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For days beforehand, the single sentence had been heard so often among people in the New York art world that it began to sound a bit like a secret password: "I suppose I'll be seeing you Wednesday night." On the night in question last week, the nation's biggest auction house, Parke-Bernet Galleries, sold off a group of 24 paintings that had been collected by the late advertising executive Alfred William Erickson and his wife Anna. Among the paintings was Rembrandt's Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer, which bears the unhappy nickname of "The Million-Dollar Rembrandt." Though there were other spectacular pictures in the collection, Aristotle had been the conversation piece of the art market since Parke-Bernet got the job of auctioning it off.
Rumor, that most efficient of press-agents, had been feverishly busy. It was even said that the Soviet Union was out to get the Rembrandt in order to deliver a crushing blow to Western prestige. Parke-Bernet (pronounced Eer-net) issued about 850 tickets for seats and standing room in the main gallery, but almost twice as many people showed up on the big night, and tickets were selling for $50 on the black market. A queue began forming on the sidewalk more than an hour before the auction was to begin; not only Parke-Bernet's main gallery, but also three others, equipped with closed-circuit TV, were jammed to overflowing. Everyone from Billy Rose to Paul Mellon, from Perle Mesta to Director James Rorimer of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, was on hand. No art auction in history had aroused more curiosity.
A Disappointing Van Dyck. At 8 p.m., Auctioneer Louis J. Marion, his English as Tammany and his French as fractured as ever, took his place behind his rostrum, admitting that he had seldom been more nervous. As cameras flashed, the sale began with a portrait by the 16th century Dutch painter Jan Mostaert. A portrait by Van Dyck went for a disappointing $27,000, which was $53,000 below the Parke-Bernet estimate. On the other hand, a splendid Princess Sibylle of Cleves, by Lucas Cranach the Elder, was bought by Thomas Agnew & Sons of London for $105,000, about twice the estimate. After the Cranach came the Rembrandt.
The bidding opened at a cool million from "a private individual," as Marion said. From then on, it leaped at $100,000 a bid until only two competitors were left in the race. The venerable international firm of Rosenberg & Stiebel was representing the Cleveland Museum of Art; James Rorimer was bidding for the Met. The gentleman from Rosenberg & Stiebel did his bidding with a gesture of the hand, Rorimer with cocked thumb reinforced with a wink. After an eternal four minutes, Rorimer winked for the last time. The Rembrandt was his for $2,300,000, the highest known price ever paid for a painting anywhere.