Manhattan gallerygoers were all agog. They read the names Cezanne, Derain, Gaugin, Van Gogh, Matisse, Picasso, all in one announcement. They rushed to the sedate, vermicular-stoned Wildenstein Galleries. There they paid $1 apiece for the benefit of the French Hospital, were permitted last week to maunder through two small rooms hung with 51 modernist French paintings of the first rank. Such a concourse is rare, even among Manhattan opportunities.
Composed entirely of accepted modernist leaders, the exhibition proved that the freakishness of cubism, vorticism, other...
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