Sergey Shchukin and Others

Albert Kostenevich

It was only towards the middle of the twentieth century that the Hermitage assembled a collection of modern Western European art, the result of major transformations in the museum world during the Soviet years. It consisted largely of paintings acquired in Paris three or four decades previously by two leading Moscow businessmen, Sergey Shchukin and Ivan Morozov.

Sergej Ivanovitsj Sjtsjoekin en Ivan Abramovitsj Morozov

Thanks to Catherine II and, to a lesser degree, her successors on the throne, the Hermitage had long been a truly international museum of Old Masters, which made it possible to share some of its works, even before the Revolution, with establishments in Moscow. The first despatch of 200 paintings from the Hermitage was sent to Moscow under Alexander II, in 1862.1 The next two hundred or so were sent after the Revolution, in 1924,2 then about another hundred more went in 1927-28. In 1930 another 73 paintings left the Hermitage, among them works by Botticelli, Perugino, Lotto, Veronese, Cranach, Rubens, Van Dyck, Rembrandt, Poussin and Watteau. For a long time the flow of paintings was unidirectional but at the start of the 1930s the staff of the Hermitage managed to insist that there should be at least partial compensation for the losses, through the modern French art which was so well represented in Moscow, in contrast to Leningrad.3 The last transfer of paintings from Moscow took place in 1948, after the closure of the Museum of Modern Western Art.4 Such movement of works of art from Leningrad to Moscow and vice versa might simply be described as a sharing of national cultural treasures between the two capitals, the old and the new, but there was also ideological pressure from the totalitarian regime. In 1948 Stalin issued a secret order to totally liquidate the Museum of Modern Western Art which had housed the unified collections of the two great Moscow collectors for a quarter of a century.5

Shchukin and Morozov were originally regarded as eccentrics in their world – although Moscow had a greater share of such eccentrics than any other Russian city – for instead of collecting the sort of things popular amongst Russians at the turn of the twentieth century, they concentrated on contemporary French painting, directing their efforts towards the acquisition not of Academic canvases by recognised maîtres but of ‘strange’ works by their direct opposites, the Impressionists, Post-Impressionists, Fauves and others of that ilk. Both collectors started out in quite traditional fashion, acquiring the works of St Petersburg and Moscow realists, but soon abandoned this interest without regret.6 They preferred not the dominant pan-European standards but the previously unheard of colour and frightening decisiveness of the new manner, which most of their enlightened contemporaries saw as mere daubing or pointless novelty for innovation’s sake. Shchukin and Morozov hoped to inject a little ‘Frenchness’ into Russian art and thus send it off on new paths, where it might occupy more advanced position and thus avoid provinciality. Discovering first the work of Monet and the Impressionists, then Cézanne, Gauguin and Van Gogh, these ‘amateurs’ who started out with a desire to decorate their own mansions were within just a few years setting the trend in taste. Daringly they established links with the recently emerged leaders of the early twentieth century whose art is the subject of this exhibition.

Interior Maison Shukin

We shall not touch here on the early activities of Shchukin and Morozov: that will be the subject of another exhibition a year from now, when no less important a group of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works will travel from the banks of the Neva to the banks of the Amstel.

The leading role in all relations with the pioneers of the avant-garde was undoubtedly played by Sergey Shchukin. Ivan Morozov (1871-1921), seventeen years – a whole generation – younger than his friend and rival, could not match his ability to react speedily to the French avant-garde’s most radical steps. This division was not reflected, however, in the extremely high level of the two collections. Morozov was more taken with the Impressionists, with Cézanne, Van Gogh, Denis and Bonnard, while Shchukin, who travelled essentially the same path, looked ahead and concentrated on the work of those who came after, on Matisse, Derain and Picasso. Morozov nonetheless owned a unique group of masterpieces by all three painters, most of them now in the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow. We should recall Matisse’s Fruits and Bronze and his Moroccan Triptych; Drying Sails by Derain; Two Saltimbanques, Acrobat on a Ball and Portrait of Ambroise Vollard by Picasso.

Sjtsjoekin

Shchukin’s acquisitions of the most daring works of the early twentieth century put him ahead not only of his Moscow context but indeed of collectors across Europe. He had 37 paintings by Matisse alone, among them many works now considered milestones in the history of art.

Henri Matisse, Lady on a Terrace, ca 1907 © Succession H. Matisse c/o Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

Sergey Ivanovich Shchukin (1854–1936) belonged to an old merchant family and headed a Russian textile company. He had a brilliant understanding of both the local and international markets and his management of his enterprises and his business dealings eventually earned him the nickname ‘minister of commerce’ in financial circles. This combination of sound business sense, a feeling for art and rare perception made him a collector of the highest rank.

To most of enlightened Russian society at the turn of the twentieth century even the Impressionists seemed to be charlatans, and anyone who dared to collect their paintings must be an even bigger charlatan. In 1914, when memories of the early days of Shchukin’s collecting were still relatively fresh, the critic Yakob Tugendhold wrote of the first works he brought back from France that ‘Monet’s landscapes offended people as do now the works of Picasso: It was with some reason that one of Monet’s paintings was scribbled on by the protesting pencil of one of Shchukin’s guests.’7

If we disregard his very first steps, Shchukin’s collecting activities can be divided into three stages: 1898-1904, when he was mainly after works by Monet; 1904-10, the period of Cézanne, Van Gogh and Gauguin; 1910-14, connected with the names of Matisse, Derain and Picasso. Morozov, who entered this particular arena several years later, was more circumspect in his collecting, retaining his interest in the Impressionists evern while keeping his eye on what came after.

Ever present before Shchukin’s eyes was the example of his relative Pavel Tretyakov, founder of Moscow’s Tretyakov Gallery. It was another thing, however, to establish a museum, in the teeth of the dominant preferences of even the most forward-thinking intelligentsia, not of Russian realist painting but of controversial French painting with an anti-realist tendency. Nonetheless, he made his decision. The sudden death of Shchukin’s wife Lydia, to whom he was closely attached, prompted him to take decisive action. On the night of 4 January 1907 he wrote his will, bequeathing his collection to the Tretyakov Gallery, which then had a department of Western European painting. Shchukin had suffered a terrible succession of tragic blows – the death of his son Sergey, who had thrown himself into the River Moscow the previous year, the death of his wife, the suicide of his brother Ivan and of his youngest son Grigory – which might had broken the strongest of men. Certainly it altered the collector’s mindset and his attitude to his art. In the knowledge that his collection was eventually to form part of a public collection, Sergey Shchukin now made it regularly accessible to the public, free of charge.

After Monet, Cézanne and Gauguin, Shchukin’s next passion was for Matisse. Echoes of the scandal surrounding the Fauves’ appearance at the Salon d’Automne in 1905 had even reached Russia. But this was the year of the first Russian revolution and even art lovers were otherwise occupied. Arriving in Paris the following May, however, Shchukin asked Vollard for Matisse’s address and returned home with a large still life. This was Crockery on a Table (1900, Hermitage), in which the collector was drawn above all by Matisse’s new treatment of Cézanne’s principles, just as he was to be taken a little later by the development of Gauguin’s preferences in The Luxembourg Gardens.

Shchukin soon identified Matisse as the leader of a new movement. Their friendship commenced despite the opinion of broader society, summarised in the words of a Russian artist writing from Paris of the Salon d’Automne of 1907: ‘In one room Matisse dominates and there visitors to the exhibition laugh without restraint.’8 Shchukin immediately found that he trusted the artist, thanks to which Russia became the first land to ‘import’ the works of Matisse. In 1908 the Moscow collector acquired the freshly-painted Game of Bowls and a whole group of still-lifes of different periods, agreeing that the artist would reserve for him ‘Harmony in Blue’ – later that year transformed into The Red Room. It was in Shchukin that Matisse found the strong support of which he was most in need. Through such purchases and commissions Shchukin became Matisse’s patron.

