As Queen Victoria famously observed to the Duchess of Sutherland, on her majesty's arrival at Stafford House, "I have come from my house to your palace."

Stafford House, now Lancaster House (renamed by the Lancastrian soap-manufacturer who acquired the property in 1912) was the Duke of Sutherland's home and one of the greatest of the great London houses which the 6th Duke of Portland reminisces about in "Men, Woman, and Things," his 1937 memoir.   

And Millicent, Duchess of Sutherland (1867-1955) the Duke writes, was one of the greatest beauties of his generation. 

I have never seen the house which certainly does look impressive, but I have seen the Duchess's portrait by John Singer Sargent, painted in 1904, and I can tell you it was one of those works of art that inspired me, after my early formative experiences in the antique trade in Unionville, Ohio, to pursue a career in the art world, although I admit the operative word here is "pursue" and not "achieve."  As some of you devoted readers of these pages know, the distinction is a familiar one. "That old chestnut," I hear some of you observe.  Yes, there are those who compete and win the race, and then there are those who "also ran," as the saying goes.

In any event, I first gazed in person at this monumental (over 8 foot high -- 100 x 57 1/2 inches; 254.0 x 146.0 cm.) portrait for the first (and sadly the last) time in 1979 when I attended the exhibition and subsequent day time sessions of the sale of the Benjamin Sonnenberg Collection at Sotheby Parke Bernet when the galleries were at 980 Madison Avenue.  The portrait is now in the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza Madrid, and so I can only assume that at some point, possibly at the same time (it isn't impossible, after all) the Baron Thyssen and I stood there admiring this extraordinary work of art, conceivably side by side or so I like to think, momentary equals in the admiration of beauty, partners of a sort in the obeisance we all pay at one time or another to Beauty.  Except that he could afford her and I could not. 

No, of course I didn't bid, but if I had I assure you it would not by any means have been the first nor the last time I would compete out of passion and desire, in competition for beauty, rival of a man who had a lot more money than I did... but that too is another story.  Suffice to say that life can sometimes be cruel and unfair.  We want what we can't afford.   

The point, however, is that, as you can well imagine, in spite of my intensive training in the handling and dusting of carnival glass, flow-blue china and other collectibles popular in the midwest, I was barely prepared for the effect Sargent's painting of the Duchess had on me.  To begin with, it was one of the biggest pieces of art for sale I'd ever encountered, and I was completely enchanted.  Art of this magnitude for sale -- and to my young impressionable mind art for sale at auction -- was especially bracing.  Museums can't compete in producing the same sensation.  I can't quite explain the allure except to say that the possibility of ownership -- even if it's only a fantasy -- changes everything.  Call me shallow, but I believe beauty you can actually possess, (touch, hold) even if it charges by the hour, is still occasionally more exciting than the untouchable admire-me-from-a-distance variety. 

Moreover, it was nice to think that at least the Baron and I share similar tastes.  Along with the connoisseur Ben Sonnenberg.  And the Duke of Portland, for that matter.  And she was a beauty, my duchess. She still is: