other reward. Don't spare me. I can always find time to do anything for so good a purpose.90

Thereafter Boughton had a hand in most of Marquand’s purchases of old master paintings, if not as an agent then as a trusted advisor, providing Marquand with assessments of costly works of art. Boughton professed his good intensions to Marquand, while bringing to light the real danger of deception to which Americans were vulnerable when purchasing European art work through agents and dealers:

my only desire is, that you shall get the value of your money to the last cent. They have no other end in view except to get all they can. I always bear in mind that your noble intention towards the art gallery of your city, and if I permit you to get a bad thing when you depend on me or to give too much, the shame and blame will be mine. So that may account for many things. I have no other interest, while the utter stranger would be only to [sic] glad to feather his own nest and laugh in his fur lined sleeve after he had your big draft.91

Boughton and Marquand’s other buying agents in Europe in turn congratulated Marquand and the museum for his studied purchases, and communicated to Marquand the astonishment and loss felt by Europeans over their departing masterpieces. Boughton reported, “I have shown the pictures to a few good judges, and the verdict is superb! One who is working a paper on Vandyck [sic] in England was saddened to think such a

Master work was leaving the country, but I did not agree with him.”92 Frederic Leighton expressed conflicting feelings of congratulations and loss: “I know your Vandyck well; it is suburb; there could not be a finer specimen of the master. Of course my heart bleeds that it should leave this country; you will understand that; and so much granted, there is

90 Boughton to Marquand, June 9, 1882, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

91 Boughton to Marquand, December 3, 1888, box 1, folder 2, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

92 Boughton to Marquand November 6, 1886, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives regarding Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 89.15.16, James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox (fig. 37). 87 no one in whose hands I would rather know it beyond our shores than yours. I heartily wish you joy of it.”93 About another acquisition, the dealer Charles Deschamps wrote,

“Pray let me know how you are impressed with the Reynolds? The general impression here was that it should have remained in England.”94 A letter from R. J. Nevin, another buying agent, reveals that it was not just individuals who were becoming nervous about the buying power of the Americans, but established European museums as well.

Referring to Marquand’s purchase of van Dyck’s James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and

Lennox from the collection of Lord Frederick Methuen of Corsham Court in Wiltshire,

England (fig. 37), Nevin wrote:

There are a couple of the Trustees of the National Gallery London here . . . I may say to you, that they are unanimously disgusted at your having taken away from England the picture you got from Lord Methuen and regret much that they hampered themselves by their unwise purchase of their big Raphaels.95

Through this acquisition, Marquand out-maneuvered the National Gallery, whose expenditure on paintings by Raphael rendered them unable to compete for the celebrated painting. A letter from Humphry Ward summed up a burgeoning fear in Europe that was stoked by the announcement of Marquand’s gift of so many masterpieces to the

Metropolitan: “I send you a copy of the sheet of today’s [London] Times with a note about your noble gift to the Museum. Everyone here who cares for art is much interested in this step of yours: but we tremble a little at the thought of what might happen to our

93 Frederic Leighton to Marquand, [1886?] quoted in Alexander, 566.

94 Deschamps to Marquand, August 1, 1882, box 1, folder 5, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. Sir Joshua Reynolds Portrait of Lady Carew (daughter of Lord Carew) Metropolitan museum of Art accession number 89.15.10 [deaccessioned].

95 Nevin to Marquand, March 23, 1888, box 1, folder 10, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 88 institutions if our ‘Old Masters’ become a fashion over there!”96 To be sure, Marquand was a harbinger of the entrepreneurial aggressiveness that American collectors would increasingly bring to the European art market during the Gilded Age.

Marquand had most of the paintings shipped directly to the museum, where they were immediately put on view. He placed the paintings on loan to the museum initially, and did not officially offer them until months later, in January of 1889. Marquand wrote to the trustees:

It has given me sincere pleasure to witness the interest which every one manifests in the collection of pictures, principally old masters, which I have loaned to the Museum. Being informed that they would be of far greater service to the public to remain where they are, and in a public gallery, rather than in a private house, I hereby offer them to the Metropolitan Museum of Art without condition 35 pictures in all, with the request that the committee in charge of paintings should keep them together as much as practicable. In the hope that these pictures may prove to be of lasting service to the public.97

In his offer, Marquand distinguished between his private collection and the public collection of the museum, making it clear that a certain class of object was appropriate for each. The group of paintings given to the museum was, in fact, very different in character from the mostly contemporary American, British, and French paintings that decorated his home. The paintings he gave to the museum were by recognized European old masters whose works were in high demand and came with correspondingly high price tags.

To acknowledge his gift, a gallery on the second floor of the in the museum, gallery 6 according to the museum’s numbering system at the time, was named the

96 Ward to Marquand, February 21, 1889, box 48, folder 16, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library.

97 Marquand to Trustees, January 10, 1889, Marquand, Henry G. - Paintings, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. Marquand refers to only 35 paintings in his letter, but a total of 37 are included in the accession. It is possible that two Velazquez paintings, which came in later that year, or a John Crome and Thomas Gainsborough painting which Marquand gave in 1888 were not included in the offer of gift. 89

“Marquand Gallery” (fig. 41). Thus Marquand was provided with a private gallery within the public institution, affording him a wider audience and greater prestige than would have been possible if he had retained the paintings for display in the domestic gallery

Hunt had drawn up plans for in 1887. By 1900, over fifty paintings, all given by

Marquand, combined to form what came to be known as the “Marquand Collection” at the Metropolitan. Due to the unprecedented quality of paintings, the likes of which had never before been in the possession of a public museum or gallery in the United States, the gifts received an enormous amount of attention in the press. The New York Times declared the gift to be “princely,” and judged the collection to be smartly selected, and carefully assembled.98 Ripley Hitchcock, reporter for the Christian Union, intoned, “after many years of doubtful waiting, New York offers to the public an art museum which is worthy of the ‘American art center.’” With the installation of the Marquand Gallery, the

New York Times heralded “the museum’s new era.”99 The trustees of the museum, having long endeavored to build a collection comparable to European museums, found that as a result of the gift, their institution was beginning to take a place on the world stage.

Buoyed by the favorable public response to his 1889 gift, Marquand continued collecting and gave two additional groups of paintings in 1890 and 1891.100 In April of

1890, Marquand offered six paintings, by the artists Leonardo da Vinci, van Dyck,

Rembrandt, Rubens, Gainsborough, and Hogarth. The following year, in January, he

98New York Times, January 17, 1889.

99 Ripley Hitchcock, “the Metropolitan Museum,” Christian Union, February 28, 1889 and New York Times, January 21, 1889.

100 Both groups were accessioned in 1891 and are part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 91.26. Marquand gave a single additional old master painting to the museum in 1895, the 1629 Landscape with a Cottage by Pieter de Molijn (95.7). 90 added seven additional paintings, including one each by Holbein, Rembrandt, Cuyp,

Metzu, Moroni, and two portraits by Frans Hals (see fig. 38).101

Of the fifty old master and English school paintings given to the museum by

Marquand over the three year period from 1889 to 1891, the attributions of twenty-nine have changed or been downgraded to school or workshop of the artist. This does not, however, indicate that Marquand was a hapless buyer or that he was duped by his agents.

Connoisseurship of paintings was still developing as photographic technologies useful for comparing geographically disparate works came into wider use. Additionally, fresh scholarly attention paid to newly acquired works of art in some cases revealed that long- standing attributions had been incorrect. As illustrated earlier, Marquand was cautious about his purchases especially when making them from overseas. His circumspect attitude is apparent in his exchange with the Charles Deschamps over a supposed

Velázquez portrait of Prince Baltasar Carlos, a purchase which Marquand negotiated entirely though letters and cables, without traveling overseas to view the painting for himself prior to its purchase (fig. 40). Deschamps provided a thorough and solid assessment of the painting’s authenticity and condition, writing:

You mention in one of your letters the picture of Velasquez. You may remember that I spoke to you about it whilst I was in New York. I have again seen the picture, and have been very much impressed with it. I have been able to gather all particulars: The canvas is 14 inches wide by 21 inches high. It is the portrait of Don Balthazar, Infante of Spain; the son of Philip IV, whose portrait is in the National Gallery. The portrait is full face; in a beautiful black dress, embroidered in gold, painted as only Velasquez could. The picture, which was included in the great Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition of 1857, belonged to Col. Hugh Baillie, and passed into the hands of the famous art collector Mr. Bale. The picture has never been touched, and, with the exception of small surface cracks, is in excellent condition. I will have the picture at my place, in a few days, and will then show it to Tadema and Boughton, and will transmit to you their opinions. My

101 Attributions of eight of the thirteen paintings have since been downgraded or changed. Among other reattributions, the Leonardo is now thought to be attributed to Giovanni Ambrogio de Predis. 91

own opinion is that it is a very fine example of the master; the only one in the market in Europe.102

Deschamps knew that his client would not be induced to make so large a purchase without the favorable opinions of his trusted advisors. So when Deschamps reported on the painting next, he had secured the assessment of Boughton and Alma-Tadema as promised, and the added commendation of another renowned artist, saying of the painting, “I now have no hesitation in recommending you very strongly to purchase it. I have had Boughton to see it, and two days ago, Tadema, who went into rapture about it.

He says that you should have it. My friend Whistler, who is a very great judge of

Velasquez went down on his knees to look at it well, & greatly admired it.”103 Later that month, eager for Marquand to agree purchase the Velázquez, Deschamps enlisted the novelist and art critic Henry James to speak to Marquand about his opinion on the painting.104 In September, Marquand was ready to move forward with the purchase, but was still hesitant despite the flood of encouraging reviews. He informed Deschamps, “I rec'd your cable about Velasquez & answer it ‘if Boughton advises will give 2000£’ I want to be sure it is by his hand, not a pupil.”105 Deschamps made the sale according to the cable, which reached the acting parties before the letter, and upon learning of

Marquand’s lingering doubts, Deschamps assured him; “In your letter of the 21 Sept, which I have just received, you say that ‘I should be very very careful,’ etc. I can assure

102 Deschamps to Marquand, May 1, 1882, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

103 Deschamps to Marquand August 1, 1882, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

104 Deschamps to Marquand, August 16, 1882, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

105 Marquand to Deschamps, September 21 [1882], box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 92 you that there is not the slightest doubt but that it is a genuine Velasquez, and a fine specimen.”106 This painting, along with three others Marquand bought (through other sources) as the work of Velázquez, however, has since been downgraded to “workshop of” the artist.107 Marquand’s concerns were well-founded, and even with the assessment of his trusted advisors and known art aficionados, purchases of paintings at this time were fraught with serious risks.

In 1900, Marquand made his last purchase of an old master painting, Jean van

108 Male by Bartholomeus van der Helst. With a few exceptions, Marquand ceased to make purchases of paintings after 1891. The market for old master paintings of the caliber Marquand desired for the museum had become too competitive. Marquand, who had retired from business in 1880 and had not taken up new employment, no longer had the income to participate. At the close of 1891 Boughton lamented: “There are too many big private buyers ready to snap up the gems.”109 The following year he vividly conjured the frenzied environment of a London auction house scene:

I am getting more "difficile" in your interest, I fancy. I know - of course - that when the real pearl of price comes anywhere near the market place that dozens of Rothschilds are ready to snap it up, if told to do so by their agents. It is only the stray chance that is to be watched for. The modest fish that avoids the big net of Christies. The buyers there bid in a sort of hysterical condition of excitement - hundreds at a bid - often thousands & it is no place then for a sane man.110

106 Deschamps to Marquand, October 3, 1882, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

107 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession numbers 89.15.18, 89.15.29, and 89.15.30 [deaccessioned].

108 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 00.17.1 [deaccessioned].

109 Boughton to Marquand, November 23, 1891, box 1, folder 8, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

110 Boughton to Marquand, November 18, 1892, box 1, folder 8, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 93

While Boughton, Marquand, and others regretted that the market exploded so rapidly, it was in part due to American buyers like Marquand who had the private means necessary to compete with the European aristocracy and win. While Marquand was forced to withdraw from the market in the 1890s, he is remembered as one of the first truly discerning American buyers of European old masters.

European Ceramics (1894)

In 1894 Marquand donated a group of more than 450 European ceramics to the museum (fig. 42-46).111 The collection included manufactured place settings, tea sets, figurines, and various other individual objects from the seventeenth through the nineteenth centuries, as well as sixteenth century Spanish tiles. As early as 1869,

Marquand began studying ceramics and from that time, through his agent George Henry

Boughton, was actively purchased Japanese and European works in this medium for his personal collection.112 Thus, by 1892, when he began to build the Metropolitan’s collection of European ceramics, he was already a connoisseur and seasoned buyer in the field. Notwithstanding his expertise, the market for such wares was predominantly

European and he enlisted the assistance of a London-based agent and expert, George R.

Harding, to make purchases on his behalf.

The contract with Harding, dated November 17, 1892, lays out the parameters of his work and Marquand’s financial obligations:

Memorandum of Agreement between H.G. Marquand Esq. of New York and Geo R Harding of London. No. 1. Geo R. Harding is authorized to expend on behalf of H.G.

111 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 94.4.

112 For example, see Boughton to Marquand, May 21, 1869, box 1, folder 1, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 94

Marquand the sum of Five Hundred Pounds Sterling in the purchase of specimens of Old English French and other Continental Porcelains selectable for the Metro. Art Museum of New York and to charge 10% for his judgement [sic] and services. The amount 500£ to be placed to a separate credit of Geo R Harding with Mess. Glyn Malls Currie & Co of London [Notation on document reads ‘amended – see on the back’] No. 2. Geo R. Harding agrees to purchase in his own account to the Extent of Five Hundred pounds more or less, other specimens of Old English, French or other Continental Porcelain suitable for the Metro. Art Museum of New York which he also agrees to submit to the Approval of H.G. Marquand and if the same or any portion thereof be accepted 20% to be paid upon cost. Packing and other expenses to be extra.

