but right now she had something more important on her mind.
“I know you had relations with Miss Greene,” she said, as
if she were talking about the weather.
“I’ve already told you I am not going to discuss that aspect
of my life with you,” Lance said.
Charlotte plowed on, “You think because you’re eighteen
you are old enough to conduct that part of your life without
any advice from me. However,” she continued, “there are
things about your intimacies that we must discuss.” Charlotte
did not give Lance a chance to respond. “Your behavior last
night confirms that you know how to perform the act. That
usually comes naturally. Did your father explain how to pro-
tect yourself from fatherhood and disease? If not, I can find
someone to explain things to you.”
“That will not be necessary,” Lance said.
“Well, at least he did that right,” Charlotte said. “My
concern is of course for your health, but also for your status.
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If you father a child, even with a white woman, there is a
chance—a very good chance—that you will have a Negro
child.” She paused for a moment to make sure the impact
of her statement resonated, “You could be as lucky as your
father and have a white-looking child, like yourself, but
there are no guarantees. One dark-skinned baby could ruin
everything for all of us,” Charlotte said.
Lance remembered Del saying ‘secrets don’t stay secrets
forever, like when a baby’s born.’ Yet another consequence of my father’s deception, he thought, one that will rule the rest of my life.
“Thank you for everything, Daddy.”
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• 13 •
Europe 1931
(I)
Lance spent most of his first year in Paris in the
company, and the bed, of Belle da Costa Greene. He
accompanied her to parties and salons with her art-
ist, writer and musician friends. There were also moneyed art
patrons from both sides of the Atlantic at these gatherings;
always escorted by a contingent of gallery owners and art crit-
ics who influenced what treasures the wealthy bought while
enriching themselves and their reputations in the art world.
These were the people that helped fuel the frenzy of creativity
in Europe after the Great War and Bel e da Costa Green, as the
director of the Morgan Library, with plenty of Morgan money
to spend, was royalty within this aristocracy. She introduced
Lance as her “young friend” and they both enjoyed the attention
that they drew as an unlikely couple.
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The primary reason Bel e was in Europe was to acquire sev-
eral il uminated manuscripts for an exhibit the Morgan Library
was planning in conjunction with the New York Public Library.
She spent long days doing research on religious art, attending
lectures and buying at auctions. Belle’s scholarly activities did
not hold much interest for young Lance and left him time to
explore his new home before meeting Belle each evening.
In Richmond, everything was familiar and prescribed; he’d
been certain of how life would unfold without much input from
him. In sharp contrast to his birthplace, acclimating to his new
home forced Lance out of his cocoon of tradition and compla-
cency. It was up to him to become whatever he wanted without
the constraints and expectation of what he was supposed to be.
As he mastered the language and learned to navigate
the city, Paris spiraled out before him visually and culturally,
its history older but somehow more relevant than that of his
birthplace. Paris never let him forget where he was from; the
intersection of French and American history was everywhere.
At 56 rue Jacob, a few blocks from where the family eventually rented an apartment, Benjamin Franklin had negotiated and
signed the Treaty of Paris freeing the colonies from British rule.
Lance often walked by the site on the Champs Elysées where
almost two centuries ago, Thomas Jefferson lived as Minister
to the Court of Versailles before the French Revolution. The
Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette spent her last days, still
stood on quai de l’Horloge as majestic testimony to how the
American Revolution helped to spark the will of the French
people. The replica of the Statue of Liberty on Grenel e Bridge
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on the Île des Cygnes, an island in the river Seine, faced west to
raise her torch to the American people. The statue was the twin
to the majestic east-facing lady that had waved Lance goodbye
as he sailed out of New York Harbor. Would he ever return to
America? Or would he be a man with no home forever?
(II)
When Bel e left Paris for several weeks to do more research
and buying for the Morgan exhibit, Lance was left to discover
other aspects of Paris. Walter Chrysler was still in town and
Lance accompanied him on his eclectic and frenetic art acqui-
sition sprees where he bought, traded and bargained for art like
it was a common commodity. Unlike Belle who was academic
and cautious in her approach—buying only what complemented
or enhanced the library’s collection—Walter seemed to have
no specific acquisition strategy. He bought quality artwork on
impulse and in great quantities with no qualms.
“Walter, I can’t tell whether you collect for love or money,”
Lance said.
