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Chapter four

Establishing Roots: Marriage and Yale

Kingsley met Lucy Bryant Wallace at a social gathering that took place in early 1911.When they were introduced and began to chat about Italy, art and monuments, both immediately felt a deep, comfortable connection. Beside Lucy, Kingsley could feel himself thawing out, relaxing and forgetting his usual self-consciousness. Kingsley may have been somewhat of a loner but he had always enjoyed the company of intelligent, cultured and literary peers. It was most unusual, though, to meet a woman who possessed Lucy’s knowledge of art and architecture, an undoubted intelligence and an innate charm. Even Kingsley’s shyness could not prevent him from chatting all evening with the bright, dark-haired woman who exuded such confidence and social grace. He agreed to loan Lucy some photographs of Italian architecture and so another meeting was arranged.¹

When they first met, Kingsley was 28 while Lucy was 35.The fact that Kingsley was seven years Lucy’s junior was no deterrent. Kingsley failed to notice that Lucy’s hair was dappled with tiny grey streaks. He had never been interested in pretty, painted girls who giggled and flaunted their physical attributes. From the moment that Kingsley set eyes on Lucy Bryant Wallace there was only one woman he wanted in his life. A series of meetings resulted and their relationship quickly flourished.

Lucy was much smaller than Kingsley, slightly plump and broad-faced. Lucy was of practical disposition and was a great organizer, whereas Kingsley was a romantic, a poet and a dreamer. Lucy had been educated at Miss Porter’s School in Farmington, Connecticut. She had later studied at Yale and Columbia Universities.² Her pedigree was exemplary: well educated, highly intelligent and independently wealthy. Lucy was almost a carbon copy of Kingsley’s beloved mother, Louisa.

Lucy admired Kingsley’s abilities as a scholar and a writer. She was drawn to his quiet charm, his steady, honourable character and to all the attributes he possessed that made him a gentleman. Although Kingsley was reserved and shy among strangers, he was kind, sensitive and articulate among close friends. Lucy worked as a schoolteacher by choice and her financial status gave her great freedom, placing her on an equal social footing with Kingsley.

Lucy was the youngest daughter of Thomas and Ellen (nee Bryant) Wallace.³ Thomas was born in England and immigrated to America in 1832, aged 6 years. His family moved to Derby in New Haven County, Connecticut, in 1841. He worked at various trades before establishing Wallace & Sons in Ansonia, Connecticut, specializing in rolling metal and drawing wire. Thomas married Ellen Bryant from Massachusetts in 1857 and they had seven children. Their sixth child, Lucy Bryant, was born on 23 January 1876 in Ansonia, Connecticut.⁴

By 1880, Wallace & Sons had become the largest brass plant in the Naugatuck Valley, elevating the Wallace family to great wealth and social standing.⁵ When Thomas Wallace retired from business the family moved to 346 West 71st Street, New York. Lucy’s eldest sister, Elizabeth, married James B. Waller, a member of the prosperous real- estate family in Chicago.⁶ The Wallers’ attendance at society functions and events was frequently reported in Chicago newspapers. They mingled with the rich and famous, including the young beauty Miss Hazel Martyn, later to become the wife of Irish artist Sir John Lavery.⁷ This further elevated the Wallaces’ social position, as the Wallers were ranked among Chicago’s elite for their lavish hospitality and generous patronage.⁸

Kingsley corresponded with Lucy frequently during 1911. In the early months of their courtship, Kingsley addressed her as ‘Dear Miss Wallace’.⁹ They wrote about journeys undertaken, cultural events attended, art and books. During June 1911, Kingsley reported that he had been playing tennis and had also attended a Russian ballet in the Winter Garden in New York.¹⁰ By July the letters had become less formal and Kingsley addressed his lady friend as ‘My Dear Lucy’.¹¹ He also began to escort Lucy to her school each morning.¹²

On 24 July he sent Lucy a copy of Medieval Architecture. In the same letter he chatted about various events he had attended, including a yachting race that ‘made my hair curl with excitement’.¹³

Even in these early letters to Lucy, Kingsley’s love of adventure surfaces. While Lucy was touring the West Coast, Kingsley was at home reading but very much envying Lucy’s own adventures: ‘I thoroughly envy you the experience. I hate hard climbs while I am doing them – always get as scared as a kitten and never fail to vow to myself that if I get down safely I shall never no never try a mountain again – and yet one always does.’¹⁴

Later that year Lucy was introduced to Kingsley’s uncle, Schuyler Merritt, and his cousins. Kingsley wrote to her from Pittsburg, apologizing for their lack of warmth at that first meeting: ‘sorry the Merritt’s call was stiff. I foresaw it would be however. The Hoyt blood is always that way, but I am sure you will find that they warm up when you get to know them better.’¹⁵

Kingsley also confided in Lucy that, despite his closeness with his brother, Louis, there was a sense of formality whenever he dined with his family:

Occasionally, I go to dine with my family and occasionally my family comes to our house to dine. There is no one I ever see at Stamford except relatives. When one dines with relatives everyone tries to make conversation, but nobody ever quite succeeds. Usually for the first ten minutes (immediately after the cocktails)... everybody talks at once as at a suffragette meeting. Then half the people stop to listen to the other half. Then everybody listens. At long intervals some valiant soul makes a banal remark, which some other equally valiant soul tries to answer...And at nine-thirty everyone goes home to bed. It’s a merry town.¹⁶

It was during December 1911 that Kingsley and Lucy became engaged. Lucy was beside herself with delight and appears to have been taken completely by surprise when Kingsley asked her to become his wife:

Dear, dear Kingsley,

My first engaged letter must be to him who caused it -must it not? I am so stunned, dear, I do not know what I am saying, so perhaps it is as well I am beginning with you.

My family are surprised chiefly at the suddenness of it.

Father was so sweet. He said ‘I liked that young man’s face the moment I saw him. He is a gentleman and he is alright.’ I am so happy about it.¹⁷

After the engagement, Lucy’s natural spontaneity and openness began to flow freely throughout the pages of her letters. Many happy afternoons were spent in her garden, sitting close to Kingsley, stealing hugs and kisses that set her heart racing. She simply rejoiced in the depth of her love for Kingsley: ‘Sweet adorable Kingsley... I must wait forty-four hours before you can hold me in your arms again.’¹⁸

Lucy’s letters are full of playfulness and sheer exuberance. She can hardly believe that, at the age of 35, she has finally found love. Her endearments are full of sweetness and light, more like the sentiments of a young girl than the expressions of a mature, sophisticated woman. On 26 December she wrote again to Kingsley: ‘Sweetheart (How will you address me, I wonder!) Did you enjoy the trip out with your good friend? Did your attention never waver for one second as he discoursed upon the significance of the lotus in Egyptian art? Ah, Kingsley, dear, how I wish you might have been talking to me instead.’¹⁹

11. Letter from Lucy Bryant Wallace to Kingsley Porter, dated 26 December 1911.

Harvard University Archives, HUG 1706.114, Correspondence of Arthur Kingsley

Porter and Lucy W. Porter, 1911-25; 1911-12: After engagement.

The shy and reserved Kingsley appears to have gone through his own transformation. Much of the stiff formality seems to have fallen away and, instead, Kingsley’s romantic and poetic side begins to emerge:

A good hug and kiss and a heartful of love to you darling. And remember to take care of yourself and to think of me once in a while. I wish you knew how constantly you are in my thoughts, and how I am anticipating the time when we can travel together. I am always imagining what fun these trips would be were you along.²⁰

In the following months the couple attended all the main social and cultural events in New York, including theatrical productions and concerts. In January 1912, Kingsley wrote to Lucy after one such social engagement, worried in case his lack of social tact had upset her. He was obviously aware that, in the highly conservative society in which they lived, every move was open to scrutiny and discussion:

I wonder, darling, whether you minded my sitting on the arm of Katherine’s chair this afternoon as I should have minded it had the case been reversed. Under the circumstances I think it was very poor taste and soon realized it, when she asked me to, I accepted it without thinking. I am afraid you have in hand a wild and wayward nature that has so afterwards occurred to me that it might give you pain. Forgive me dearie, won’t you?²¹

Amid all their joyous plans for a June wedding, a tragedy struck the western world on 15 April when the RMS Titanic sank on its maiden voyage from Cobh, Ireland, to New York, with a loss of life of over 1,500.²² Many of the wealthiest Americans were on board, including multimillionaires John Jacob Astor and Benjamin Guggenheim, both of whom perished.²³ It is likely that both Kingsley and Lucy knew some of the first-class passengers who had to endure this ordeal. It must also have been a great shock to Kingsley, who was a frequent traveller to Europe and could easily have been crossing back on the Titanic if he had been researching abroad that April.