Geo. R. Harding

Amended [illegible]. Mr. Harding to write Mr. Marquand when 75 or so value has been purchased & Marquand to remit 100£ to be placed in his acc't. Items in ordinary small purchases [within] [illegible] as goods are bought from time to time. If any large purchases made by agreement Mr. M to remit on getting [advise] to cover it.113

The contract acknowledges Marquand’s plan to donate the objects to the museum, revealing that the items purchased through Harding were never intended for Marquand’s personal collection. His decision to reveal to Harding his plan to donate the objects to the museum may have been a strategy to encourage Harding to only consider museum- worthy pieces and not inflate prices. While Harding had considerable autonomy as a purchaser, Marquand reserved the right to approve of his selections, thereby holding him accountable for any sub-par selections.

From at least 1892, Marquand’s shipments of European ceramics arrived at the port in New York. In order to avoid the tariff that would have applied to personal acquisitions of this kind, Marquand forwarded a letter to the United States Secretary of

Treasury through Tice & Lynch, the museum’s customs house brokers explaining his intensions for the ceramics:

There has arrived at this port by the steamer Britanica, a case containing old antique China purchased by me abroad for presentation to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, of this city. It is my intention to give to said museum a collection of works of art, in china and porcelain, and from time to time the purchases made abroad by me, for this purpose,

113 Harding to Marquand, November 17, 1892, box 1, folder 17, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 95

will arrive at this port. I would ask that the contents of the case, which has now arrived, as above stated, be admitted to free entry, under paragraph 757 of the Tariff act of 1890, and that the collection of customs here be authorized to admit the rest of such articles, as they arrive, free of duty, under the authority given in the section of law herein mentioned.114

On May 3, 1894 Marquand officially donated the collection of European ceramics he had compiled over the preceding years and placed on loan in a gallery of the museum:

I have the pleasure to offer to the Metropolitan Museum of Art a collection of European pottery and porcelain comprising examples of Spanish, French, Italian, English, German, Danish, etc. etc. now contained in one of the rooms of the north wing. It is my hope that the collection will become useful in promoting the industrial arts of our country.115

Marquand’s donations of European ceramics, and his work with Harding, did not end with the official declaration of his gift in May. The following month, on July 23, 1894,

Marquand received word from Harding that he had successfully concluded the purchase of a collection of Delft ceramics.116 Harding handled the administrative work of the purchase, and may have been responsible for drawing Marquand’s attention to the collection in the first place. But it is likely that in this case Marquand saw the collection for himself and provided Harding with his definitive approval prior to the financial transaction, as Marquand was in London when Harding arranged the purchase. Marquand proudly reported to Cesnola the next day, “I have had the grand fortune to come across a fine collection of Delft pottery, all old pieces some very rare among them. I have

114 Marquand to John Carlisle, [1892], Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Ceramics, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

115 Marquand to Trustees, May 3, 1894, Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Ceramics, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

116 Harding to Marquand, July 23, 1894, box 1, folder 17, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

96

[illegible] enough to fill up the south side of my pottery room.”117 By “my pottery room”

Marquand referred not to a domestic room, but to the gallery space that contained the

European ceramics he had just officially given to the museum.

Etruscan, Greek and Roman Bronzes (1897)

In May of 1897 Marquand informed the trustees of the museum of his gift of twenty-five Etruscan, Greek, and Roman bronze antiquities, including statuettes, busts, and mirrors. Of the gift, he noted, “I have collected these bronzes with a special care and with the object in view of adding them to the Department of Classical Antiquities of the

Museum” (figs. 47-50).118 When Marquand began collecting the bronzes, the

Metropolitan did not have a formal curatorial department of Classical antiquities, nor a curator on staff with that specialization. It did, however, already have a substantial collection of antiquities, the core of which was formed by the thousands of objects comprising the Cesnola collection, which included nearly five hundred Cypriot bronzes.119 Marquand undoubtedly was seeking to expand upon the Cesnola collection, as he had done with his gifts of glass and metalwork reproductions, by adding Etruscan,

Greek, and Roman works.

A letter from Arthur L. Frothingham, Jr., Marquand’s son Allan’s colleague in the art and archeology department at Princeton, dated June 21, 1889, reveals that Marquand’s

117 Marquand to Cesnola, July 24, [1894], Marquand, Henry G. - Gifts - Ceramics, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. A gallery exclusively devoted to Marquand’s gifts of ceramics is no longer extant. The date the collection was dispersed is unknown.

118 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 97.22. Quotation from letter from Marquand to Trustees, May 4, 1897, Marquand - Gifts - Bronzes - 1897 - Greek-Roman-Etruscan, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

119 By today’s count, 472. 97 purchases of the bronzes had been initiated at least nine years before the gift was made to the museum. Traveling in Rome, and apprised of Marquand’s plan, Frothingham paid a visit to Wolfgang Helbig, a German archeologist living in Rome who became

Marquand’s purchasing agent for the bronzes. At least one item from the 1897 gift is mentioned in the letter—a bronze statue that was thought to be the Roman Emperor Geta

(fig. 47).120 Frothingham provided his second opinion as to the quality of the work and reported on the progress of restoration and shipping:

I have had several visits with Helbig and have been able to see the statue of Geta. I had previously only seen the head detached. The statue is fully draped & represents the young Emperor as an orator. It impressed me as a very fine work of art. The repairing has been done well. When the change of plans took place in regard to the shipment it was thought best to bring the statue back to Rome & put it together there, instead of sending Martinetti [a conservator] up to Genoa to do it. On Monday it leaves finally for America with the diplomat’s luggage, in good shape.121

The plan for shipping the Geta evidently did not take place as expected and a years-long delay ensued. Marquand understood that the postponement was no fault of Helbig’s and showed his confidence in the dealer by continuing to make purchases through him and entrusting him to make conservation decisions over the next several years. In 1893, with regard to another one of the bronzes, a statuette of Cybele on a cart drawn by lions (fig.

48), Helbig cited difficulty with exportation of antiquities out of Italy, advising

Marquand, “we must have patience.”122 In an undated letter, Helbig again noted obstacles to export, and placated Marquand: “We must [chant] our motto ‘chi va piano va sano,’”

120 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 97.22.25, now identified as a statue of a Camillus.

121 Helbig to Frothingham, June 21, 1889, box 1, folder, 8, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

122 Helbig to Marquand, June 1, 1893, box 1, folder, 8, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 97.22.24). 98 or, slowly but surely.123 With some difficulty, owing to the lapse of time, accounts were finally settled in 1896, and subsequently the objects arrived in the New York.

Marquand must have felt deflated by the time the bronzes arrived at the museum.

Just a year earlier the Cypriot bronzes remained the museum’s only significant holdings of such antiquities, but in 1896, just as Marquand was paying Helbig’s bill, the museum purchased two hundred Greek, Roman, and Etruscan bronzes, dramatically lessening the significance of his gift.124 Marquand did not renege on his original intention, however.

Always confident in the enduring value of his purchases, he added his contributions to the museum’s growing collection of classical art.

Conclusion

In the end, Marquand donated such a diversity of works of art that today they reside in twelve of the seventeen curatorial departments of the museum.125 In addition to the donations outlined in this chapter, from 1882 to 1897 Marquand gave a variety of other objects, including a Della Robbia altar, a cast of a Babylonian tablet, a collection of

Battersea enamels, American medals, a seventeenth century English cabinet, a Koran, an illustrated Persian manuscript, a Chinese box, a Ceylonese ivory, and child’s suit of armor, and more than two thousand dollars in funds to support the museum’s library. The variety of objects given by Marquand reflected his access to the European art market

123 Helbig to Marquand, undated, box 1, folder, 8, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

124 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number series 96.9. and 96.18.

125 There are no Marquand gifts in the Costume Institute, Drawings and Prints, Lehman Collection, Musical Instruments, or Photographs departments. 99 prior to the inflation of prices in the 1890s and demonstrated his support of the museum’s comprehensive collecting scope.

As a trustee, treasurer, and president, Marquand had an insider’s view of the museum’s copious needs. This insight coupled with his willingness to spend so large a portion of his personal fortune supporting the museum’s mission makes him a unique donor. Quite unlike other donors at the time, Marquand did not collect works for his personal enjoyment and later turn them over to the museum. Instead he selected objects expressly for the museum’s collection, at times in collaboration with museum personnel.

Forgoing personal taste he used the gaps he perceived in the collection as his touchstone.

Marquand immediately filled the galleries with his acquisitions once they were purchased rather than living with the works of art first like most donors. Marquand resisted putting even his most noteworthy acquisitions on display in his home—the collection of old master paintings—although the private display of such a collection would have enhanced his social standing. Instead, he allowed the museum to benefit from the popular attention that the acquisitions received and enabled museum visitors to have access to the works.

Marquand’s benevolence was also unequalled among those who participated in the management of the museum. He gave more consistently and more thoughtfully than any other trustee or officer during his thirty years of involvement with the museum. His contributions to the educational mission of the museum reveal that he was not only concerned with building the Metropolitan’s collections, but also with making them accessible to the public. In Marquand’s view the museum served a practical purpose, to provide great examples of art to living artists and artisans in order to improve the fine and industrial arts in the United States. Since the museum did not have the funds on hand to

100 meet many of its collecting and programmatic objectives, Marquand simultaneously provided the financial and administrative support needed to accomplish many of museum’s top-priority goals.

Marquand’s donations of metalwork reproductions and plaster casts involved collaboration with museums in England that were making similar acquisitions. While negotiating these acquisitions the Metropolitan was on equal footing with British

Museum and the South Kensington, the two European museums the Metropolitan aspired to emulate more than any other. While Marquand’s purchases strengthened the collegial standing of the Metropolitan relative to European museums, they also inspired resentment, as the reaction of the National Gallery to Marquand’s acquisition of van

Dyck’s James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox attests. From 1879 through 1900,

Marquand steadily contributed to the museum, crafting an encyclopedic collection worthy of international recognition.

101

CHAPTER THREE

PATRON, ADMINISTRATOR, AND DONOR: THE LEGACY OF HENRY G. MARQUAND

In this chapter I will explore three distinct expressions of Henry G. Marquand’s advocacy for the advancement of the arts in the United States: his patronage of living artists, his work as a museum administrator, and as museum donor. First, I will discuss the ways in which his commitment to supporting the work of living artists manifested itself in the memorial portrait of Marquand that the museum commissioned from John

Singer Sargent. Next I will demonstrate Marquand’s farsighted financial planning for the museum by discussing his part in securing the Rogers endowment fund for art acquisitions, a connection that has not been acknowledged since the endowment was made. Finally, I will discuss Marquand’s belief in the value of public art education and his legacy as a donor through the evolution of the Marquand Collection of paintings and the Marquand Gallery. These case-studies reveal that Marquand’s commitment to the advancement of art in the United States superseded his desire for recognition.

John Singer Sargent Portrait of Henry G. Marquand

Today, the most recognizable memorial to Henry G. Marquand at the

Metropolitan is the portrait of him by John Singer Sargent, which trustees commissioned in his honor in 1896 (see fig. 1).1 The portrait depicts Marquand as an intellectual and an established businessman, present in mind despite his advanced years. An honorary portrait had likewise been commissioned of the museum’s previous president, John

1 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 97.43. 102

Taylor Johnston in 1880 (fig. 51).2 Johnston’s portrait was painted by Léon Bonnat, a popular French academic painter.3 Marquand’s portrait was thus an extension of the tradition of preserving and celebrating the museum’s leaders through portraiture.4 While the portrait is emblematic of Marquand’s museum work, it is also a tribute to Marquand’s personal commitment to supporting living artists of an American vintage.

It is not known whether the trustees or Marquand himself selected Sargent for the commission, but evidence suggests that he had some influence over the decision. Years earlier, Marquand’s friend and buying agent, George H. Boughton, recommended

Lawrence Alma-Tadema for the job: “I can't help thinking that Tadema would make the best and most Holbien-like portrait of you possible, and he seems very keen on doing it. I am sure that the Museum and you could not be in better hands than his. When he goes to

America in the Autumn will be a good chance.”5 This letter was written in 1889, eight years before the Sargent portrait was commissioned, yet Boughton’s reference to the museum indicates that Marquand was indeed considering artists for an official museum portrait, not for a personal commission.6 Perhaps Marquand, who was just appointed president that year, was looking ahead to his commemoration.

2 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 80.8. Johnston served as president from 1870 until Marquand took over in 1889. The portrait was painted roughly at the half-way point of his presidency.

3 Johnston had not personally owned any of Bonnat’s paintings.

4 The museum committee formed to arrange the commission requested that the dimensions of the Marquand painting match that of Johnston’s portrait, presumably to create a uniform impression when hung together. Sargent achieved the required height, but reduced the width of the canvas by a few inches. It is not known if the paintings ever were displayed together. The Marquand portrait was eventually included in the display of Marquand’s gifts of paintings in the Marquand Gallery.

5 Boughton to Marquand, July 17th 1889, box 1, folder 2, Henry G. Marquand Papers, The Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

6 No other artist was engaged to paint Marquand’s portrait Marquand around 1889. Trevor J. Fairbrother, John Singer Sargent and America (New York: Garland Pub, 1986), 91 notes that the 103

In 1896, when the museum formed the committee to facilitate the portrait, Alma-

Tadema was not discussed as a candidate. In fact, no other artist but Sargent was mentioned. An undated letter in the Archives of American Art indicates that Marquand’s son Allan was involved in arranging the logistics of the commission.7 While this familial connection does not confirm that Marquand had full control of the selection of artist, it indicates that he likely had a say in the matter.

The selection of Sargent was consistent with Marquand’s commitment to supporting contemporary American artists.8 Marquand had commissioned Sargent to paint a portrait of his wife, Elizabeth Love Marquand, ten years earlier (fig. 52).9 At the time Sargent was at the start of his career. He had developed a name for himself in

Europe, but did not have many commissions in the United States.

Marquand’s interest in Sargent to paint the portrait of his wife can be traced to

August of 1887 during a trip to Europe. While in London, Alma-Tadema encouraged

Marquand to see Sargent’s recent portrait of Emily Playfair, which Alma-Tadema must

Hungarian artist Mihaly Munkacsy painted Marquand’s portrait (location unknown) while visiting the United States in 1887. Marquand commissioned another personal portrait, from John White Alexander, in 1896, the same year that the Sargent portrait was commissioned. The White portrait remained with the family until it was presented to the Princeton University Art Museum by the daughters of Mr. and Mrs. Allan Marquand (Henry G. Marquand’s granddaughters). Princeton University Art Museum accession number PP334.

7 John Singer Sargent to Allan Marquand, n.d., John Singer Sargent letters, 1887-1922. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution.

8 Sargent lived in London since 1884. Despite being born in Florence (to American parents) and remaining abroad, he is regarded as an American artist today and was also recognized as such during his lifetime. See Marquand to Cesnola August 18, 1897, Marquand, Henry G. – Sargent Portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives relating to the importation of works by American’s living abroad.

9 Princeton University Art Museum accession number y1977-77.

104

have seen at the Royal Academy exhibition that year (fig. 53).10 The painting was presumably back in the possession of Mrs. Playfair by the time Marquand passed through

London, so Alma-Tadema wrote Marquand a letter of introduction on August 5: “Please allow my friend Mr. Henry G. Marquand of NY to view your portrait by Sargent. He has so much heard about it that he is anxious to see it and I trust that you will forgive me on the ground of admiration for this work of the great artist that . . . portrayed you so admirably that intrusion.”11 Marquand must have rushed to see the painting. Only three days later, Alma-Tadema remarked “I am so glad you admire Sargent’s portrait of Mrs.

Playfair. It is really first rate.”12 Not all critics were of the same mind. It was declared the

“best female portrait of year . . . while others almost as strenuously [denied] that it [had] any merit at all.”13

Marquand evidently sided with first camp and the visit to the Playfairs seemingly convinced Marquand to engage Sargent to paint his wife. He arranged for Sargent to work on the portrait at Marquand’s Newport home, Linden Gate, immediately following their return. The Elizabeth Marquand commission may have been the principal reason

Sargent traveled to the United Sates that fall. Sargent had charged three thousand dollars for the commission, an exorbitant sum, but one Marquand was willing to pay and one that

10 Emily was the wife of the preeminent obstetrician in London, William Smoult Playfair. The portrait is in the collection of the Huntington Library.

11 Alma-Tadema to Mrs. Playfair, August 5, 1887, Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 3, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library. Elaine Kilmurray and Richard Ormond, The Early Portraits, vol. 1 of John Singer Sargent: Complete Paintings (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 181 note that the painting was displayed at the Royal Academy the following year as well, but the exact dates of exhibition either year are not noted.

12 Alma-Tadema to Marquand, August 8, 1887, Allan Marquand Papers, box 48, folder 3, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library

13 Art Journal review [1887 or 1888] quoted in Kilmurray and Ormond, The Early Portraits, 181. 105

Sargent could not turn down.14 Mrs. Marquand’s portrait was the first Sargent painted during this trip to the United States in 1887. He traveled to Boston in November, where he completed a series of portrait commissions of high society women, including Mary

Louisa Boit, and Isabella Stewart Gardner, thus making the journey a productive business venture.15 Indeed, the trip initiated Sargent’s rise to the status of the most sought-after portrait painter in the United States. Reflecting on this pivotal moment in his career,

Sargent acknowledged in a letter to Marquand years later, “You have not only been a great friend to me personally, but a bringer of good luck. My going to America to paint

Mrs. Marquand’s portrait was a turning point in my fortunes for which I have most heartily to thank you.”16 Marquand’s faith in Sargent thus helped to advance Sargent’s reputation.

The Marquand family again engaged Sargent to complete a portrait of

Marquand’s daughter, Mabel Ward, sometime in the early 1890s (fig. 54).17 Thus, by the time Sargent was commissioned to paint Marquand, he was already well acquainted with the family, and conversely, Marquand was well aware of, and invested in, Sargent’s talents. The selection of Sargent as his official portrait painter had additional personal

14 Kilmurray and Ormond, The Early Portraits, 197. The fact that Sargent charged the same figure for Henry Marquand’s portrait in 1897, after his reputation was thoroughly established, illustrates how high the sum of three thousand dollars would have been at the beginning of Sargent’s career.

15 William A. Coffin, “Sargent and his Painting,” Century 52, no. 2 (June 1896): 177. Fairbrother, 95 notes that the Marquands visited the Boits on January 17 of 1888 to see the progress of the portrait of Mr. Boit (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston accession number 63.2688). Sargent had painted The Daughters of Edward Darely Boit in 1882 (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston accession number 19.124.) It is possible that this earlier group portrait was the first of Sargent’s work seen be the Marquands, and that the Marquands and the Boits arranged the 1887-88 commissions together. The portrait of Isabella Stuart Gardner is at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, access number P30w1.

16 Sargent to Marquand, March 18, [1898?], Allan Marquand Papers, Department of Rare Books and Special Collections, Princeton University Library, quoted in Fairbrother, 90-91.

17 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 30.26. This painting remained in the family until it was given to the Metropolitan in 1930. 106

meaning for Marquand, as the 1897 portrait was painted soon after the unexpected death of Marquand’s wife on February 3, 1895 and just months after Mabel’s premature death on November 23, 1896. The long sittings in Sargent’s studio gave Marquand ample time to reflect on the tragic of loss of his loved-ones, undoubtedly causing him grief. At the same time, following the family tradition of employing Sargent to paint his portrait must also have given Marquand an equal measure of consolation.

The museum committee that was formed to arrange the commission for

Marquand’s portrait and collect funds for its payment comprised three trustees: Cornelius

Vanderbilt (son of the Commodore and brother of William H.), William R. Ware, and

Charles Stewart Smith. Originally, the commission was to be carried out during the summer of 1896, but it was not until the following summer that Marquand sat for the portrait. The delay may have been a result of Marquand’s illness during the summer of

1896 or Sargent’s busy schedule.18 These circumstances persisted into the following year.

When Marquand’s son Allan contacted Sargent to schedule the sittings, the painter referred to his full roster of commissions in England and said it would be impossible to complete the portrait unless Marquand was to travel to London.19 Determined to engage

Sargent as is official portraitist, Marquand obliged Sargent by traveling to London to sit for the painting. While his still-fragile health made the journey and the long hours in

Sargent’s studio an ordeal, Marquand did not regret his decision to stick with the artist.

On August 1, 1897, Marquand reported to museum Director Luigi P. di Cesnola, “I had

18 Sargent to Marquand, July 25th [1886 or 1887] John Singer Sargent letters, 1887-1922. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution. Marquand was also ill when he sat for the portrait in the summer of 1887 and described feeling shaky when writing to Cesnola August 18, 1897, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

19 Sargent to Allan Marquand, [1896], John Singer Sargent letters, 1887-1922. Archives of American Art, Smithsonian Institution. 107

my last sitting yesterday and we leave here in 3 days for New York. Every one who has seen the portrait says it is a great success and I trust you will be pleased.”20 Sargent recommended purchasing a frame through Stanford White, of the architectural firm,

McKim, Mead & White, noting that, “London frames are far inferior to those of New

York.”21 Marquand likely took pleasure in conveying Sargent’s positive assessment of

American craftsmanship.

On October 12th, Sargent notified Cesnola that the painting had been packed and shipped: “I have this day forwarded by Steamer ‘Majestic’ Mr. Henry G. Marquand’s portrait. I had the picture boxed at my own expense and obtained a Consular certificate so as to save time and trouble to you in New York.”22 Instead of asking for his payment, which had not yet been made in full, Sargent made another request: “I should be greatly pleased if you will allow the picture to be exhibited at the National Academy of Design at the coming exhibition.”23 Earlier that year, Sargent had received the prodigious honor of simultaneous election as a Royal Academician in London and a National Academician in

New York. Sargent felt that the Marquand portrait would be a suitable submission to the

National Academy of Design to showcase his new status. A year earlier, the critic

20 Marquand to Cesnola, August 1, 1897, Marquand, Henry G. – Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

21 Marquand to Cesnola August 18, 1897, Marquand, Henry G, - Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. The painting was shipped without a frame. It is unknown to this author whether White was involved in the procurement of the frame in the United States.

22 Sargent to Cesnola October 12, 1897, Marquand, Henry G, - Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. There was some confusion over Sargent’s payment for the commission. Museum had forwarded him an advance for shipping costs, but the price of the painting was not determined until January of 1898. See William R. Ware to Cesnola January 2, 1898, Marquand, Henry G., Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. The cost of the commission including shipping was quoted at $3,159.37. This fee was divided among the Trustees. Cost of the commission was slightly above the estimate of $2,875.

23 Sargent to Cesnola October 12, 1897, Marquand, Henry G, - Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 108

William A. Coffin wrote a glowing review of Sargent’s career that recognized his ability to “grasp his sitters’ mental phases.”24 The fact that he wished the portrait to be displayed to an audience acquainted with the subject demonstrates Sargent’s faith in the likeness.

Unfortunately, the painting was not eligible for display at the National Academy of Design after it had been hung in the Metropolitan. Thomas W. Wood, president of the

National Academy of Design, regretfully informed Cesnola in November of 1897:

The constitution of the Academy prohibits the acceptance of any painting for its exhibitions that has been previously shown to the public in New York or Brooklyn. I saw that this Fall Exhibition was our only chance to show the Sargent portrait of President Marquand, and hoped from your note, that it might be loaned to us. After a long Winters exhibit at the Museum, you can see that the Academy will be debarred from accepting the portrait of Mr. Marquand for the Spring Exhibition, and Mr. Sargent’s request, owing to these untoward circumstances, and very much to our regret, must remain unfulfilled.25

Wood was aware that the painting had been installed at the Metropolitan since its arrival in October, and due to the importance of the painting to the museum, would likely remain on view to the public through until the next scheduled exhibition of the National

Academy in the spring. The painting’s exhibition at the National Academy would have solidified his new status at the National Academy and emphasized the expatriate’s connection to the United States, especially through its subject matter—a great American patron of the arts.26 Exhibition at a second venue would also have broadened the audience for the portrait, but the museum’s portrait committee was nevertheless satisfied that the painting was a popular success. Smith wrote to Vanderbilt in December: “The opinion of

24 Coffin, 178.

25 Thomas W. Wood, to Cesnola November 9, 1897, Marquand, Henry G, - Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

26 Coffin, 177 notes that Sargent guarded his American citizenship and claimed he would not have given it up for the honor of becoming a Royal Academician if that were a requirement, even though he had not lived in the United State for decades. 109

the public is unanimous that this is a most valuable acquisition to the Museum.”27 It was the first work by John Singer Sargent to enter the Metropolitan’s collection.28

It is not known where the painting was first displayed in the museum, but it was eventually installed in the Marquand Gallery, which was dedicated to the old master and

English school paintings that Marquand had donated to the museum. Despite its chronological incongruity, the presence of the Sargent portrait among the old masters in the Marquand Gallery was seen as fitting by the administration of the museum, since the gallery formed a tribute to Marquand’s philanthropy.

By the decade of the teens, however, after the new Curator of Paintings Roger Fry and, after him, Bryson Burroughs, made significant rearrangements to the paintings collection, the Sargent portrait, still hanging in the Marquand Gallery, seemed out-of- place. In 1916, a visitor wrote to the museum expressing his confusion, noting that the

Sargent portrait of Marquand seemed “out of key” with the early Italian paintings that surrounded it.29 The museum’s Secretary Henry Watson Kent replied:

I may say here, however, that the reason for having the Sargent portrait of Mr. Marquand in its present position is that the gallery itself is in the nature of a memorial to Mr. Marquand, to whom the Museum is deeply indebted for the very valuable collection presented by him and for his many generous donations. It was with the thought of the memorial gallery in mind that the portrait was hung there.30

The protestation of the museum visitor indicates that, by this time, audiences were accustomed to the classification of paintings by school and time period. The museum,

27 Charles Stewart Smith to Cornelius Vanderbilt, December 11, 1897, Marquand, Henry G, - Sargent portrait, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

28 Elaine Kilmurray and Richard Ormond, Portraits of the 1890s, vol. 2 of John Singer Sargent: Complete Paintings (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2002), 130.

29 Sloane O’Conor, Jr. to Henry Watson Kent, March, 15, 1916, Marquand, Henry G. – Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

30 Kent to O’Conor, March 16, 1916, Marquand, Henry G. – Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 110

however, was not altogether ready to dispense with this memorializing gesture and the portrait remained in its place for the time being. It can be surmised that Marquand himself, a proponent of the historical classification and display of art objects, would have agreed with the visitor.

Thus the painting has had multiple significations since its creation. Originally the commission had personal meaning to Marquand, exemplifying his long-standing role as patron to American artists, and Sargent in particular. To Sargent, the painting symbolized his significant achievements in the United States, which were encouraged by Marquand and which he wished to publicize through exhibition at the National Academy. To the trustees of the museum, the painting was originally commissioned as a monument to

Marquand’s leadership. After it was installed in the Marquand Gallery, however, it transformed into emblem of his contributions as a donor. Years following, after the painting was moved to the American Wing, its meaning shifted further away from its memorializing purpose, becoming simply an art object again; a mid-career portrait painting by the American artist John Singer Sargent.31 The evolution of the painting’s significance away from a tribute to the sitter and toward an exemplary work of a celebrated artist testifies to Marquand’s astute evaluation of Sargent’s skill as a portrait painter, an assessment he formed early in Sargent’s career.

Rogers Fund for Acquisitions, 1902

Jacob S. Rogers’s bequest to the Metropolitan, amounting to more than five million dollars to form an acquisitions fund for works of art, has long been acknowledged as a turning point in the history of the museum. The fund significantly increased the

31 The date the painting was transferred out of the Marquand Gallery is not known. 111

museum’s buying-power, enabling the trustees and staff to build and shape the collection.

Marquand recognized the need for an acquisitions endowment fund and pointedly solicited members for contributions through the 1890s. The connection between

Marquand’s advocacy of an endowment fund and the receipt of the Rogers bequest has been long overlooked by museum historians. In part, this neglect is due to the fact that the

Rogers bequest came as a total surprise to the museum, during a time of personal and professional hardship for Marquand that caused him to withdraw from museum work.