Henri Matisse, De jeu-de-boulesspelers, 1908 © Succession H. Matisse c/o Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

It required a certain daring in 1908 to exhibit the Game of Bowls in one’s home, and even greater daring to commission from Matisse a ‘decorative panel for a dining room’ such as Matisse’s ‘Harmony in Blue’ promised to be. Shchukin needed just such a ‘harmony’, since the blue would combine with the golden yellow tones of Gauguin that dominated the room. There is no surprise in the fact that the intended place of the supposed ‘Harmony in Blue’ was given to the dark blue Conversation. Although the decoration of the large dining room in Shchukin’s mansion would have been suited to the pale blue painting, Shchukin expressed no dissatisfaction when he received The Red Room. He quickly understood the great step forward and the shock to all modern art represented by this new ‘harmony’, informing Matisse that it ‘pleased him enormously.’9 Replacing the original tonality with red, Matisse achieved an effect which perhaps surprised even himself. He was right to fear the collector’s negative response, for such a quantity of red, moreover extremely dynamic red, had never been seen in European painting before. Although it was perhaps not so difficult to accept such a monochrome approach for one familiar with the scarlet surfaces of Old Russian icons. The painting was a challenge to all existing artistic canons, although it was not of course painted with a view to shock, but with the aim of finding a harmony in keeping with the spirit of the new century.

Henri Matisse, Serviesgoed Stilleven met blauw tafelkleed, 1909 © Succession H. Matisse c/o Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

The Red Room, Game of Bowls, Woman on a Terrace and other canvases by Matisse transformed Shchukin’s gallery into the expression of the latest and most daring acts of the European avant-garde. Shchukin went even further, however, commissioning Dance and Music for the staircase of his mansion, works which marked the culmination of his relationship with the artist.The creation of such an ensemble was due not only to Matisse but to Shchukin himself. ‘When asked if his father would have painted the panels on such a scale without Shchukin, Pierre Matisse answered, “Why – for whom?”.’10 I remember with what genuine respect Pierre Matisse spoke of Sergey Shchukin as he stood before the famous drawn portrait by his father,11 emphasising not only the patron’s daring but his incredible delicacy, never trying to force anything on the artist or attempting to get involved in the creative process.

Intuition told Shchukin that Matisse and Picasso, whose creative discoveries filled him with enthusiasm, would produce not mere shocking innovation but genuinely new insights. When he received Arab Coffee-house he wrote to Matisse that he looked at the painting each day for at least an hour and liked it better than all the others.12 Which is not to say that Arab Coffee-house was to be his favourite for ever.

Shchukin made a different comment when he informed Matisse that he had received Dance and Music: ‘… Overall I find these panels interesting and hope to like them eventually. I have full confidedn in you. The public is against you, but the future is yours.’13 What an admission, behind which we see the battle between heart and mind. ‘I find them interesting’ – an expression of doubt, of a certain ambiguity in his response; but Shchukin knew from experience that the true living aesthetic sense is not unchanging. He trusted Matisse, feeling that one of the important new roads in contemporary art ran through his art.

From the time that Shchukin opened the doors of his house to all-comers in 1909, it became a museum of new painting, an exhibition space housing paintings that sometimes came straight from the artists’ studios, and at the same time something of a place of heated debate for young artists. The conflict between students and teachers at the School of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture was heightened by what the young people saw in Shchukin’s house and which they readily took up. Even when Natalya Goncharova hot-temperedly ‘rejected’ Matisse, it was in response to Shchukin’s paintings.

Sjtsjoekin and Picasso

The Moscow collector was early in discovering the prophetic significance of Picasso’s art. It is thought that they were introduced by Matisse, the Spaniard’s main rival in the battle for leadership of the French avant-garde. Shchukin did not immediately take to Cubism but when he learned more of the method he followed it carefully. The first Cubist canvasses to appear in his collection may have convinced him of some strange, paradoxical closeness to nature. He was acquainted with the artist’s girlfriend, Fernande Olivier, and may have guessed that Woman with a Fan of 1908 represented her image transformed. There is nothing surprising in such a basic approach to Cubism. Ivan Morozov – for whom Cubism remained an alien movement – worked in similar fashion, buying one of the best Cubist canvas, the Portrait of Ambroise Vollard, probably simply because he was acquainted with the dealer.