In May 1912, Kingsley sent Lucy an exquisite bouquet of roses, and Lucy wrote to him in a great outpouring of love:

Darling I adore them. Their very fragrance takes me back to the first roses you sent me. How they excited me by breathing to me in their mysterious way that you were interested in me! How I hung over their deep enfolded beauty dreaming as much as I dared of you.

How these, their sister, come with such a different message. They tell me the finest, noblest, most thoughtful man of all the peoples of the earth loves me. I am dippy at the thought darling, how did it come about? ²⁴

The pair married on 1 June 1912 at the residence of Lucy’s parents. The ceremony was performed at 4 p.m. by Rev. George H. Buck, rector of St James Church, Derby, Connecticut.²⁵ Only relatives and intimate friends were present. The bride’s only attendant was her sister, Ruth. The best man was Kingsley’s brother, Louis. Lucy’s sister Elizabeth, her husband James B. Waller and their daughter Ellen, wife of John Borden, travelled from Chicago to spend the week before the wedding in New York.²⁶ The ushers were William L. Peltz of Albany, Franklin J. Walls of New York, and Kingsley’s friend from his student days at Yale, Dr Arthur Neergard. Lucy’s youngest brother, Harold, also travelled from Chicago to attend the wedding.²⁷ On their wedding day, Kingsley was 29 years old while Lucy was 36.

Kingsley and ‘Queensley’, as Kingsley affectionately called his new wife, became inseparable. They travelled to Lake George, set in Kingsley’s beloved Adirondack region of New York State. The photos taken on their honeymoon reveal a smiling Kingsley, leaning against the ship’s railing, wearing suit and tie and carrying a hat. Lucy looks radiant in white, wearing a cloche hat and leaning on her parasol. She is smiling and looking off to the side, a spectacular lake and low hills visible behind her. On their return to New York, Kingsley was in no hurry to buy a house so the couple moved into an apartment at 450 West End Avenue.²⁸

12. Arthur Kingsley Porter, leaning on railing, Lake George, New York, 1912. Harvard University Archives, HUG 1706.125 (8).

13. Lucy Porter on honeymoon at Lake George, New York, 1912. Harvard University Archives.

In a letter written to Kingsley just four months after her marriage, Lucy’s deep happiness is still boundless: ‘Dearest, such a lovely day to write you. It seemed to me quite the most delightful one since we were married. But then so many are the very nicest one – just as it is with our good times.’²⁹

In the latter months of 1912, the Porters extended their honeymoon with a lengthy trip to Italy. For those who were lucky enough to afford first-class tickets, these enormous ships possessed every luxury. Amenities on board included a gymnasium, a saltwater swimming pool, electric and Turkish baths, a barber’s shop, cafés, a sumptuous dining room, opulent cabins with private bathrooms, elevators, and both open and enclosed promenades.³⁰ The time taken to cross the Atlantic in 1912 varied, depending on many factors including weather conditions, but would have taken an average of seven days.³¹ The Porters enjoyed the best of cuisine, nightly entertainment provided by resident musicians and the privacy of their staterooms where they could write, read or rest. In fine weather they spent time on deck, walking along the promenade and enjoying the sea air or sitting in deckchairs, reading, chatting or sleeping.

The Porters would have shared these journeys in first class with some of the wealthiest American families, such as Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and Carnegie. They would also have encountered the nouveau riche who travelled to Europe annually, indulging in every frivolity imaginable. A member of Caroline Astor’s millionaire set described her life in the era before 1914 as ‘Breathless rushes across continents – One country blending into another – journeys by car, by train – Paris – Newport – New York. Paris again – London – Vienna – Berlin – the Riviera – Italy. Champagne years, colourful, sparkling, ephemeral... Always entertaining, being entertained, the same scene in a new setting.’³²

‘Ritzonia’ was the word coined by Bernard Berenson, American art historian and collector, to describe the false, dull, tedious world inhabited by listless millionaires.³³ The American novelist Edith Wharton admitted to Berenson: ‘Yes, it’s nice to be petted & feasted – but I don’t see how you can stand more than two or three weeks of that queer rootless life.’³⁴ The majority of the ladies who frequently sailed first class from New York to Europe were overdressed in furs, wore large hats with huge plumes, and dresses of thin, pale silks.³⁵ They travelled with several maids and an array of trunks, suitcases, crates, a medicine chest and a special pouch for their jewels. The men smoked, drank to excess and played poker for high stakes. The majority were spoiled and conceited, always expecting to be served and pampered.³⁶

There is little doubt that the Porters would have given these revellers a wide berth. Kingsley’s New England work ethic would have abhorred idleness, believing that a worthy occupation and a meaningful purpose were necessary to maintain one’s dignity and contentment. Neither Kingsley nor Lucy had any time for ostentation. Both were happy to spend time reading, taking pleasant walks on deck, and staring out to sea, observing its changing colour and mood.

In Italy, the Porters did so much sightseeing that Kingsley developed an illness and Lucy became exhausted. On 3 February 1913, Lucy was so tired that she went to bed early while Kingsley completed her correspondence. He wrote to Lucy’s mother, telling her of their plans to travel from Florence to Sicily, via Rome and Naples. He also praised Lucy’s ability to take such good care of him: ‘Lucy has developed into a most wonderful travel nurse, and has taken care of me intensely during the first part of the sickness and at nights always I think myself that it was she rather than the doctor that pulled me through so nicely.’³⁷

Their time in Italy was full of happiness for Lucy. She loved walking arm in arm with her beloved Kingsley, strolling through glorious piazzas in Florence or along sunny country roads, breathing in the sweet scents of vineyards. She cherished their visits to medieval churches, with their fine stone statues and magnificent murals. Many years later she recalled their visit to St Monty Chiavenna in northern Italy, where she first fell in love with the church of St Fidelis of Como.³⁸ There was nothing Lucy enjoyed more than standing beside Kingsley and being part of his world, discussing his latest theories, inspecting a particular symbol that had caught his attention, and sharing her own views on favourite artworks. Both Kingsley and Lucy had spent a great deal of their adult lives alone. Now, finally, they had each found a special companion with whom to share all their thoughts, feelings and dreams. Life had simply never been sweeter.

Later that year the Porters returned to Europe. Life had become a wild, colourful adventure for Lucy as her new husband had an insatiable desire for travelling. Lucy became his beloved companion and indispensable assistant, photographing sculptures and architectural wonders during their many years of research and travel together. On 8 December they travelled home via Lapland and disembarked in New York.³⁹

On 5 April 1914, Kingsley’s review of the research undertaken by his friend and colleague William Henry Goodyear was published in The New York Times.⁴⁰ Goodyear, the curator of the Brooklyn Museum, had been conducting a series of studies involving the photographing and measuring of European buildings. Kingsley corresponded with Goodyear until his friend’s death in 1923. In the review, Kingsley gave Goodyear the accolade of ‘the first American art historian’.

The Porters had to curtail their travels when, on 28 June 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, the heir to the Austria-Hungary throne, was assassinated. Thus began the First World War that lasted for over four years. Civilian travel to Europe was far too dangerous and Kingsley had to content himself with excursions within the States.

Kingsley’s brother Louis had become a successful lawyer in New York. By January 1915 he had four children: Louise Hoyt, called after his beloved mother was aged 11; Louis Hopkins Junior was aged 10; Joyce was aged 6 and Beatrice was aged 4. Their fifth child, christened Arthur Kingsley Porter, had died shortly after birth.⁴¹

On 31 March 1915, the misfortune that had dogged the Porters during Kingsley’s early life resurfaced. Louis’s home at Noroton Hill was destroyed by fire, entailing a loss of over $100,000.⁴² The fire had started on a porch roof when a spark from a plumber’s torch ignited. A fifty-mile-an-hour north-west gale fanned the flames and created an inferno. Luckily, none of the family was hurt in the ensuing blaze. Louis’s wife, Marion, had to be restrained from entering the blazing house to save her jewellery. However, her jewellery collection that was valued at several thousand dollars was destroyed. Louis and Kingsley lost their collection of native birds that was considered the most valuable and rare in America.

In April 1915 the danger of travelling across the Atlantic became abundantly clear when the German Embassy issued a warning that was printed in fifty American newspapers, advising passengers who intended to travel on British ships to do so at their peril.⁴³ On 7 May 1915 the threat became an appalling reality when RMS Lusitania, en route from New York to Liverpool, was torpedoed by a German U-boat, just eleven miles from the Irish coast at Kinsale, Co. Cork. The ship sank within eighteen minutes with a loss of life totalling 1,198 passengers and crew.⁴⁴ Unknown to the passengers, the ship had been carrying arms and munitions.The casualties included eminent industrialists, politicians, authors, architects, professors and newspaper tycoons, from the United States, Canada and Britain. The Irish art collector Sir Hugh Lane was also a victim, and the priceless case of paintings he was transporting was lost.⁴⁵ The sinking of the Lusitania and the subsequent outrage at the fact that innocent civilians had been ruthlessly killed by a German military operation was a major contribution to the United States’ entry into the First World War.⁴⁶

In the circumstances, Kingsley had to be content to remain on home soil. During 1915 he began teaching at Yale, his alma mater, where his family had studied since the 1840s.⁴⁷ Although noted for his shyness, Kingsley’s students always gave glowing accounts of him. They absorbed his passion for art and blossomed under his original tutoring style. While at Yale, he also began working towards a Bachelor of Fine Arts. Kingsley had fond memories of his undergraduate years at Yale and he quickly threw himself into the university’s stimulating social life. At the Art School he taught five courses that dealt with medieval and Renaissance painting, architecture and sculpture. He also expounded the cultural riches that were on offer at Yale, not only in the subject matter covered in its art and history courses, but also the artistic treasures that were exhibited at the Jarves Gallery.⁴⁸

During Kingsley’s time at Yale he commuted to college while Lucy remained in New York. Lucy always enjoyed a rich and varied social life, meeting with friends for luncheon in some of the best hotels, dining out in the evening and then taking in a play or a concert. Kingsley’s research and writing always took precedence, and periodically he needed time alone to work on his latest project.

14. Harkness Tower, Yale, New Haven, CT. Michael Cullen.

The first day of January 1916 was the dawning of a sad day for Lucy when her father, Thomas Wallace, died in his eighty-ninth year.⁴⁹ Perhaps being reminded of his own mortality, Kingsley began formulating a new will. On 28 January he wrote to the President of Yale, Arthur Twining Hadley, stating that he wished to leave a bequest to the university, to establish a Faculty of Art History.⁵⁰ Kingsley was aware that the setting up of an Art History department at Yale would meet with stiff opposition from some quarters, and he stated: ‘I understand the powers of darkness are strongly entrenched in certain quarters of New Haven.’ The bequest he proposed was the sum of half-a-million dollars that would be used:

1. To provide salaries for professors or instructors in the history of art in the academic department, as might be required.

2. To provide for the running and overhead expenses of such a department, the purchases of equipment, slides, photographs, books, etc.

3. Any residue to be used for the purchase of additional works of art to add to the collection of the Art School, and for the proper maintenance and housing of the same.

Kingsley also offered to bequeath to the university his Italian paintings and other art objects.⁵¹ It was indeed a grave disappointment when the university declined his offer. These years at Yale had been some of Kingsley’s happiest, but the refusal to accept his bequest proved that he had little power to influence the university’s authorities. It was a bitter pill to swallow, reminding him of his insignificance within the greater academic circle. For the moment Kingsley bided his time and remained at Yale.

On 1 March 1916, Kingsley wrote to his brother Louis, instructing him to make changes to the draft of both his and Lucy’s wills that were being drawn up. Lucy bequeathed a selection of her jewellery and ornaments to each of Louis’s children: Louis Junior, Louise, Joyce and Beatrice.⁵²

Throughout 1916, Kingsley rekindled his childhood interest in drama by joining the Yale Dramatic Society.⁵³ He took part in Cupid and Psyche that was performed in the magnificent Woolsey Hall on 20 October 1916. This was a glittering occasion in which the Hollywood actress Lorraine Huling, who had recently appeared in the silent motion picture The Fall of a Nation, played the heroine’s role. Kingsley played the Archbishop of Florence, one of the characters from the court scene.