Furthermore, the museum’s director had been Rogers’s only contact at the museum. As the museum’s spokesperson during these meetings his part in influencing the bequest has been acknowledged to the exclusion of other museum personnel. Marquand, the perennial businessman and financier, however, had laid the groundwork for the financial health of the museum and should be credited for identifying the need for the large and sustaining purchase fund, which was so overwhelmingly answered by the Rogers bequest.

Reliant upon donations for the development of its programs and collection through the nineteenth century, the Metropolitan was quite unlike its European counterparts, which operated on ample government funding. The first Annual Report, issued by the museum in 1872, pointed out the contrast between the New York institution and the European museums that it aspired to emulate: “In the chief countries of Europe it has not been difficult to obtain these sums from the government, which regards such institutions as important agents in the education of the people and annually makes liberal grants for their support and maintenance.32 Lacking adequate backing from the

32 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1872 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1872), 10. The Museum did have some government support. In 1871, The New York Legislature appropriated the land and a fund for the erection of a building and provided funding for the maintenance of the building and property. 112

government, the trustees issued impassioned and admonishing entreaties for donations of money from New York’s wealthy private citizens in their Annual Reports through the turn of the twentieth century. The trustees’ frustration was compounded by the fact that similar institutions in Philadelphia and Boston, because the citizens of those cities were then more liberal in their support of the arts, consistently raised more money than the

Metropolitan despite the greater wealth present in New York City.33

The lack of a viable acquisitions endowment in particular posed significant challenges to building the museum’s permanent collection. In an Annual Report issued during his presidency, Marquand noted that “accumulations [of art objects] thus far have been mostly by gifts and bequests.”34 The majority of the works of art in the museum’s possession were initially acquired by private collectors and later donated to the museum, with minor regard for specific needs of the institution. Thus the collection developed unevenly in the early years of the museum’s existence. The museum’s lack of ready funds and purchases, therefore, posed significant challenges as well. In 1871, to secure the group of Dutch and Flemish works that became the core of the paintings collection,

Trustee William T. Blodgett and President John Taylor Johnston had to provide substantial personal loans as a bridge payment until the balance of the subscription was

33 For example, see Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1872 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1872), 6.

34 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1894 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1895), 24. 113

met.35 Speaking from experience, Johnston reported the following year, “to purchase will require large sums of money.”36

Marquand was concerned that the museum’s lack of buying power had an adverse impact on the quality of the collection. He observed in the 1890 Annual Report: “We have no means for judicious purchases, which would go toward systematizing and increasing the educational power of the varied and valuable gifts which we receive.”37

Marquand envisioned a future for the museum in which the staff would be in a position to select and edit the collection free from the burden of continual fundraising. Increased control over acquisitions would enable the museum not simply to build, but to refine its collections.

In the absence of substantial acquisition funds, Marquand himself sought to provide the money, in addition to the knowledge, to make sensible purchases so the museum could strengthen the comprehensive scope of its collections. Through his steady gifts Marquand earned a reputation as the Metropolitan’s foremost donor. In 1901

Cesnola reported to the press, “President Henry G. Marquand heads the list so far as gifts of art treasures and money are concerned.”38 More important than being the museum’s most generous donor Marquand was the most effective. His in-depth knowledge of the museum’s collection and administration enabled him to identify the most pressing needs.

His desire to strengthen the museum’s encyclopedic collection guided his donations, and

35 Robert W. de Forest, “William Tilden Blodgett and the Beginning of the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 1, no. 3 (February, 1906): 39.

36 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1872 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1872), 10.

37 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1890 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1891), 14.

38 New York Times, July 7, 1901. 114

for decades he discerningly filled in many gaps left by haphazard gifts and bequests from other donors.

By the 1890s, however, as the art market became more competitive, Marquand’s purchasing power waned. It became clear to Marquand that a sustainable model for acquisitions would have to be put in place. He determined that a fund specifically dedicated to the purchase of art, yielding an income of about fifty thousand dollars would enable the museum to actively and effectively compete in the art market.39 Such a fund would free the museum from the burden of raising money for individual purchases or relying too heavily upon its trustees for donations. Therefore, an acquisitions endowment fund would relieve Marquand of the financial obligations he placed upon himself and spread decision-making power among the staff and trustees of the museum. In short, such a fund had the potential to alter the structure and operations of the museum.

The first use of the term “endowment fund” in an appeal for money for acquisitions was made by Marquand in the museum’s Annual Report of 1891.40 The new heading using the term set off a detailed text describing the type of fund he sought. He declared, “the most urgent demand, after provision for meeting the current expenses of the institution, is for an endowment fund, the income of which may be used for the purchase of rare and desirable art objects whenever they may be offered.”41 That same year, Jacob S. Rogers, a railroad tycoon from Paterson, New Jersey and annual member

39 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1898 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1899), 18.

40 As an annual member, Rogers was not entitled to a complimentary copy of the annual report of the museum. However, it is likely that he would have had access to the publication during his annual visits with Cesnola.

41 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1891 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1892), 17. 115

since 1883 requested a printed copy of the Museum Charter, Constitution, and By Laws and began making specific requests for information about the museum’s finances and administration. In conversations with Cesnola during Rogers’s ritual, yearly visits to drop off his membership dues, he showed a particular interest in the subject of endowment funding.42 Though Rogers may not have met Marquand personally, he also inquired about the extent of Marquand’s work for the museum.43 Information Cesnola provided on

Marquand’s contributions, both administrative and financial, must have made a great impression on Rogers. He must also have been sympathetic to the goals of the institution outlined in the museum’s Annual Reports and the other organizational literature and convinced that Marquand’s proposal for reaching those goals was prudent and worthy.

Although Rogers had indicated to Cesnola that he wished to remember the museum in his will, Cesnola was unaware of the magnitude of Rogers’s fortune or the extent to which he would share his legacy with the museum. Indeed, Cesnola had no reason to believe that Rogers would bequeath more than a few thousand dollars to the museum, a typical amount for bequests of annual members.44 Annual membership was the lowest level available and subject to dues of only ten dollars per year. In 1883, when

Rogers delivered his second check, over 1,250 members were counted in this class.45

Aside from his annual membership dues, Rogers had not given anything to the museum

42 Memo from the Law Committee, n.d., Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives indicates that Rogers visited Cesnola in October of 1891. The annual report for that year, covering January-December, would have been printed early in 1892. If Rogers hadn’t seen a draft of the report, he likely heard about the endowment fund appeal from Cesnola.

43 Memo from the Law Committee, n.d., Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

44 Ibid.

45 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1883 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1884), 28-42. 116

during his lifetime. The extent to which he was interested in art also remains a mystery;

Cesnola did not know if Rogers even visited the galleries during his fact-finding trips to the museum. Cesnola admitted to the press that during his visits “[Rogers] never evinced any interest in art.”46

Therefore the trustees were astonished when, after his death on July 2, 1901, it came to light that Rogers had named the museum as the sole residuary legatee of his large estate amounting to the astounding sum of over five million dollars. The bequest stipulated the establishment of a fund matching the exact terms outlined by Marquand.

Borrowing language from Marquand’s 1891 appeal, Rogers’s will stated that: “The income only of the fund hereby created, or intended so to be, to be used for the purchase of rare and desirable art objects, and in the purchase of books for the library of said

Museum and for such purposes exclusively, the principal of said fund is not to be used, diminished or impaired for any purpose whatever.”47

The fund had the potential to yield an annual income of two hundred fifty thousand dollars, five times the amount Marquand had stipulated.48 The Rogers bequest immediately placed the museum on solid financial ground. Cesnola reported to The New

York Times on July 7, 1901: “The Museum is now . . . no longer in a precarious condition because of its financial affairs. It is equipped with a princely fund, and what have been considered visionary schemes for its wellfare [sic] and permanency are realizations.

Having the legacy we can go ahead and develop it without being hampered by financial

46 New York Times, July 7, 1901 and Memo from the Law Committee, n.d., Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

47 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1901 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1902), 18-19.

48 Robert de Forest to Marquand October 15th, 1901, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 117

considerations.” No longer would the museum have to rely upon private donations of money and objects to build its collections—it could, for the first time, acquire systematically and face the market with confidence, cash in hand.

Marquand’s vision was fulfilled, and the trustees were giddy. Upon learning of the bequest, William Dodge, a member of the Executive Committee, wrote to Marquand

“The wonderful will of Jacob Rogers with its splendid possibilities for the Museum has astonished us all greatly. It seems like a golden dream.”49 The following day an effusive

William Loring Andrews wrote to Cesnola, “The truth of the old saws that it is the

‘unexpected that happens’ and ‘it never rains but it pours’ have a fine exemplification in the Rogers bequest to the Museum. To use a very slang expression it is a sockdolager of a gift.”50 On a more sober and reflective note he continued, “better perhaps than the money part of it, is the mark of confidence it affords in the management & usefulness of the

Museum. Well, it means more work and responsibility for us and a higher standard for our [illegible] times. The entrance examination for objects of art offered the Museum will have to be made more severe.”51 Andrews perceived, as Marquand had years earlier, that such an endowment would enable the museum to be selective with regard to its acquisitions, ensuring that the collection would not just grow, but strengthen. Liberated from dubious gifts and piecemeal fundraising for purchases, the staff and trustees of the museum could turn their attention to curatorial matters.

49 William Dodge to Marquand July 6, 1901, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

50 William Loring Andrews to Cesnola July 7, 1901, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

51 Ibid. 118

The Rogers bequest, which marked such a significant turning point in the fortunes of the museum, coincided almost precisely with a serious financial reversal for

Marquand. On June 25, 1901, the stock exchange brokerage firm Henry Marquand &

Co., run by Marquand’s son and namesake, failed to meet its debt balance with the clearing house.52 Marquand senior, convalescing at his home Linden Gate in Newport,

Rhode Island, immediately embarked to New York to review Marquand & Co.’s books, battling through his illness and an intense heat wave to assist his son.

The arrival of Marquand senior at the brokerage firm reportedly inspired confidence in investors, but the firm nevertheless went bankrupt days later. The collapse of the firm took with it over one hundred thousand dollars of Marquand’s personal investment and dealt a crushing blow to his professional esteem. As the story unfolded, the New York Times printed lengthy accounts of the firm’s failure. The trustees of the museum were all well aware of Marquand’s plight. William Dodge’s revel over the

Rogers bequest was tempered with condolences: “During this extreme heat I have thought much of you, especially with the added strain of your son’s business trouble. I

[sincerely?] [illegible] these have not affected you or worn upon you when you are so far from well. I do sympathize with you all most deeply.”53 And the aforementioned letter from William Loring Andrews to Cesnola ended with sympathy for Marquand: “I am

52 Henry Marquand Jr. was not on hand during the crisis and the junior member of the firm, Frank B. Poor, was reported by the New York Times, June 28, 1901, to be nervously negotiating inquiries from the press, pacing the floor of his office, chewing on an unlit cigar.

53 William Dodge to Marquand, July 6, 1901, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 119

very sorry for the Marquand failure on Mr. Marquand’s account. . .the failure must be a trial to him and a source of worriment.”54

Although the firm was absolved of accounting irregularities, irreparable damage had been made to Marquand’s reputation and finances.55 On July 22nd, Marquand tendered his resignation from the Board:

I beg herewith to hand you my resignation as President of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Which deeply sensible that your constant support has greatly relieved me in the cares of the office, it is nonetheless proper that its responsibilities and honors should fall upon some one not already burdened by advanced years. I can only add that this resignation is final and that you will honor me most by accepting it at your earliest opportunity.56

Not wishing to invite questions, Marquand cited his advanced age as the impetus for his resignation.57 The Board members immediately understood that the stress of failure of his son’s firm and his degraded financial position were the main reasons for his withdrawal.

Upon receiving Marquand’s letter, Cesnola wrote to Dodge in Bar Harbor for a statement from the trustees.58 Upon receiving word back, Cesnola composed his reply together with

Dodge’s:

I sent your letter to Dodge, who is now at Bar Harbor, Maine, and this morning I received an answer from him which I herewith almost literally transcribe to you. “We feel most deeply for Mr. Marquand. It is sad that at his age and with his weak health such troubles should come to him, but we must not let him add to the pain of his position, the severance of his connection with the Museum. No one connects him in the slightest degree with the difficulties of his son’s firm, and the acceptance of his resignation now would give the wrong impression that we felt he was affected by it. We all love and respect him deeply and rejoice with him in the fact that after all these years of waiting and hope deferred, we

54 William Loring Andrews to Cesnola July 7, 1901, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

55 New York Times, July 11, 1901.

56 Marquand to Trustees, July 22, 1901, Marquand, Henry G. – General Correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

57 Marquand was 82 years of age.

58 The quick turn-around time of only seven days from when Marquand wrote his resignation letter to Cesnola’s reply indicates that Marquand may have cabled his intensions earlier, or most of the trustees, likely vacationing in various locations were left out of the discussion. 120

now have the prospects of large means for the carrying out of the plans he has so wisely arranged. We will ask no work from him and will make everything easy and pleasant. To have a vacancy now would lead to all kinds of complications growing out of the fact that with increased means there would be increased power in the position and ambitious men would work for a place in the Board. At all events we can do nothing until next November. It would be a great misfortune, and we all feel it, to have an apparent change in administration before Roger’s case goes to court.”59 The expressions so feelingly given in this letter by Mr. Dodge are the feelings of all the Trustees and therefore you must allow me to with-hold your letter of resignation till the November meeting of the Board of Trustees, which is the earliest moment. You have, dear Mr. Marquand done so much to build up and make the Museum what it is to-day, that I am sure you will not hurt it by insisting upon your resignation, and I may add that it is your duty to remain at your place and help us over these troubles. We all, without exception, sincerely sympathize with you. With high regard, believe me, L. P. di Cesnola.60

Dodge sympathized with Marquand’s difficult personal position and encouraged him to derive a sense of satisfaction and pride from the part he played in securing the Rogers bequest. The trustees, who had witnessed Marquand’s three decades of dedicated work on behalf of the museum, understood that he had an important role in securing the funds. It was due to the sensitivity with which he observed the museum’s needs and the groundwork he laid toward key goals that enabled them to be met so precisely. The letter also indicates that Marquand was a source of stability within the institution that the trustees did not wish to lose during a time of change.