“Both,” Walter replied, “why buy one Cézanne when you
can buy two and leverage that purchase to come away with an
exquisite Tissot for nearly nothing?” As they sat in a gallery
while the owner carefully wrapped Walter’s latest acquisitions
for shipping back to the U.S., Walter leaned into Lance to share
a great insight. “I buy against the market. Before an artist is
hot, or after, but never in the heat of it,” he wagged his finger
in warning. “Art is cyclical, like the stock market—well, the
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market before Black Tuesday. When everyone is buying an
artist I sel , when everyone is sel ing an artist I buy. If you know art, if you have a good eye, great timing and the money to be
patient, then you wait and you will eventually be rewarded. I
let others pay a premium to be fashionable; I’m collecting for
the long term.”
“Anything in particular?” asked Lance whose knowledge of
collecting art was limited to the Frederic Remington and Earl
Bascom cowboy bronzes and prints his maternal grandfather
once collected. Charlotte sold the collection in its entirety
before her husband cooled in his grave.
Walter pulled out a gold filtered cigarette, put it between
his lips without lighting it and leaned back on the elegant deep
purple suede sofa that fit the art royalty that was the gallery’s
clientele.
“I want my collection to be encyclopedic, art from all over
the world. One day I’ll have my
own museum,” he said, draping
his arm across the back of the sofa and tapping his fingers on
the sculpted wood edge. “Being rich has distinct advantages,
doesn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Lance surprised himself by admitting
that fact. Perhaps the champagne they had been drinking for
the past couple of hours had lowered his guard. “I have an
inheritance that won’t last forever. I’m going to have to figure
out something to do soon.”
“In this Depression if you have anything, especially cash,
you can figure something out. When I get back to New York,
I’ll be on the lookout for something we might be able to do
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together,” Chrysler offered. “Remember when everyone is sel ing
that’s the time to buy.”
At this point in his life, Lance was too pragmatic to be
interested in investing any of his inheritance in art. He was
learning from his new friends that you didn’t col ect art to make
money, you made money then collected art, and right now, he
was doing neither. He was postponing any decision about his
future by spending his nights in the Creole and Caribbean
clubs in Montparnasse and the jazz clubs in Montmartre with
Walter and his friends. The club scene offered him escape
from the constant burden Maggie and Charlotte had become.
His mother and grandmother had done little to make their
own friends. They didn’t even try to speak the language so
they avoided the French and found fault with everyone in the
expatriate community. They expected Lance to be available to
accompany them on al of their outings. Between Bel e, Walter,
his mother and Charlotte, Lance’s only profession was escort
and bon vivant.
(III)
With Belle out of town, Maggie was grateful that Lance
spent more time at the family apartment.
“It is such a treat to have you join us for breakfast,” Maggie
said to her son who, like his grandmother, had his head buried
in the Paris Herald and the New York Herald Tribune reading the latest news from the states.
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“The Depression has hit the south hard,” Lance said.
“People are moving north.”
“I guess we’re not going home anytime soon,”
Charlotte added.
“What has that got to do with us?” Maggie asked, “We can
afford to go back. We have enough money for a few years—
especially now with everything so inexpensive.”
“Money is not the issue, Margaret,” Charlotte said. “What
if we run into someone from Richmond? We cannot risk that,
we don’t know what is waiting for you and Lance. Staying in
Europe is our only option.” Lance hadn’t bothered to respond
to his mother and Charlotte returned to her reading.
Maggie had no interest in reading or hearing about the
bad news from home. She was determined to go home soon,
if not to Richmond, then at least to Washington or New York.
We are wasting our lives here, she thought. She and Charlotte shopped and strolled – that is all they did. She hated seeing
Lance stumble in from the clubs nearly every night, sleep until
midday, then get up only to repeat the previous day’s activities.
He should be in school, she thought, then remembered the man her son was today had no records to prove he was anyone. No
record of his birth, his baptism, whether he ever went to school.
And the honors and accomplishments that had made his parents
so proud were for a son who no longer existed. Maggie then
realized she had no record of her marriage, the home she and
Hank owned or her husband’s life or death. She didn’t even
know who Hank was and, it was obvious Lance had no plans
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Provenance: A Novel
is like vapor, a dream, there is nothing of the past that I can hold on to. Maggie looked across the breakfast table at Lance and Charlotte. They are all I have left in the world, she thought. I cannot lose one more thing, not one more thing.
