A Director's Trustee: Jayne Wrightsman
Philippe de Montebello, Director Emeritus
My former colleagues have here paid laudable tribute to Jayne Wrightsman's collecting acumen and generosity as well as her total, unwavering devotion to the Metropolitan Museum. What follows are reminiscences of a personal nature, about the little things that can be so hugely telling about an individual. First, though, at the risk of repeating others, I must stress just how learned and informed Jayne was about every aspect of art and the history that she knew so well. To our delight, as she was a lively raconteur, she seemed utterly incapable of ever forgetting dates, names, places, princes or monarchs, and of course, their lovers. Aside from being an avid cinephile, she was a voracious reader with a strong preference for biography. Jayne seemed to know intimately every pertinent fact and foible of the great men and women she admired. In addition to France of the ancien régime, Jayne was partial to most things czarist. She particularly treasured Custine's remarkable work, La Russie en 1839—"Russia's own Tocqueville," she would say, and had a special predilection for the Hermitage. She loved Saint Petersburg, and when I was there with her, she turned out to be the most informed guide, not only of the palaces and their architecture, but very much also of their past owners. And each palace or work of art was greeted with her favorite word, softly uttered, "divine!"
Mrs. Wrightsman in the New York apartment. Photograph by Cecil Beaton, Vogue, October 1, 1966 (Cecil Beaton / Vogue; © Condé Nast)
Except for indulging her love for meticulous painters of daily life in the nineteenth century such as James Tissot, in art, the ancien régime and its grand revival in the person of Napoleon were her passion. If her fascination with Talleyrand (and Madame), was so beneficial to her "beloved Met's" (her words) collection, it is as much due to her fondness for the sitters as for the skill of Prud'hon or Gérard.
As generous in her home as she was to the Met, Jayne treated many of us to intimate and genteel gatherings that shall not soon be forgotten. For one so committed to the slenderest silhouette, she served the most caloric yet refined food, and to expedite the process of getting it on our plates, she would have it served simultaneously from both sides of the platter, confounding first-time guests. One splendid Sèvres or Meissen service was never enough and each course was presented on a different, ever more exquisite porcelain set. Jayne would pretend not to notice when one or more guests would look for the factory mark on the underside of their plate. As an accompaniment, she spoiled us with the most precious millésime of what I recall was always Bordeaux, not Burgundy, and for her, invariably, pink champagne.
Just as each dish was calibrated to a finely balanced meal, so were the guests always chosen, even choreographed, for their maximum congeniality and the guarantee of the most stimulating conversation—facilitated by impeccable placement. Because the number of guests was usually small, table-wide conversation would occasionally take place, though oddly not encouraged by Jayne, whose formality was strictly of a decorative, not social, character. Conviviality trumped all. There was one cardinal rule, though, and guests broke it at their own risk. No toasts! This preference was not out of modesty; Jayne truly hated them, but if and when—and it was rare—the rule was broken, she was, as ever, most gracious. But she never answered a toast.
Before or after dinner, Jayne delighted in a chance to mildly correct a guest stumbling on a date or a subject, and I more than once passed my hand quizzically over a leather-bound manuscript to be told, with an implied wink, before I could even ask, just what it was. But this was not a casual dispatch of information, for she would then lovingly leaf through the volume and discuss it with great erudition and passion, characteristic of her approach to collecting. She brought exceptional devotion to her rooms at the Metropolitan, which she never ceased fussing with, in quest of perfection always, but never at the expense of éclat. It took a vivid imagination and boldness even, to champion a show such as Dangerous Liaisons, which displaced many an object in the rooms to allow for the vignettes of mannequins in period costumes. And it was she who insisted, tant qu'à faire, to go all out and ensure that panache would triumph over conventionality by entrusting the installation to a theatrical designer. The lighting was so successful that she then undertook to redo the rooms entirely, having them lit in as evocative a way as in the show. But then courage she did not lack. Nor grace, kindness, or gentleness. What a great lady she was, and pity I am not the Duc de Saint-Simon; he, truly, would have been à la hauteur to pen the words Jayne truly deserves.