Marquand heeded the trustees’ advice and did not resign. He was too ill to attend the Board meeting that November, which came and went without mention of his resignation. Ultimately, when Marquand died a few months later on February 26, 1902 he still retained the title of President of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

59 Roger’s heirs, who were not favored by the terms of the bequest protested the will. Trustee Robert de Forest and his firm de Forest Bros. represented the museum. The case was settled in October. de Forest summarized in a May 19, 1902 report, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives: “The contest over Mr. Rogers’ will, based on insufficient execution, incapacity, and other general grounds, has been concluded in favor of the will, in the Prerogative Court of New Jersey, and the validity of the will is res adjudicata in that State.” This subject is discussed further on in the text.

60 Cesnola to Marquand July 29, 1901, Marquand, Henry G, – General correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 121

News of Marquand’s death caused speculation about the terms of will. It was assumed that Marquand’s benevolence to the museum would continue with his legacy, and that he would bequeath his personal collection of art to the museum. The public was shocked to discover that the museum was not mentioned in his will at all, and a reporter inquired if the news had come as a surprise to Cesnola as well. He replied:

I am not at all surprised . . . because I dissuaded him from doing so. I advised him only two weeks before his death not to make any bequest to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. About eight years ago Mr. Marquand put his will a bequest of $60,000 to the museum, but on the failure of the firm of Henry Marquand & company, of which his son Henry was the chief partner, he took it out. He was anxious, however, a fortnight before his death, to do more for the museum, but I said to him, ‘You have done more than enough.’ Mr. Marquand gave more than $1,000,000 to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There is not a department in the museum in which he is not represented as a donor. . . I said to him, ‘Don’t do it. You have done more than enough and besides, we have the Rogers millions.’61

Cesnola’s comments to the press aptly memorialized Marquand. The director took care to mention the breadth of Marquand’s gifts to the museum, realizing that many of his donations of decorative arts, reproductions, or funds had not been considered news- worthy at the time they were given but still deserved public recognition.

It is noteworthy that Cesnola only discussed a bequest of money, not objects from his private collection, with Marquand. It may have been due to the recent financial troubles that Marquand resolved to send his collection to auction. The collection stood to yield a large sum on the market, which would be of great assistance to his family at a critical moment. That Cesnola did not mention Marquand’s collection at all suggests that he knew that Marquand never intended these items to go to the museum. Marquand may have always considered them suitable for personal enjoyment, but not appropriate for the museum. Marquand nevertheless wrestled with the terms of his will. It is easy to

61 New-York Daily Tribune, March 14, 1902. 122

understand why: it was the last opportunity he had to serve as a benefactor to the museum.

Cesnola’s comment, “besides, we have the Rogers millions,” was intended to assuage Marquand’s sense of enduring responsibility to support the museum. But this knowledge may not have had the comforting effect that Cesnola assumed and the statement could have felt like a barb. While the bequest marked the culmination of

Marquand’s fundraising efforts, the sudden influx of such a large sum drew attention to the fact that Marquand had become ineffectual. With the Rogers money, donors like

Marquand were no longer required to buoy the museum. His attempt to resign may have been influenced by the realization that he had nothing more to give to the museum, a sentiment compounded by his severely compromised social and economic position due to the failure of his son’s firm. Already at an advanced age, there was little Marquand could do to rebuild his reputation and fortune.

Marquand did not live long enough to see the Rogers money come to the museum. Heirs of Rogers’s who felt short-changed by the terms of the bequest contested the will. As a result, the estate was tied up in legal proceedings for some time. Trustee and Legal Committee member Robert de Forest stepped in to represent the museum’s interests with his firm de Forest Bros. Ultimately the case was settled, and an initial sum of five hundred thousand dollars was turned over to the museum by the estate’s executors on January 19, 1903.62 The museum received the money just before Marquand’s private collection went to auction on the 23rd. The first work of art purchased with the new acquisitions fund, Thomas Cole’s Roman Aqueduct, was, fittingly, from the Marquand

62 de Forest Brothers to Cesnola, January 19, 1903, Rogers, Jacob S. – Bequest – General, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 123

Collection sale (fig. 55).63 Thus the sale turned into a proving ground for the museum:

The institution did not need a bequest from Marquand as it could now choose what it wished to purchase from the private collection of its greatest benefactor.

The enlargement of the museum’s endowment caused the organization’s strength finally to outweigh that of any individual member. Marquand’s particular manner of giving, which sustained the museum during the early period, was no longer required or even fitting after 1903. Fulfilling Marquand’s vision, the museum entered an era during which the art collections were augmented and refined. The sudden change of course for the museum—from an institution reliant upon donors for the development of its collections to one with the financial agency to be selective—obscured Marquand’s significant contributions as a donor, but the financial course he charted for the

Metropolitan was perhaps his greatest triumph as a museum administrator.

The Marquand Collections

Marquand was a firm believer in the power of art to instruct and inspire. These principals consistently guided his donations to the museum over his thirty years of involvement with the institution. His faith in the primacy of objects over the identity of their donors led to the dispersal of the collections he assembled and gave to the museum.

Once displayed in groups that prominently advertised his role as the donor, the Marquand

Collections began to be taken apart and arranged with other objects in the museum’s

63 Jonathan Bloom, “This Weekend in Met History: July 2,” Metropolitan Museum of Art, http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-museum/now-at-the-met/features/2011/this-weekend-in-met- history-july-2 (accessed 10/4/2011). Metropolitan Museum of Art accession number 03.27, now titled, A View near Tivoli (Morning) The painting was purchased for $875. Various other “works of art and books” were purchased from from the Marquand sale with $8,496 in Rogers funds and $3,200 in Wolfe funds, but these are not recorded in Purchases – General – Marquand Sale, 1903, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 124

collection as early as the 1890s, while Marquand was still serving as president.

Conceiving of the museum’s collection as a whole, Marquand did not favor segregating collections by donor in perpetuity. He believed that the educative viewing experience of the visitor was of utmost importance and that it was the responsibility of museum staff and trustees to present the artworks in its collection in an instructive manner. His belief in the enlightening power of each individual art object ultimately took the spotlight off

Marquand and placed it upon the artwork. His ideologies as a donor thus consistently led

Marquand to place the object before the promotion of his own reputation.

In 1888, on the occasion of the inauguration of the first extension of the museum’s Central Park building, Trustee Joseph H. Choate made a speech designed to appeal to the potential donors that populated the upper echelon of New York society.

This speech was meant to rally support for the museum by pointing out what the institution had to offer its donors in return:

Think of it, ye millionaires of many markets, what glory may yet be yours if you only listen to our advice, to convert pork into porcelain, grain and produce into priceless pottery, the rude ores of commerce into sculptured marble, and railroad shares and mining stocks—things which perish without the using, and which the next financial panic shall surely shrivel like parched scrolls—into the glorified canvases of the world’s masters, that shall adorn these walls for the centuries.64

Choate observed that a donor’s memory could live on in enduring works of art.

Furthermore, he emphasized the museum’s role in protecting that legacy of giving through the care and safekeeping of the objects. This point would have resonated with the businessmen in the audience who had been subject to the financial fluctuations that had plagued the market since the Civil War. These men were vulnerable to the uncertainty of speculative business practices, which had the potential to make and break a man within

64 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for the Year Ending May, 1880 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1880), 21. 125

years. For the trustees, Choate’s speech must have recalled the plight that befell former museum president John Taylor Johnston, who was forced to sell his celebrated collection to recoup losses incurred from his failed railroad venture before making any important gift from it to the museum. Choate’s speech may also have influenced Marquand’s decision a couple weeks later, to make an official gift to the museum the old master and

English school paintings that had been on loan in the galleries for several months.

The security Marquand may have sought, however, was not for his own legacy.

He wanted to ensure that the public would have access in perpetuity to the objects he intended to share with them. In the Annual Report for 1894 Marquand himself recommended: “The possessors of fine works should consider how much safer and more useful it would be to place their best examples in this museum.”65 In the museum, works of art were secured against the rollercoaster of personal finances. Better still, they could be enjoyed by a wider audience.

Marquand understood that parting with cherished and valuable works of art was not easy to do, especially since owning such works stood to enhance an individual’s social status. In 1888 his speech inaugurating the opening of the new southern extension of the museum, he stated: “We look forward to those who recognize the nature of our collections, and what public-spirited citizens have already done, with the hope that they will be inspired to deny themselves and place their art treasures here, thus doing a permanent service by assisting in the instruction and art education of the masses.”66 It was precisely the ideals of charity and public education that motivated Marquand himself

65 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1894 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1895), 24.

66 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1888 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1889), 14. 126

to give. Marquand thus set an example for other civic-minded wealthy New Yorkers to follow.

The edifying potential of the museum’s collection of art was critical to its identity as a charitable organization. The 1870 charter of the museum stated that a primary goal of the museum was to, “[encourage] and [develop] the study of the fine arts” and to

“[furnish] popular instruction” through its collection.67 The mission of education was designed to uplift the public, a meaningful charitable endeavor. Arnold Lewis, James

Turner, and Steven McQuillin have pointed out that the formation of public museums during this era was “a common expression of public responsibility.”68 Henry J. Duffy has observed that the flurry of charitable giving among the so-called Robber Barons reveals that this class felt a duty and obligation to divest some of their fortunes for the greater social good.69 It was important to these donors, and especially to Marquand, that their gifts were not simply recognized as emblems of wealth, but that they were put to good use and made a concrete and positive impact on society.70

Marquand expounded upon charitable giving in connection with the museum’s educational mission in his speech for the opening of the southern extension of the museum in 1888:

The Trustees had no idea of making this a show place or a mere place of amusement. Their prime object and grand aim has been to provide here a collection of objects that would be strictly useful in the improvement of the arts, bringing up the taste of the people

67 Charter of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, State of New York, Laws of 1870, Chapter 197, passed April 13, 1870.

68 Arnold Lewis, Steven McQuillin, and James Turner, introduction to The Opulent Interiors of the Gilded Age: All 203 Photographs from "Artistic Houses,” (New York: Dover, 1987), 2.

69 Henry J. Duffy, “New York City Collections 1865-1895” (PhD diss., Rutgers State University of New Jersey, 2001), 30.

70 Joel J. Orosz, Curators and Culture: The Museum Movement in America, 1740-1870 (Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 1990), 14. 127

of this country to the highest standards—for that purpose we have relied on the gifts of citizens.71

The classes provided by the short-lived art schools of the museum were not the only opportunity for instruction and learning. Marquand and the other trustees believed that a public art museum had the power to instruct even without structured curriculum.72 The works of art themselves had the inherent power to teach lessons on aesthetics and taste.

The public simply had to visit the museum and look.

In the same speech Marquand emphasized the range of audiences the museum wished to reach: “It is the object of the Trustees to provide instruction for the industrial classes. This building is as much intended for the humblest artisan in wood and metals as for the most luxurious patron of the fine arts, and it is as much for the instruction and benefit of the whole United States as for New York.”73 The museum had democratic ideals for its audience, wishing to draw working-class citizens into its galleries.

Taking to heart the need for suitable examples of artistic craftsmanship in the

United States, Marquand rallied against restrictive customs tariffs that were designed to limit the importation of foreign artwork into the United States in his 1884 article, “The

Tariff on Works of Art” published in the Princeton Review.74 To make his point,

Marquand wrote about the substantial educational value he believed was embedded

71 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report for 1888 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1889), 14.

72 Didactic wall text was only developed as a standard practice much later in the history of the museum.

73 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Annual Report 1888 (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1889), 14.

74 The United States government sought to protect the market for American arts, crafts, and industrial goods by insolating the market from foreign goods. The museum community, Marquand foremost among it at this stage, were against this line of reasoning, arguing that exposure to great examples of art would serve to improve the quality of American art. 128

within art objects. He emphasized the owner’s obligations as custodians of objects of a shared cultural and aesthetic heritage: “The consumer is not only a purchaser but a possessor of an object of study, capable of permanently instructing and aiding other producers.”75 The works of art themselves could provide an aesthetic education to artisans and manufactures. He stressed that the United States was in particular need of such objects of art: “This country has the disadvantage of distance from the art centres; from the fund of antiquities—products of an age of leisure and concentrated wealth, the envy and study of an age of activity and general prosperity; but it has the advantage of disposable fortune.”76 Marquand, as others in positions of influence in the United States, traced their ancestry to European countries, and considered the artistic output of these nations to be their cultural heritage as well.

Before the turn of the twentieth century it was necessary to travel to Europe to see firsthand the masterpieces of European art, or even lesser works, since such objects were scarce in public institutions in the United States. Naturally, most inhabitants of the United

States could not afford international travel. Marquand saw the distance from European art as a particular obstacle to the advancement of arts education in the United States. He advocated for lighter import taxes to encourage the flow of European objects into the

United States, where they could be studied by local artisans, manufacturers, and artists. In particular, he asserted: “Every work of art introduced in the country increases the advantages of study of the native artist. The greater these advantages can be made at home, the less need will there be of prolonged foreign study as an element in artistic

75 Henry Marquand, “The Tariff on Works of Art,” Princeton Review (March, 1884): 147.

76 Ibid., 152. 129

education.”77 Marquand’s simultaneous objective was to raise the standards of taste among consumers in the United States to create a market for well-crafted nationally- produced objects of art and manufacture.

Marquand’s aims were recognized and appreciated by the visitors to the museum.

In a profile on Marquand published in Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, E. A. Alexander writes about the Marquand Collection of paintings:

In giving his pictures to the museum Mr. Marquand had primarily in view the benefit they would confer upon students of art, and there is no doubt that this mission had been more than accomplished . . . Painters and students have found in these a mine of inexhaustible wealth, and they have aided and encouraged many personas who are not able to afford the luxury of study abroad.78

Marquand also believed that works of art should be installed in ways that facilitated opportunities for study. To this end, he allowed the collections he donated to be broken up to fit within educational arrangement schemes. Cesnola protested, not wishing for Marquand’s contributions to the museum to be forgotten by posterity. He perceived Marquand’s passivity with regard to keeping his donations grouped as the

Marquand Collection (of Ancient Glass, European Metalwork, Paintings, Casts, etc.) as willful negligence, and was quick to share strong concerns and pointed advice. Feeling that Marquand was not adequately protecting his legacy when he allowed the Willard

Collection of architectural casts to be merged with the Marquand Collection to create a more cohesive, educational arrangement, he took the opportunity to issue an impassioned warning:

77 Marquand, “The Tariff on Works of Art,” 147. According to “Topics of the Time: A breach in the Chinese Wall,” Century 33, no. 5 (March 1887): 809, Marquand’s lobbying was responsible for the removal of the thirty percent tariff on paintings created before 1700.

78 Alexander, E. A. “Mr. Henry G. Marquand” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 94, no. 562 (March 1897): 566. 130

If you allow your collection of sculptural casts to be amalgamated into the Willard Collection of Architectural casts, it will be an outrage and you will do to your family and to yourself a great wrong. A few years hence if you permit it the Museum Collection of casts will be five or six times what it is now, but it will only be known to the public as the ‘Willard Collection” and nothing else. It is unfortunately, a well known American characteristic to belittle other people’s work & benefaction, to enhance theirs, and to forget only too soon their public benefactors. Mr. Johnston’s long & faithful work begins to be forgotten by the public and will soon be buried in eternal oblivion. Ten years hence the people of New York will ask: who was Mr. Johnston? What has he done for the Museum? An in due time your own turn will come, if you do not protect yourself now that you have the power to do so. Your princely gifts to the Museum make you immortal; without your name attached to then, you will be forgotten like Johnston in no time. It is not a question of your personal modesty, but one of simple justice to your descendants. It is because I know how much you have done and intend doing for our Museum, that I feel it my duty to warn you of what will happen in a few years after your death. If you give your consent to the incorporation of your collection of casts with that of Mr. Willard, there is no reason why the same thing should not be done with your collection of ancient glass, under the same plea that by incorporating it with the Cyprus glass, the classification will appear more educational to the eye of a few specialists who want to study it. So it might be done with your “Old Masters” your “metallic Reproductions” your “Wrought iron work” and so forth; and after you and I are gone and the present Trustees also, our successors will only be too glad to incorporate everything they can, taking care however that their own insignificant gifts be prominently placed before the New York public, and those made by their predecessors will only be found in the property books of the Museum.79

At the time Cesnola’s reaction to the rearrangement of casts must have sounded over- wrought, but his observation was canny and accurate. The merging of the cast collections marked the beginning of the rearrangement of objects in the museum’s galleries that would break up groupings by donor in favor of an educational arrangement. Due in large part to Cesnola’s resistance to breaking up donations, serious efforts to rearrange the collections did not come into full bloom until Cesnola passed away in 1904 and the curatorial staff of the museum was afforded more leeway. Nevertheless, the trend toward dispersing the collections of donors was gaining traction in the 1890s. The Special

Committee on casts, a powerful faction in the museum, had enough independence from the will of the director to actualize the merger. There is no official response from

79 Cesnola to Marquand, April 5th 1890, Marquand, Henry G. - General correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 131

Marquand on file, but from the incorporation of the collections it is clear that Marquand did not share Cesnola’s concerns.

The fate of the Marquand Collection of old master paintings, housed in the

Marquand Gallery, epitomized Cesnola’s fears for Marquand’s legacy and highlights the donor’s enduring belief in the educational power of museum objects. To celebrate

Marquand’s gifts of old master and English school paintings in 1889, the trustees named a gallery in his honor in the southeast section of the building on the second floor (fig. 56; see floor plan, fig. 41).80 The Marquand Collection of paintings had great public appeal.

For many museum visitors, the collection of paintings presented them the first and only opportunity to see the work of the European old masters. An article in the popular magazine, Atlantic Monthly, describes the kind of encounter visitors would have in the newly created Marquand Gallery:

What must be the sensations of one who has never stood before a portrait by Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Hals, or Velazquez, a landscape by Ruysdael, Turner, or Constable, --one who, perchance, has never given a thought to the old masters save as a subject of derision, --what must be his sensations when he steps from the noisy streets of New York into the sacred little corner gallery where these canonized saints of the painter’s paradise confront him with their immortal work! . . . We had all heard of the names of Rembrandt, Ruysdael, Van Dyck, Rubens, but to see them face to face, to be in the same room with their deathless productions, was like breaking some mighty spell, was almost an effect of necromancy!81

Almost a decade after its opening, the Marquand Gallery still held its allure. E. A.

Alexander described the gallery in his feature on Henry G. Marquand published in

80 The gallery was formed after his first gift of paintings in 1889. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of Paintings (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1898) indicates that the Marquand Gallery was also known as gallery 6. It was located in the southeastern-most gallery on the second floor of the museum. By 1905, as a result of the expansion of the museum, the same gallery was renumbered 14. See George H. Story, Illustrated Catalogue of Paintings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1905). In addition to the Marquand Collection, three Rembrandt portraits from the collection of H. O. Havemeyer were installed in the Marquand Gallery. This is noted by William Howe Downes, “The Old Masters in New York,” Atlantic Monthly 64, no. 381 (July 1889): 38.

81 Downes, 37-38. 132

Harper’s New Monthly Magazine as a “small but wholly satisfactory little gallery that lies open at our doors, where every painting is interesting, and several cannot be surpassed by anything to be found in the more advertised European collections.”82 An illustration depicting the Marquand Gallery filled with interested visitors at the opening of the gallery in 1889 made the cover of the popular magazine Harper’s Weekly (fig. 57).

Thus, during Marquand’s lifetime, the Marquand Gallery served both to honor his benevolence and draw visitors into the museum.

Fewer than five years after Marquand’s death, however, as the museum’s collection grew and the fame of the Marquand Collection of paintings diminished, the staff of the museum began to break up the collection in order to fit individual paintings into a new scheme arranged by school.83 This evolution happened gradually and in consultation with Marquand’s son and representative in art matters, Allan. The staff of the museum may have exercised extra sensitivity by consulting with Marquand’s heir due to the fact that Marquand had requested that his first installment of 35 old master paintings be “[kept] together as much as practicable.”84 Nevertheless, he did not stipulate that the collection be kept together in perpetuity. Marquand did not wish to implement a provision that would limit the museum’s control over the collection. Correspondence with Allan regarding the evolution of the Marquand Gallery and Collection sheds light on

82 Alexander, 566.

83 According to Winifred E. Howe and Henry Watson Kent, A History of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, With a Chapter on the Early Institutions of Art in New York (New York: Gilliss Press, 1913), 190, “no attempt was made to arrange the pictures [the museum’s painting collection] according to school” in the 1880s.

84 Marquand to Trustees, January 10, 1889, Marquand, Henry G. - Paintings, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 133

Marquand’s priorities as a donor—to provide works of art to the public for study rather than to preserve his family’s name.

In 1906, Curator Emeritus George H. Story contacted Allan with a proposal to introduce paintings given by other donors into the Marquand Gallery. Allan replied, expressing what he knew to be his father’s feelings on the subject:

In reply to your very kind note of jan. 15th I may say that I have no objection whatever and should be glad to have the paintings presented by Mr. Blodgett and his sister placed in the same room with my father’s pictures. I may also take this occasion to say that in my opinion the Museum has acted wisely in keeping together, for a time at least, important donations. It gratifies the donors and acts as a stimulus to others. At the same time these reasons are purely temporal and the policy of having a well arranged and instructive Museum is much more important. I often spoke to my father about this and I am quite sure that you will find in the deed of gift of my father’s pictures no stipulation that they should have a room to themselves or that they should be exhibited as a collection. Whenever the time comes when the Museum authorities consider it best for the interests of the Museum and the public that this collection should lose its private character and become part of a well classified general department of pictures I trust that they will feel perfectly free to act in accordance with their best judgment. In the mean time I see no objection whatever to the addition of fine pictures, especially when as in this case collected by one of my father’s personal friends.85

It is noteworthy that Allan, and by extension his father, appreciated the temporary memorial, seeing it as an appropriate gesture of gratitude as well as an enticement to potential donors. Thus, during his life, Marquand must have found that the Marquand

Gallery and other memorial galleries served a beneficial collection-development purpose.

Nevertheless, to both father and son, the arrangement of objects for educational purposes was a more important matter than the legacy of the family name.

Shortly after Allan and Story’s exchange, the new curator of paintings Roger Fry, hired by the museum in late January 1906, reached out to Allan with his plan to dismantle temporarily the Marquand Collection of paintings in service of an instructive arrangement. Fry, a young but established art critic and historian, was motivated to

85 Allan Marquand to George H. Story, January 23, 1906, Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 134

rearrange the painting collection as soon as he joined the museum. He published an article outlining his objectives in the March 1906 issue of The Metropolitan Museum of

Art Bulletin. Fry cited the arrangement of paintings at the Brera Gallery in Milan, installed by Director Corrado Ricci, as the ideal. As Fry described it, Ricci had implemented an arrangement in which “all the works of a particular school and epoch of

Italian painters find themselves together in a single gallery,” enabling the visitor to observe the development of the various schools.86 Fry lamented that the Metropolitan’s collection lacked adequate representation in any schools other than that of “sentimental and anecdotic side of nineteenth century painting.”87 Nevertheless, he determined to move forward as best he could and wrote to Allan Marquand, outlining his objectives:

Mr Story has handed me your letter with regard to the arrangement of the pictures in the Marquand Gallery. Mr. Story tells me that he has answered your letter but I take this opportunity to say with what great pleasure I read your remarks upon the necessity of keeping in view the highest permanent interests of the Museum. I think it is due to you, as representing the greatest benefactor in the matter of paintings that this Museum has ever had, to tell you what we are aiming at in the matter of the arrangement of the galleries in the immediate future. One of the galleries has been set apart by the Executive Committee for the purpose of creating an object lesson in the arrangement of pictures of serious artistic merit; the gallery thus formed is intended to be of a temporary nature. It is natural that with such an object in view I turn at once to pictures in the Marquand Gallery, and I hope that you will not feel any regret at the idea of a few of the more important paintings in that gallery taking posts of honor in the temporary exhibition. The Van Dyck, the Vermeer, the Rembrandt head, the Boltraffio, and others, would naturally take their places in such a gallery as is contemplated. A great care and attention will be given to the arrangement and spacing of the pictures, I hope that these masterpieces will be seen, for the time being, even better than heretofore. I feel certain, from the generous tone of your letter, that you will understand and appreciate our aims. If at any time you are in New York, in the next few weeks, it would give me great pleasure if you would call and talk over artistic matters with me.88

86 Roger E. Fry, “Ideals of a Picture Gallery,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 1, no. 4 (March 1906): 59.

87 Fry, “Ideals of a Picture Gallery,” 59. It was in part due to his harsh, public criticism of the museum’s collection that friction developed between him and some of the trustees, which led to his new appointment as European advisor to the Metropolitan less than two years after his hire as curator.

88 Roger Fry to Allan Marquand, March 10, 1906, Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 135

No response from Allan is on file, but a letter from him to Fry later that year makes it clear that Allan has approved the plan.89 Thus encouraged, Fry contacted him with a proposal for a more permanent re-arrangement of the Marquand Collection paintings:

I now want to continue my efforts towards a more intelligent and scholarly arrangement of our galleries and with this in view I propose to make the present Marquand room a Dutch and Flemish Gallery. The Trustees are in sympathy with my ideas and I hope I may count also on yours. As you know, a good many of the best paintings in the Marquand collection belong to that School so that it seemed desirable to make them the nucleus of our new Dutch gallery. I know from your kind and encouraging attitude last Spring that you agree with me in desiring such an intelligent grouping of our pictures as will enable them to appeal properly to the student, but I feel that in view of the great debt we owe to your family I should like to consult you before putting into operation this idea.90

Fry trusted that Allan, as an educator in Art and Archeology at Princeton University, would be amenable to the idea of arrangement by school. Fry invited Allan’s consultation collegially, believing that further conversation would afford the curator more liberty with the collection and without causing personal offense. Allan’s response to Fry acknowledged his and his family’s sense of regret over the dispersal of the Marquand

Collection of paintings. He nevertheless reiterated his and his father’s position and agreed to Fry’s latest plan:

Although I believe that various members of my family will be sorry to see the Marquand room in the Museum given out, a sentiment which I appreciate and also share – still I am [illegible] convinced that the best interests of the museum will be served by a classification by schools and that a classification by donors will prove a perpetual [illegible] so I cheerfully give my consent and trust that the Dutch and Flemish room will have a great success.91

89 Fry to Allan Marquand [December, 1906?], Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives refers to the prior rearrangement writing; “You were so good last spring as to aid me materially in creating the New Gallery No. 24 by your acquiescence in placing there some of the Marquand pictures.”

90 Fry to Allan Marquand [December, 1906?], Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

91 Allan Marquand to Fry, December 2, 1906, Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 136

While the Marquand Collection of paintings was dispersed, a Marquand Gallery was maintained as a memorial to the donor. Around 1911, under the curatorship of

Bryson Burroughs, who succeeded Fry in 1907, the first painting gallery at the top of the great hall stairs, gallery 11, was named the Marquand Gallery (fig. 58).92 The gallery was not intended to contain Marquand Collection paintings exclusively, but only

“masterpieces in the picture collection of the Museum.”93 The new installation did, however, include many of Marquand’s donations, such as Anthony van Dyck’s James

Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, Frans Hals’s Portrait of a Woman, and Johannes

Vermeer’s Young Woman with a Water Pitcher (all three visible in a contemporaneous photograph of the Marquand Gallery, fig. 59; see also figs. 37, 38, 39).94 Compared with the original Marquand Gallery (see fig. 56), which was installed in the salon style, with paintings crowded on the wall on two levels and swaths of cloth setting a luxurious tone, the new Marquand Gallery was sparse despite a patterned wall-treatment. A single row of paintings was hung, and they were set at a distance from one another that allowed visitors to contemplate each work individually. Only those paintings from Marquand’s Collection that retained their attributions and were deemed masterpieces occupied this grand entryway into the Museum’s paintings collection. Rather than keeping the Marquand

Collection of paintings together, which would have impeded curatorial progress, the museum struck a compromise by honoring Marquand through a plaque on the gallery

92 The galleries were renumbered as the museum expanded. Gallery 14 was originally numbered gallery 6. In 1902, the extension to the building designed by Richard Morris Hunt, including the iconic entrance still used today, reoriented the museum from south to east. Gallery 11, therefore, was on the central axis of the museum.