In November, the Porters attended the Davanzati Palace auction held at the Plaza in New York.⁵⁴ This was yet another interest that the couple enjoyed, browsing around galleries and antique auctions in search of a priceless piece of medieval art. It was also quite a social occasion, where art collector and investor mingled with New York’s elite society. Kingsley couldn’t miss the opportunity of adding further Italian artworks to his valuable collection. He purchased several items, including a panel of St Michael the Archangel by the Venetian artist Il Guariento, at a cost of $425; a Crucifixion panel from a primitive school of Florence for $850; a Madonna and Child panel by Tommaso di Cristoforo Fini for $725; and a painted wooden cross from the Tuscan school for $310. On the afternoon of 4 December, Kingsley gave an illustrated lecture on French medieval art in the ballroom of the Colony Club in New York.⁵⁵

The year 1917 was a particularly fruitful period for Kingsley. On 20 March he was promoted to Assistant Professor of the History of Art at Yale.⁵⁶ He also received his Bachelor Degree in Fine Arts from Yale. In July, Kingsley’s third book, Lombard Architecture, was published in four volumes by Yale University Press.⁵⁷

Kingsley had been fascinated by Lombard architecture since his early travels in northern Italy. The task of writing an architectural study of the remaining monuments and churches in the Lombard region was colossal, as most of the original buildings had been destroyed during renovations and reconstructions. This, however, was no deterrent to Kingsley. In the first volume he painstakingly traced the development of Lombard architecture from its Byzantine beginnings in the sixth century, through its Romanesque, Gothic and Cistercian epochs,⁵⁸ using documentary evidence and comparative masonry analysis.⁵⁹ He also discussed the use of ornament, in particular the grotesque. He described the personal inscriptions left by craftsmen, often of a humorous nature, such as the carving of an old man who rubs his beard, accompanied by the caption: ‘I am here to amuse fools.’⁶⁰

The book was undoubtedly original and inherently courageous. Kingsley challenged many cherished theories postulated by contemporaries and shattered the misconceptions of previous authorities. Through his findings he argued that the authentic Lombard style began to emerge as ‘more interesting, more worthy of study, and certainly more beautiful’.⁶¹

The second and third volumes were devoted to the discussion of individual monuments, while the fourth contained 1,000 fine plates that illustrated the chronological development of the style. Kingsley brilliantly captured the beauty and character of Lombard architecture, with its broken straight lines, its incredible colours, mosaic pavements and marvellous frescoes. The New York Times reviewed the book in glowing terms: ‘the clarity of the author’s thought and expression makes his description and comment extremely interesting to the moderately informed reader. The form of the work reaches the high standard set by the Yale University Press for its important publications.’⁶²

The book, however, met with severe rebuke in certain circles. The proof proffered by Kingsley that the ribbed vault, on which Gothic architecture depends, was first created in Lombardy before travelling to France⁶³ was met with caustic criticism by French art historians. Émile Mâle, the celebrated French medieval art historian, wrote a hostile review of Lombard Architecture in 1918. Mâle severely criticized Kingsley’s dating of Italian Romanesque monuments and his suggestion that sculpture from the Emelia-Romagna region exerted influence on artistic developments in France.⁶⁴ Mâle postulated that all major artistic developments began in France and that Lombard architecture was always derived from French design. He refuted Kingsley’s assertion that significant building and sculpture had occurred between the eighth and tenth centuries and he strongly criticized Kingsley’s theory that sculpture had been created in Europe before 1100.⁶⁵

Although Kingsley may have presented a withdrawn and diffident exterior at social gatherings or to passing acquaintances, when it came to defending his archaeological theories he did so with great passion, eloquence and self-belief. He immediately responded to Mâle’s rebuff in an article, ‘The Rise of Romanesque Sculpture’.⁶⁶ He challenged Mâle’s Franco-centric views and theorized that artistic exchange occurred during the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, in northern Spain. He postulated that Lombard craftsmen travelled the pilgrim route to Santiago, stopping at Languedoc before travelling to Spain. He argued that international artistic exchange was how medieval craftsmen learned and shared their artistic secrets, without regional boundaries.⁶⁷ In defence of his work, Kingsley displayed the full gamut of his brilliance as a researcher, an author and a tactician. Thus an infamous battle raged between the two scholars, as to the origins of Romanesque sculpture in Christian Spain, that continued well into the next decade.⁶⁸

Despite Mâle’s criticism, the work catapulted Kingsley to international acclaim. Bernard Berenson, renowned art historian and specialist in Renaissance art, was full of praise for Lombard Architecture.⁶⁹ Berenson sent Kingsley a very flattering letter, telling him that they were indeed kindred spirits. Kingsley replied with great appreciation: ‘I have read and reread and admired your works so intensely, that an autograph from you carries with it the romance of a relic. I wish I dared believe you that there is kinship between my method and yours. I think it may be so in the sense that your scholarship has been my inspiration.’⁷⁰

The stream of correspondence with art historians and museum curators in the US, including Kingsley’s friend William Goodyear, Brooklyn Museum’s Curator of Fine Arts,⁷¹ and Allan Marquant,⁷² Professor and Director of the Princeton University Art Museum, showed that Kingsley was now established as a specialist in medieval architecture. His expert opinion was constantly sought and highly valued.

