"We'll always have Paris." A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor's ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

By Jeffrey Lant

Do you remember the first auction you ever attended
and what happened that memorable day? I do.
The day the worldly effects of my paternal grandmother
were being auctioned.

I might have had as much as $10 to conjure with. However with so
many items selling for two bits it was adequate. Adequate.

That's pretty much how I described my available funds, never
excessive, never hopeless either. If I'd had more, I may have been
careless; while less might have killed my ambition and motivation.
But "adequate" was just right.

I purchased a walnut table, still proud when polished, is in my bedroom where the
flair is Empire. But I just cannot dispose of it. It would be like
smothering an old and dear friend.

Storage, an act of love.

When I left for Harvard, he packed my youthful purchases, along with so
many items I just couldn't give to Good Will. And so for over 30 years the
items slept, until just the other day when I opened the boxes and snuffled
just a little, the contents of each meticulously noted in his perfect copper
plate hand.

Do you believe in love at first sight? I do... every connoisseur does... and very much to the point of our story Kip Forbes does. Consider...

He was just 16, and en route to adventure in his father's latest yacht,
"Highlander III". St Tropez and la dolce far niente were the objective...
It was a Jerry Mungo moment, "In the summer time when the weather's
high...." (1970) Love was in the air, or if not love at least an acute
indiscretion and memories for a lifetime.

Kismet.

He entered a small antiques shop the way we all do, with the possibility that there would be a certain something you would know at once. Jane Morgan set this feeling
to music "It was fascination I know, and it may have ended there at the
start., just a passing glance, just a brief romance, and I might have gone
on my way empty hearted..." and so Kip experienced the gnawing feeling
of desire, of an object so tempting him, he had to save it, and to get it had
to persuade his father what a good investment the picture of Napoleon III
would be.

Connoisseurs are prone to use such arguments, saying whatever
needs to be said to acquire the object in question. What does strict truth
and precise morality have to do with beauty, history, and the thrill of
possession? And so Jean-Hippolyte Flandin's imperial portrait came
to live chez Forbes for a half century, sold just the other day at the
Fontainebleau sale.

That picture seized the boy's imagination far more than the usual
aspects of St. Tropez and launched a quest that, in the final analysis,
revived the Emperor's reputation and that of la belle France.. Where
there had been a black hole in the center of French history, Kip Forbes
did what was necessary to revive and resurrect. When he shouted "Vive
la France" he meant it, and he had done everything to make it happen.

Now it's time to take the voyage and see the treasures built up for over
fifty years, now dispersed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Lant
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540172143

Jeffrey Lant

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is known worldwide. He started in the media business when he was 5 years old, a Kindergartner in Downers Grove, Illinois, publishing his first newspaper article. Since then Dr. Lant has earned four university degrees, including the PhD from Harvard. He has taught at over 40 colleges and universities and is quite possibly the first to offer satellite courses. He has written over 50 books, thousands of articles and been a welcome guest on hundreds of radio and television programs. He has founded several successful corporations and businesses including his latest at …writerssecrets.com His memoirs “A Connoisseur’s Journey” has garnered nine literary prizes that ensure its classic status. Its subtitle is “Being the artful memoirs of a man of wit, discernment, pluck, and joy.” A good read by this man of so many letters. Such a man can offer you thousands of insights into the business of becoming a successful writer. Be sure to sign up now at www.writerssecrets.co

Book preview

Preface / Introduction

We'll always have Paris. A story of wealth, obsessions, and the emperor's ransom collected and dispersed by Christopher Forbes, connoisseur.

Do you remember the first auction you ever attended

and what happened that memorable day? I do. It took place

in Stronghurst, Illinois, a piddling River town you've lived

a comfortable life knowing nothing about until this moment;

unlikely to hear about it any time after.

But here on a sweltering summer day in 1957 or as near as

doesn't matter, a day made intolerable by the near proximity

of Old Man River, the worldly effects of my paternal grandmother

were being auctioned. Great Grannie was rich by local standards

(Illinois farmland, the best on Earth and Oklahoma oil that ensured

a lifetime of beautiful mornings), and so the whole picayune

population turned out to see what they could get for a buck.

I bought a beautiful walnut side table usefully employed as a

rogue's gallery for photos of Lant and Marshall worthies. I was

only 10 or 12 and had limited funds to acquire maximum goods.

My paper route (weekly pay of $4) provided most of the funds.

I might have had as much as $10 to conjure with. However with so

many items selling for two bits it was adequate. Adequate.

That's pretty much how I described my available funds, never

excessive, never hopeless either. If I'd had more, I may have been

careless; while less might have killed my ambition and motivation.

But adequate was just right, my father urging me on in all ways

except for cash infusions. Being the rock-ribbed WASP that he

was; that was unthinkable.

I don't have to guess about what I purchased that exciting day. The

walnut table, still proud when polished, is in my bedroom where the

flair is Empire. But I just cannot dispose of it. It would be like

smothering an old and dear friend.

Storage, an act of love.

When I left for Harvard, he packed my youthful purchases, along with so

many items I just couldn't give to Good Will. And so for over 30 years the

items slept, until just the other day when I opened the boxes and snuffled

just a little, the contents of each meticulously noted in his perfect copper

plate hand.

Opening the boxes here in Cambridge was the tonic that brought Dad

back to immediate and vital life. There were, for instance, the ladies hats,

one chic cloche number in brown velour that ensured Great Grammie would

be the bee's knees while staying cool with Coolidge, their kind of President.

Then there was the box of hatpins, up to a foot of thin, dangerous steel

topped off by vibrant glass baubles ingeniously applied. My father

asked why I wanted these beautiful objets d'art. Quick as boiled

asparagus, I returned my own question .Why had he purchased an

ancient blue bottle of Bromoseltzer for a dime? People inhabiting

auctions are odd and lovable. Hug me and find out. I'm a