93 “The Marquand Gallery,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 6, no. 1 (January 1911): 4.

94 Metropolitan Museum of Art accession numbers 89.15.16; 91.26.10; and 89.15.21. 137

wall that read: “The Marquand Gallery/Named to commemorate the/great services and gifts of/Henry Gurdon Marquand/President of The Museum/1889-1902.”95

This arrangement enabled Burroughs to showcase “important works of various schools” in Marquand Gallery, as it was described in the 1914 paintings catalogue, and rearrange the other works as the he found appropriate.96 He followed the method Fry had so aggressively endorsed during his short tenure and arranged works in the twenty other paintings galleries by school, such as “American paintings, early,” “ European paintings, nineteenth century,” “European paintings, modern,” “Flemish painting, seventeenth century,” “Italian paintings, sixteenth to eighteenth century,” “Spanish paintings, seventeenth to eighteenth century,” “British and French paintings, eighteenth century.”97

Some of these galleries contained collections of paintings given by important donors and lenders to the museum, like Catherine Lorillard Wolfe, George A. Hearn, and William H.

Vanderbilt, and this was noted in the catalogue. Unlike Marquand’s collection of paintings, which contained various eras of Dutch, English, and Italian school paintings, among others, the Wolfe, Hearn, and Vanderbilt collections fell more neatly into the museum’s classifications system by school and thus fit into the arrangement intact.

In response to the museum’s gesture of relocating the Marquand Gallery to its new prestigious location, Allan sent a letter expressing his appreciation and reiterated his father’s enduring values:

In the name of the family of the late Henry G. Marquand I beg to express our satisfaction in the way you have cherished his memory. It was his desire that his gifts should have their utmost educational value and hence he made no condition that unrelated objects

95 “The Marquand Gallery,” 6.

96 Bryson Burroughs, Catalogue of Paintings (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1914), 316.

97 Ibid., 316. 138

should perpetually be kept together. A room devoted to his memory and entertaining, for a while at least, the most important of his gifts is a fitting tribute to his great interest in the Museum and will not, we trust, check its educational influence.98

Affirming Cesnola’s fears on behalf of Marquand and his family, Henry and Allan consistently weighed the educational value of the objects in the Marquand Collection over the legacy of their family name. Over time, the Marquand Collection of paintings and his many other groupings of gifts were dismantled further; and some were deaccessioned from the museum’s collection. Nonetheless, the Marquand Gallery survived at least until 1939.99

While Cesnola disagreed with Marquand’s indifference to preserving the integrity of his donations, he acknowledged that Marquand’s contributions formed a lasting monument. In a response to a now lost letter from Mrs. John Elliott (probably the author

Maude Howe Elliott, wife of the British artist), Cesnola asserted that nothing less than the museum itself was Marquand’s monument:

In your note which is before me, you express the desire to see a monument erected to [Marquand] while he is alive. When you re-visit New York City, if you come to the Museum, I will show you what a colossal monument is now being erected to him here. It will be more lasting than the Egyptian monolith which stands as a sentinel outside of the Museum. But instead of being monolithic, Mr. Marquand’s monument will be made in sections, each of a different material; some as fragile as glass; others as hard as wrought- iron. I have been gradually constructing these sections since 1879 in almost every department of the Museum; and when each section has been completed, it will be the grandest and most enduring monument that has ever been erected by a man in his life- time. More than a million of people will hereafter come every year to look at it and gratefully remember the name of the good man who provided the material to erect the monument, not for his own glorification, but for the instruction and enjoyment of his fellow countrymen and their posterity.100

98 Allan Marquand to Trustees, January 2, 1911, Marquand, Henry G. – Marquand Gallery, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives.

99 When the plaque was removed cannot be determined precisely. It appears intact in a 1939 installation photograph (with no Marquand donations visible).

100 Cesnola to Mrs. John Elliott, December 3, 1890, Marquand, Henry G. – General correspondence, Office of the Secretary Records, Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 139

By 1890, when this letter was written, Marquand’s gifts of glass and iron work, which

Cesnola highlighted in particular, had strengthened these areas of the collection. It is notable that Cesnola did not mention the gifts of old master paintings, which Marquand had recently donated to the museum. Instead, he recognized Marquand’s giving generally and suggested that the full scope of the museum’s collections of art served as the most appropriate memorial to him. He acknowledged that Marquand’s gifts were made without need for self-aggrandizement.

Allan Marquand, and indeed, the museum’s staff and trustees, however, acknowledged the value of keeping collections intact and naming galleries as a means of honoring important donors, as this was also a major enticement for private collectors to give their prized works of art to the public institution. Such honorary gestures were especially critical during the early period of the museum’s development when the institution relied upon such gifts almost exclusively for the development of its collection.

After the museum received the Rogers bequest, however, the need to cater to collectors in this way became less dire. The balance struck by the museum in keeping important paintings in the Marquand Collection together “for a while at least” in the Marquand

Gallery while moving forward with the classification scheme in other galleries was representative of the museum’s shifting priorities as it became liberated from dependency on private donors and better able to pursue its educational objectives.

Marquand’s belief in the intrinsic power of the artwork to instruct and enlighten endured beyond his death. The light restrictions he placed upon the Marquand Collection of paintings and other collections enabled museum staff to arrange the works of art to reach visitors in effective and innovative ways. Marquand’s beliefs remained relevant and

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useful even as the museum grew and became increasingly professionalized. Therefore, the dissolution of the Marquand collections in service of strengthening the museum’s collection can be seen as tribute to Marquand’s memory and values and his true legacy as a donor.

Conclusion

After Marquand’s retirement from the majority of his business interests in 1880, he became committed to advancing art in the United States to such an extent that it eventually engrossed his private life and his work on behalf of the Metropolitan. He created opportunities for living artists and artisans by employing them to design and decorate the interior of his home. He provided artists, artisans, and those in the market for art and manufactured goods with a visual education by donating paintings, reproductions of sculpture, and a variety of decorative art objects to the Metropolitan. More than simply a wealthy patron, Marquand’s advocacy for the arts extended to his administrative and development work for the museum. As trustee and president of the Metropolitan, he lobbied for measures that would ensure the health and longevity of the museum. His successful appeal for an endowment fund for acquisitions liberated the museum from financial barriers that had limited its ability to build the art collection methodically. His commitment to the educational mission of the museum encouraged a new generation of curators, of which Roger Fry was one, to arrange art objects with the instruction of the visitor in mind.

Marquand’s modesty respecting the prominence of his legacy, about which

Cesnola had so sharply criticized him, resulted in a loss of recognition for his

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contributions to the advancement of the arts in New York, and at the museum in particular. Indeed, although temporary, the Marquand Gallery gave longevity to interest in Marquand’s gifts of paintings in particular. Many of these paintings remain highlights of the Metropolitan’s collection of European paintings even today. It is therefore not of great surprise that current scholarship on Marquand’s donations has continued to focused on this group of objects. It was Marquand’s embracing support of the encyclopedic scope of the collection and programming, however, that ushered the museum out of its precarious infancy into a new era of stability, refinement, and modernization. A plethora of high-quality museum objects will always bear Marquand’s name as their donor, collectively hallowing his memory despite the demolition of his mansion and dispersal of the Marquand collections.

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CONCLUSION

The focus of this thesis has been the years between 1879 and 1902, the best documented and mort intensive period of activity of Henry G. Marquand’s patronage of the arts. His connection to the arts, however, began much earlier and formed a strong foundation for his later success as a private collector and his involvement with The

Metropolitan Museum of Art. Unfortunately, little is known about the early period of

Marquand’s private collecting, prior to the construction of his Madison Avenue mansion in the 1880s. It is clear, however, that he was already an established and respected figure in the art world by the late 1860s. The founders of the Metropolitan were aware of

Marquand’s reputation and sought his advice as they developed a plan of organization for the museum. In December of 1869, Samuel P. Avery, secretary to the newly-formed

Provisional Committee, of which Marquand had been named a member the previous month, wrote to George Putnam, one of the twenty-eight men responsible for founding the museum, with recommendations of individuals for the “general committee” (probably the museum’s Board of Trustees, which had not yet been formed). He said of a group, which included Marquand, “valuable hints which would facilitate your labors could be furnished by the following gentleman if they choose to do so and I suggest that you give them a chance.”1 Marquand’s experience as a patron of fine and decorative arts and architecture combined with his international connections made him a desirable asset as the museum was coalescing. It is unclear, therefore, why Marquand was not elected trustee in 1870, the year of the museum’s incorporation, especially given his involvement on the Provisional Committee. But the following year he was elected and Marquand

1 Avery to Putnam, December 1869, Museum Administration - Office of the Secretary Records – Metropolitan Museum of Art Archives. 143 remained on the Board without lapse for the rest of his life, eventually becoming its president.

Entry into the leadership of the museum had prerequisites. Henry W. Bellows was consulted by the museum’s founders for his experience establishing prestigious New

York institutions such as the Union League Club, the Century Association, and the

Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art. Bellows outlined for Putnam desirable characteristics for trustees of the art museum:

It wants men of middle age, of unabated energy, resolute will, and hot enthusiasm to carry forward such a work; and among them must be men of art-culture and positive art knowledge. This class is very small—for men of affairs and enterprise and executive ability are seldom interested in art, or marked with taste and appreciation of the delicate interest of the Beautiful; and artists, a brooding, dreamy, meditative class, closed to the world by their intensity of passion for their coy mistress, are seldom men of practical wisdom, push, and enterprise. Still it is in this rare class that we must look for the men alone competent to supply alike thought and action, both indispensable in this art museum enterprise!2

As an active art collector who counted recognized artists, designers, and architects among his friends, Marquand had the requisite “art-culture.” Additionally, already an established

Wall Street banker and expert in foreign currency exchange, and newly part-owner of the

St. Louis, Iron Mountain and Southern Railway Company, Marquand had demonstrated

“enterprise and executive ability.” Bellows realized that in order to get the proposed museum off the ground, its trustees would require sound business sense and connections in the art world accompanied by a deeply-felt sense of purpose. Marquand had these qualities and put them to use, confirming that Bellows’s prescription for the success of the museum was accurate.

2 Bellows to Putnam, January 7, 1870, quoted in Winifred E. Howe and Henry Watson Kent, A History of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, With a Chapter on the Early Institutions of Art in New York, (New York: Gilliss Press, 1913), 120. 144

Similar qualities in Marquand were lauded in E. A. Alexander’s profile of him for

Harper’s New Monthly Magazine toward the end of Marquand’s museum career in 1897:

It is certainly encouraging to find that the most liberal patron of the fine arts in New York, and we might say in the whole country, is a gentleman who has won distinction as a financier, thus setting us a noble example of enlightened citizenship, and proving that a love of art and active interest in all that beautifies and refines existence are not incompatible with the pursuit of a successful business career.3

Marquand’s patronage of the arts in both the private and public realms was made possible by the wealth he accrued through his business ventures, and his entry onto the museum’s

Board depended upon it. The construction of his Madison Avenue mansion, which established Marquand as a member of the elite and drew attention to his identity as a private art collector, likely aided in his advancement from trustee to treasurer to president.

When Marquand began making donations to the museum in 1879, he had already had ties to the institution for a decade. He was well versed in the encyclopedic aspirations of the collection and the museum’s charitable and educative mission. To succeed in the diverse business ventures he took on in his professional life—real estate, banking, insurance, and railroad speculation—Marquand applied himself diligently until he achieved a level of mastery that earned him leadership positions and the positive regard of his colleagues. He approached museum work in much the same way, and cultivated the fledgling institution in several capacities. Throuought the nineteenth century the trustees controlled every aspect of the museum’s operations, performing curatorial and development tasks in addition to administrative work. It was not a far stretch, therefore, for Marquand to see his role as a donor as an extension of his responsibilities as a trustee,

3 Alexander, E. A. “Mr. Henry G. Marquand” Harper’s New Monthly Magazine 94, no. 562 (March 1897): 562. 145 ardently supportive of the museum’s goals. Director Luigi P. di Cesnola was as active as

Marquand in arranging acquisitions. What most differentiated Marquand’s actions from those of Cesnola is that Marquand continually contributed his personal funds whereas

Cesnola did not.4

Marquand’s donations to the museum encompassed the full range of the museum’s encyclopedic collecting scope and extended to the museum’s educational programming. His gifts of collections of decorative art objects provided the museum with copious study collections from which artists, craftsmen, and manufacturers could draw inspiration, improving the quality of the arts and manufactured goods in the United

States. I have demonstrated that many of his gifts strengthened museum’s existing collection by filling in gaps and bolstering weaknesses. Marquand’s role as trustee and president afforded him the opportunity to monitor the museum’s collection closely and work with museum staff and other trustees to present the museum with targeted donations that improved the museum’s financial standing and significantly enhanced its reputation.

Cognizant that the quality of the art collection would determine the success of the institution, Marquand unabatedly campaigned for an acquisitions endowment fund, an effort that was overwhelmingly rewarded when the museum received the Rogers bequest of five million dollars for this purpose. The Rogers fund allowed the staff of the museum to carry on the work Marquand had previously conducted semi-privately; funding carefully considered acquisitions to build and strengthen the museum’s encyclopedic collection.

4 If there was a requirement or an expectation that the trustees (as opposed to members of the staff) should donate a certain amount to the museum’s funds or colletions during this time period, as there is today, is not known. 146

Marquand’s private collection was, in turn, a creation of the Gilded Age, informed by the latest tenets of architecture and interior design. The inaccessibility of his private collection to those outside his circle, however, should not be construed as a product of vainglorious hoarding. Marquand’s deliberation over the addition of a residential picture gallery to his mansion reveals that public access to art was of great concern to him. The fact that the plans for this proposed extension were drawn up contemporaneously with his pursuit of old master paintings suggests that the gallery would have contained these paintings, had it been constructed. Marquand sacrificed the social benefits of owning such works in favor of donating the collection to the

Metropolitan, where they would boost the reputation of the museum and serve a wider audience. The contents of his mansion, therefore, were intentionally restricted to an intimate circle, while his ample gifts to the museum represent the public face of his collecting. His private collecting nevertheless also had a benevolent component.

Marquand established himself as a generous patron of the arts through the project of constructing and decorating his Madison Avenue mansion by commissioning and otherwise employing countless artists, designers, architects and purchasing agents.

Through his patronage, Marquand promoted artistic production in the United States.

His private patronage of living artists was epitomized in his long-standing support of John Singer Sargent. While Marquand was liberal in his private patronage of living artists, he did not consider their work appropriate for the museum’s collection. The

Sargent portrait was hung in the museum’s galleries as a result of it being an honorary museum commission, rather than a gift from Marquand himself. Marquand viewed works by living artists and craftsman as entirely satisfactory for the adornment of his

147 home. For the museum, however, he hunted for historical works of art that United States public collections lacked; paintings by the celebrated old masters, ancient or antique decorative arts and sculpture.

It would be false to suggest that the types of artwork in Marquand’s private collection were altogether distinct from those he purchased for the museum. As I have shown, he sometimes retained items for his private collection from acquisitions intended for the museum. In these cases however, the purpose of the object was distinct, depending upon the venue to which it was bound. For his home, Marquand was content with forming cabinets of curiosities, small assemblages of objects meant to decorate his home and interest guests. For the museum, however, he endeavored to assemble collections for serious study. Rather than showcase works from select cultures as was the case in his home, the Metropolitan’s collection was to encompass the artistic output of all cultures and all eras in order to facilitate serious study. Marquand obliged this lofty goal with each of his contributions.

This comprehensive study of Marquand’s activities as a patron of the arts reveals that he was driven by a deep sense of purpose—to advance the arts in the United States.

As a private collector he was able to commission the type of architecture, art, and craftsmanship that he believed would improve culture, taste, and material goods in the

United States. The museum afforded Marquand a means by which he could reach the public without sacrificing his domestic privacy. It also enabled him to advance his belief in art education, a passion that was carried on by his son Allan, a professor at Princeton

University and the founder of its art and archeology department. Continuously setting aside desire for recognition, Marquand primed the museum for the next stage of its

148 development. Free from financial worries, international reputation established, and garnering a professional curatorial staff, the museum after Marquand’s death was no longer in need of a figure like him.

Through the study of Marquand’s contributions, then, a new picture of the development of the museum emerges. The hustle of the early trustees, their “unabated energy, resolute will,” as Bellows would say, was critical to the success of the early institution and also and characteristic of the Gilded Age work ethic and idealism. The museum reached its pivotal moment as this era was waning. When the museum received the Rogers bequest in 1902, much had also changed within the arts in the United States.

The field was gaining professionalism as universities, like Princeton, established programs in the study of art history and archeology. The Metropolitan’s robust collection became a viable stage for new approaches to educational arrangement, like those advocated by Roger Fry in 1906. Marquand went a long way towards making these later developments possible. The steady growth and stability of the museum since the turn of the twentieth century makes it difficult to assess the precarious period of the museum’s first thirty years. By studying Marquand, we get a fresh view into the early operations and development of the museum, how vulnerable the institution was, and how much it stood to gain from the work of one forward-thinking individual.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

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155

Figure 1

John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Henry G. Marquand, 1897 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of the Trustees, 1897 (97.43).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed October 22, 2011).

156

Figure 2

Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1884. Photograph, 1905.

IMAGES REMOVED

From The Marquand Residence (New York: De Vinne Press, 1905), reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 155.

157

Figure 3

Floorplan of the first and second floors of Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, with themed rooms on the first floor indicated with arrows. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect, ca. 1881.

IMAGES REMOVED

From American Architect and Building News (August 29, 1891), reproduced in Paul R. Baker, Richard Morris Hunt (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1980), 296.

158

Figure 4

Detail of the main hall in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty- eighth Street mansion, 1902.

IMAGES REMOVED

From The New York Tribune, Illustrated Supplement (April 6, 1902), reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 170.

159

Figure 5

Japanese livingroom in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

IMAGES REMOVED

From Nassau County Museum Collection, Long Island Studies Instutute, reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 167.

160

Figure 6

English Renaissance dining room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

IMAGES REMOVED

From The Metropolitan Museum of Art Image Library, reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 169.

161

Figures 7, 8, and 9

Ancient Greek drawing room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street mansion, [1902?].

IMAGES REMOVED

From Nassau County Museum of Museum of Art (figs. 7 and 9) and The Metropolitan Museum of Art Image Library (fig. 8), reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 157.

162

Figure 10

Moorish smoking room in Henry G. Marquand’s Madison Avenue and Sixty- eighth Street mansion. Etching by B. Krieger, 1893.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Nassau County Museum of Museum of Art, reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 168.

163

Figure 11

View of “Millionaires Row,” Fifth Avenue and Sixty-fifth Street, looking north along Fifth Avenue, 1895.

IMAGES REMOVED

From The Byron Collection, Museum of the City of New York, reproduced in Paul R. Baker, Richard Morris Hunt (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1980), 347.

164

Figure 12

William K. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue and Fifty-second Street mansion. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1882. Photograph undated.

IMAGES REMOVED

From David Chase, “Superb Privacies: The Later Domestic Commissions of Richard Morris Hunt, 1878-1895,” in The Architecture of Richard Morris Hunt, edited by Susan R. Stein (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 150.

165

Figure 13

Henry G. Marquand’s summer residence, Linden Gate, in Newport, Rhode Island. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1873. Photograph undated.

IMAGES REMOVED

From The Metropolitan Museum of Art Image Library, reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 154.

166

Figure 14

View of The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Fifth Avenue façade. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1902. Photograph, 1906.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “MediaBin,” (accessed October 28, 2011).

167

Figure 15

William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty-first and Fifty- second Streets. John Snook, Charles Atwood, and Herter Brothers, Architects. Completed 1881. Photograph undated.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Wayne Craven, Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2009), 101.

168

Figure 16

Japanese room in William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty- first and Fifty-second Streets.

IMAGES REMOVED

From George Sheldon, Artistic Houses, vol. 1, (New York: Appleton & Co., 1883-1884), reproduced in Wayne Craven, Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2009), 101.

169

Figure 17

Lawrence Alma-Tadema, A Reading from Homer, 1885 Philadelphia Museum of Art, The George W. Elkins Collection, 1924 (E1924-4-1).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Philadelphia Museum of Art, “Collections,” http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/ (accessed October 22, 2011).

170

Figure 18

Settee, table, and side chair; part of a set designed by Lawrence Alma-Tadema and fabricated by Johnstone, Norman and Company, 1884-1885.

IMAGES REMOVED

From American Art Association sale catalogue, 1927, reproduced in reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 159.

171

Figure 19

Frederick Leighton, central panel of ceiling decoration depicting ancient Greek muses, 1885-86.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Illustrated catalogue of the Art and Literary Property Collected by the Late Henry G. Marquand, (American Art Association: 1903), reproduced in Daniëlle O. Kisluk-Grosheide, “The Marquand Mansion,” Metropolitan Museum of Art Journal 29 (1994): 164.

172

Figure 20

The Studio Building, 15 West Tenth Street. Richard Morris Hunt, Architect. Completed 1857 or 1858. Photograph undated.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Sarah Bradford Landau, “Richard Morris Hunt: Architectural Innovator and Father of a ‘Distinctive’ American School,” in The Architecture of Richard Morris Hunt, ed. Susan R. Stein, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), 46.

173

Figure 21

Studio of Richard Morris Hunt in The Studio Building, 15 West Tenth Street. Photograph undated.

IMAGES REMOVED

From American Architectural Archive, reproduced in Paul R. Baker, Richard Morris Hunt, (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1980), 101.

174

Figures 22 and 23

Picture gallery in William H. Vanderbilt’s Fifth Avenue mansion, between Fifty- first and Fifty-second Streets. Colored lithograph and photograph ca. 1883.

IMAGES REMOVED

Fig. 22 from Edward Strahan [Earl Shinn], Mr. Vanderbilt's House and Collection, vol. 3, (Boston: G. Barrie, 1883), 1. Fig. 23 from George Sheldon, Artistic Houses, vol. 1, (New York: Appleton & Co., 1883-1884), reproduced in Wayne Craven, Gilded Mansions: Grand Architecture and High Society, (New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 2009), 101.

175

Figure 24

Picture gallery in Alexander T. Stewart’s Fifth Avenue and Thirty-fourth Street mansion. Photograph ca. 1883.

IMAGES REMOVED

From George Sheldon, Artistic Houses. vol. 1, (New York: Appleton & Co., 1883-1884), reproduced in Arnold Lewis, Steven McQuillin, and James Turner, The Opulent Interiors of the Gilded Age: All 203 Photographs from "Artistic Houses”, (New York: Dover, 1987), 38.

176

Figures 25-28

Mound-Builders pottery (79.8.22; 79.8.21; 79.8.24; 79.8.8).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed November 6, 2011).

177

Figures 29

Peruvian ceramic vessel from Gibbs Collection (82.1.30).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed November 6, 2011).

178

Figures 30 and 31

Charvet Collection of Glass (series 83.7), undated and installation view of Charvet collections and other objects (series 81.10 and 83.7), 1907.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “The Museum System,” (accessed October 28, 2011) and Metropolitan Museum of Art, “MediaBin,” (accessed October 28, 2011).

179

Figures 32 and 33

Metalwork reproductions (series 83.18) perhaps displayed with original works (series 87.11), 1907.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “MediaBin,” (accessed October 28, 2011).

180

Figure 34

Hall of casts, looking east, 1909.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “MediaBin,” (accessed October 28, 2011).

181

Figure 35

Illustration of the Art Schools of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1880.

IMAGES REMOVED

From The Daily Graphic, reproduced in Winifred E. Howe, and Henry Watson Kent, A History of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, With a Chapter on the Early Institutions of Art in New York (New York: Gilliss Press, 1913), 205.

182

Figures 36-40

John Trumbull, Alexander Hamilton, 1804-1806 (81.11); Anthony van Dyck, James Stuart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox, 1634-1635 (89.15.16); Frans Hals, Portrait of a Woman, ca. 1650 (91.26.10); Johannes Vermeer, Young Woman with a Water Pitcher, ca. 1662 (89.15.21); Workshop of Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez, Prince Baltasar Carlos, undated (89.15.31 [deaccessioned]).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed November 6, 2011) and Metropolitan Museum of Art, “The Museum System,” (accessed November 6, 2011).

183

Figure 41

Plan of the second floor galleries, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1898, with the location of the original Marquand Gallery, gallery 6, indicated with an arrow.

IMAGES REMOVED

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Catalogue of Paintings, (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1898), title page, verso.

184

Figures 42-46

Spanish tin-enameled earthenware plate, sixteenth century (94.4.283); Austrian (Vienna) hard-paste porcelain saucer and goblet, Imperial Porcelain Manufactory, 1804 (94.4.290, 291); Italian (Urbino) Maiolica plate depicting The Continence of Scipio, Francesco Durantino, 1540-1550 (94.4.332); Spanish (Seville) glazed earthenware tile, sixteenth or seventeenth century (94.4.428a-z); English (Staffordshire) soft-paste porcelain tea service, J. Spode, 1800-1830 (94.4.74).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed November 6, 2011).

185

Figures 47-50

Roman bronze statue of a Camillus, ca. 14-54 C.E. (97.22.25); Roman bronze statuette of Cybele on a cart drawn by lions, 2nd half of second century C.E. (97.22.24); Etruscan bronze mirror with ivory handle, late fourth century B.C.E. (97.22.17); Roman bronze bust of Minerva, first or second century C.E. (97.22.10).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed November 6, 2011)

186

Figure 51

Leon Bonnat, Portrait of John Taylor Johnston, 1880 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of the Trustees, 1880 (80.8).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed October 22, 2011).

187

Figure 52

John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Elizabeth Love Marquand, 1887 Princeton University Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. Eleanor Marquand Delanoy, granddaughter of the sitter (y1977-77).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Princeton University Art Museum, “Collections,” http://artmuseum.princeton.edu/art/collections/ (accessed October 22, 2011).

188

Figure 53

John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Mrs. Playfair, 1887 In the collection of the Huntington Library.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Elaine Kilmurray and Richard Ormond, The Early Portraits, vol. 1 of John Singer Sargent: Complete Paintings (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), 181.

189

Figure 54

John Singer Sargent, Portrait of Mabel Ward, ca. 1891-94 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of Henry Galbraith Ward, 1930 (30.26).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed October 22, 2011).

190

Figure 55

Thomas Cole, Roman Aqueduct, 1832 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1903 (03.27).

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “Collection Database,” http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections (accessed October 22, 2011).

191

Figure 56

The Marquand Gallery, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1907.

IMAGES REMOVED

From Metropolitan Museum of Art, “MediaBin,” (accessed October 22, 2011)

192

Figure 57

Illustration of the opening reception at the Marquand Gallery, 1889.

IMAGES REMOVED

From “Reception at the Metropolitan Museum of Art,” Harper’s Weekly 33, no. 1717 (November 16, 1889): cover page, reproduced in Caroline Doswell Smith, “Henry G. Marquand’s Private and Public Art Collections: Constructing a Cultural Identity,” (master’s thesis, University of California, Santa Barbara, 1997).

193

Figure 58

Plan of the second floor galleries, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1905, with the locations of the original (gallery 14, formerly gallery 6) and later (gallery 11) Marquand Gallery and earlier (1888-1902) and later (1902-present) main entrance indicated with arrows.

IMAGES REMOVED

From George H. Story, Illustrated Catalogue of Paintings in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1905), title page verso.

194

Figure 59

The Marquand Gallery, Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1911.

IMAGES REMOVED

From “The Marquand Gallery,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 6, no. 1 (January, 1911): 5.

195