On 24 October 1917, Kingsley wrote to Raymond Pitcairn, architect of Bryn Athyn Cathedral in Pennsylvania, to offer praise for his design:

I had expected much of the Bryn Athyn church, but nothing like what I found. If it existed in Europe, in France or England, it would still be at once six centuries behind, and a hundred years ahead of its time. But on the soil of great architectural traditions, it would be in a measure comprehensible, and the presence in the neighbourhood of the great works of the past would in a way prepare the mind for this achievement of the present age. For your church, alone of modern buildings, in my judgement, is worthy of comparison with the best the Middle Ages produced.⁷³

Kingsley was so appreciative of Pitcairn’s work that he included an illustration of Bryn Athyn Cathedral as the frontispiece in his book, Beyond Architecture (1918).

The Porters also supported the war effort by attending several exhibitions and auctions that had been organized to raise funds. It was always important for Lucy to give her time to charitable organizations and over the years she served on many committees that funded artists, students and various minority groups. On 11 November 1917, Kingsley exhibited some of his art works at the exhibition of Italian paintings that was held at the Kleinberger Galleries in New York, the receipts for which went to the American war relief.⁷⁴ That same afternoon, Kingsley gave a lecture on medieval architecture at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.⁷⁵ On 19 December, Lucy attended the sale of Professor Elia Volpi’s art treasures, at the American Art Gallery in New York. She purchased a seventeenth-century Italian velvet table cover, that was bordered with gold lace, for $320.⁷⁶

During the early months of 1918, Kingsley continued to lecture at Yale while researching his latest book, Beyond Architecture. On 13 March he was invited to give a lecture on French Gothic architecture at Harvard’s Fogg Art Museum.⁷⁷ Following on from the success of his lecture, Kingsley loaned two early Italian paintings to the museum.⁷⁸ One of the paintings was a rare fourteenth-century Gothic triptych by Simone da Bologna; the other painting was attributed to Jacob di Cione, brother of Orcagna, and was described as being very rich in colour. Thus began Kingsley’s bittersweet relationship with Harvard.

During 1918, Kingsley’s reputation reached new heights when he was awarded the prestigious Grande Médaille de Vermeil de Société Française d’Archéologie.⁷⁹ This great international honour was indeed a sweet salve after Mâle’s relentless criticism.

In June 1918, Kingsley’s fourth book, Beyond Architecture (based on a series of articles he had written), was published by the Boston publisher Marshall Jones Company. In the preface he wrote that this ‘baby of peace’ was born ‘amid the shrapnel and groans of a great war’.⁸⁰ The main text discussed the components that must be present in any art – including architecture, painting, stained glass, sculpture, music and literature – to constitute a work of beauty and value.

Kingsley postulated that in all great art, the intention of the artist must be to bring forth a creation from the depths of the soul, from the sublime well of emotion: ‘For the essence of all great art is joy: the joy of grandeur, the joy of poetry, the joy of gloom, the joy of tears perhaps, but always joy. The genius imbues the object with a spark of this divine joy, so that it may awaken in others the same or a kindred emotion.’⁸¹

While modern-day artists often focused on producing art for commercial purposes, Kingsley held that Gothic artists achieved ‘absolute unity of composition... Each capital, each statue, each bit of tracery, each moulding, was a masterpiece.’⁸² This wonderful spirit of creativity also applied to the work of medieval stained-glass artists, in which ‘the flow of line, the rhythm, the composition, and above all, the colouring, are sources of unending delight’.⁸³

This book, more than any other, shows Kingsley’s absolute love of art. It is apparent that great art could stir his emotions and ignite his spirit – perhaps a great deal more than most people could ever excite or interest him. Art was more than a pastime, more than a career; it was an indelible need, bringing him close to the exhilaration he felt when wandering in the depths of nature. He strongly disagreed with the popular opinion that Greek monuments were ‘self-restrained, metallic and icy, colourless as the moonlight on the snow’. For Kingsley, Greek art was highly erotic and charged with sexual imagery, culminating in the depiction of the male nude:

Greek art was not anaemic, but red-blooded, not pale, but full of strong colours, not neurotic, but pulsating with life. Indeed, in this very vitality lies the secret of its illustrative power. It is full of sex. The emotion it conveys is the emotion of sex, the beauty it interprets is the beauty of sex! This fact has very largely been misunderstood or ignored because the type of sex which appealed with especial power to the Greeks is considered perverse and repulsive by the modern age. Not being willing to grant that an art obviously of the highest type could have been inspired by ideals which seem to us depraved, we have willed not to understand. Yet delight in the nude, and especially in the nude male, is the key-note of Greek art. Where else has the vigour of youth, the play of muscles, the glory of manhood found a like expression? It is the ideal of masculine sex which the Greeks eternally glorified; this is the beauty they never wearied of interpreting... And the sculptures were the idealization of male sex, that and that only. Thus the entire Greek temple was made a glorious hymn in praise of sex.⁸⁴

Kingsley’s open appreciation of the male nude as created by the ancient Greeks was indeed courageous in the repressed New England society in which he lived. His description of the Greek temple as ‘a glorious hymn in praise of sex’ might have been construed as profane and indeed vulgar. Fortunately, his views on the sexiness of classical art passed without notice.

The early months of 1918 were busy for Lucy as she entertained friends and family for dinner and lunch engagements at their New York home.⁸⁵ Lucy’s engagement diary for that year was full of social events and cultural outings, including evenings at the Boston Symphony, the opera, chamber music recitals and theatrical performances. Lucy was a full-time hostess, constantly arranging afternoon teas and dinners for the Wallace family, the Porters, the Merritts, and for their vast network of friends and acquaintances. On Thursday mornings Lucy volunteered for the Red Cross, where she learned the rudiments of nursing.

These were also busy months for Kingsley. Lucy marked set times in her diary for Kingsley to be alone, to write and study.⁸⁶ He was often asked to lecture at prestigious universities, including Princeton. He also made regular visits to Louis and his family in Stamford. It was mainly at weekends that Kingsley and Lucy could unwind and spend time together. No matter what events or lavish entertainment Lucy attended during the week, it was always these quiet times spent alone with Kingsley that were the most precious.

During the summer of 1918, the idyllic world of perfect form and shape in which Kingsley loved to dwell was far from the minds of millions of Europeans. War still raged in Europe, and unspeakable carnage and destruction littered the cities and countryside after a four-year onslaught by the Allies to defeat Germany. Kingsley was contacted by the Commission for Historical Monuments on behalf of the French government and invited to join the Works of Art Service in the Armed Forces Area of Paris. Kingsley was delighted with the honour as he was the only non-French expert invited to assist in the preservation of French monuments.⁸⁷

Kingsley had recently established a career as a lecturer in Yale. He was now aged 35, while Lucy was 42. It is not known whether either of them wanted a family, though it was certainly unusual at the time for a couple who had been married for six years to be childless, unless there was some physical problem that prevented a pregnancy. Lucy would certainly have been within her rights to want a permanent home. The prospect of relocating to France in the midst of a world war would have been abhorrent to most women. However, Lucy appears to have embraced this momentous adventure with great fervour. In none of her diaries or correspondence does she portray the least trace of fear or apprehension about relocating to a war-ravaged zone.

Kingsley was subsequently appointed to a panel of experts to assess the damage that had been inflicted on medieval monuments in France.⁸⁸ The appointment suited him, as he was eager to begin research in Europe for his new book, Romanesque Sculpture of the Pilgrimage Roads. Yet it was a dangerous undertaking; although the war was moving into its final phase, atrocities were still being carried out on all sides.

During mid-July, the Porters visited family and friends in Stamford and Washington.⁸⁹ In her diary, Lucy failed to mention how their relatives greeted the announcement that they would be leaving the safety of their East Coast life for the chaotic shores of France, in the midst of a deadly war. In early August they met with Monsieur Hubert who was to arrange their passage to France.⁹⁰ The Allies had just begun their offensive against the Germans in northern France, centring on the town of Amiens, between 8 and 11 August. In Lucy’s engagement diary, several dates were marked for their departure, but they finally left New York on Sunday 11 August.⁹¹ Their destination was Paris,⁹² and their official assignment was to assess the damage that had been wreaked on medieval monuments.⁹³ Kingsley’s own mission was to save every sculpture, monument and Romanesque structure from ruin or oblivion.