(IV)
When Belle returned to the States in the fall, she and
Lance corresponded frequently about what was going on in
New York and the mood of the country as the Depression
tightened its grip. Belle’s letters mentioned how tens of thou-
sands were losing their jobs as banks and businesses failed.
Even though the Morgan Library had a significant endow-
ment, Belle now had to have every trip and purchase approved
by the entire board of trustees. She didn’t return to Paris until
the spring of 1933. She was on her way to Venice, Milan and
Florence to do research and to acquire several manuscripts
for the Morgan Library holdings. Afterward, she planned an
extended stay at a villa owned by a former lover who was also
a renowned art critic. His art library and collection rivaled
many academic institutions and she could justify her time
there to the Library as a research trip. Belle’s friend was in
the United States indefinitely but he encouraged his friends
to enjoy the villa in his absence.
“Would you consider accompanying me to Italy?” Belle
asked Lance as they lounged in her bed during an afternoon
of lovemaking. “You need to get out of Paris every now and
then—there’s so much more to Europe. We could leave in a few
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days and be gone for the summer. I have to return to New York
in the fall and I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back.”
“I was hoping you’d ask me to join you,” Lance said, pul ing
Belle to him.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to manage your own travel and
accommodations, except at the Villa where we will be guests.
The budget the Library has me on these days is not generous
enough for two.”
“Belle,” Lance said, surprised that she would think he
would agree to any other arrangement. “I am quite capable of
paying my own expenses – with or without money,” he laughed
as he fondled her breasts.
He’s lost some of that youthful innocence that was so attractive, Bel e thought. There was a maturity—or was it arrogance?—that
he had acquired since she last saw him. She had heard from
friends that he had done some travel ing with Peggy Guggenheim
and still saw Walter Chrysler when he was in Europe. He was flu-
ent in French now and knew Paris better than she did. However,
Lance still seemed to be in search of who he would become.
“Should you speak with your family first?”
“I’ll tell my mother and Charlotte that we’re going,” Lance
said, letting her know that the familial cord had been severed.
•
In the family’s large apartment in a Haussmann style build-
ing, in the heart of Saint-Germain-des-Prés in Paris’ Sixth
Arrondissement, the maid silently served the family croissants
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and coffee. Lance finished the newspaper before telling his
mother and Charlot
te that he and Belle were scheduled to
leave for Italy by train the next morning.
“What are we supposed to do while you are traipsing
around Europe with that woman?” Charlotte responded to
Lance’s news.
“Charlotte, you’ll do what you normal y do. You don’t need
me to enjoy the shops and museums. I’ll be back soon enough.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Maggie said, always afraid
something or someone would take him from her.
“I’m not a boy, Mother. You can’t hold me by the hand
forever. At some point, I need to make decisions more substan-
tive than what bar to go to tonight and where I’ll escort you
and Charlotte tomorrow. I’m going to Italy with Belle. I will
keep in touch as much as I can throughout the trip, I promise,”
he said, getting up from the table. “Who knows, I may even
return a little wiser and with some idea of how I might take
care of us in the future.”
They had been living on their inheritance for more than
two years. Lance still had not come to terms with his future,
and how he planned to fulfill his financial responsibility to the
family. He was still mourning his past. He hoped this respite
in Italy would help him take his next broad step into manhood.
(V)
After visits to Venice and Milan, Lance and Belle set-
tled in as guests, along with several other couples, at the Villa
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I Tatti near Florence. It was owned by Belle’s former lover,
the renowned art historian, Bernard Berenson. The plan was
to stay the summer, so Belle could do research in the Villa’s
extensive 140,000 volume library, write and relax from the
stress of running the Morgan Library. They would return to
Paris in late September and then Belle would go back to her
work in New York.
They arrived at the Villa in time for dinner with the other
guests and then retired to a suite of rooms that were, in Lance’s
opinion, grossly over-decorated.
“Is everything here religious art? I’ve never seen such grim
works. Where’s the vitality and vibrancy we saw in Paris? Could
they have gotten just one more image of Mary and baby Jesus,
a monk or a cross into the décor somewhere?” he asked. “I feel
as if I’m being judged from every angle. It is just too much,”
he said as he draped his arm around a Bernini sculpture in
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