© Pablo Picasso, Vrouw met een waaier, 1907-1908, co Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

Picasso seemed to Shchukin to be the complete opposite of Matisse, not only in terms of their artistic forms but in their temperament and emotions. Matisse brought joy and calm. To the Moscow collector and those similar in spirit Picasso’s paintings opened up a vision of hell, eternal longing and inescapable tragedy, but they also offered a catharsis, purification through compassion. After the series of tragedies that rained down on Shchukin’s head, he had no fear of references to death, even seeking them out, purchasing Picasso’s Composition with Skull (1908, Hermitage) and a study for it, as well as Derain’s Still Life with Skull. He acquired dramatic paintings such as The Absinthe Drinker and works of the Blue Period. Cubism marked a rejection of the psychologicial subject as underlying foundation. Reducing the vivid variety of the world to geometricised original forms, in such paintings as Bathing and Farm-woman Picasso stripped bare the faceless anonymity of the age, its antagonism to nature, not rejecting tragedy but taking it onto a new plane.

© Pablo Picasso, De absintdrinkster, 1901, co Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

The collection of paintings by Picasso in the Hermitage is rightly judged to be one of the best in the world. It is, admittedly, a little lacking in variation, since it encompasses only the early years of the artist’s career, but this is compensated for by the extremely high quality of the collection overall. Amongst the 38 eight works by Picasso are such famous paintings as The Absinthe Drinker, Two Sisters, Dance of the Veils, Dryad, Composition with Skull, Friendship, Woman with a Fan and Three Women. The man who acquired all these canvasses can scarcely have thought that they would one day find themselves in the Hermitage. At the start of the twentieth century the Imperial Museum in St Petersburg was far removed not only from contemporary art but even from painting of the nineteenth century. Shchukin and Morozov, to whom Russia owes paintings by Monet, Renoir, Degas, Cézanne, Gauguin, Van Gogh, Matisse, Picasso and Derain, initially sought all these works simply because they understood very early on what an important place they would occupy in the future. Whatever the fate of these two great Moscow collectors in the fateful years after the Revolution,14 they both wished their collections to become part of Russia’s cultural treasury.

Sergey Shchukin’s activities at the dawning of the last century never cease to amaze. In just five years he assembled a unique and inimitable collection, with fifty or so works by Picasso (and what works!), and in this alone he is deserving of the most grateful remembrance.

This is what the collector said, according to the reminiscences of one his gallery’s regular visitors: ‘I did not like this master and did not buy his paintings. I already had a large collection of all sorts of artists, but there was no Picasso. My friends told me that I should buy just a single work, for the sake of the completeness of my collection, but I continued to hold off. Somehow they managed to persuade me, however, that someone was selling one of Picasso’s paintings cheaply. When I brought it back to Moscow I did not hang it on the wall for a long time, for I understood that there was no one alongside whose work it could hang in my gallery; it was antagonistic to everything, introducing a sharp dissonance to the whole collection. At last I put it up not far from the main door, in a dark corridor, where there were no other paintings.

‘Every day I had to go along this dark corridor to get to the dining room for lunch. So, passing by the painting, I was forced to glance at it occasionally. After a time this became a habit and I started to look at it everyday, still unconsciously, still on the move. About a month went by and I started to realise that when I did not look at the painting I did not feel right as I sat down to lunch, that there was something missing. Then I started to look at it for longer and I had the sense that I had filled my mouth with pieces of broken glass. And at the same time I started to look at it not only as I went down to dine but at other times too. Then one day I was horrified, feeling that this painting, for all that it was without subject, had some iron core, some hardness and strength…

‘I bought a second painting by Picasso. I now felt that I could not live without him. I bought another… He finally obtained complete mastery of me and I started to buy painting after painting, not looking at any other artist. Thus it was that my gallery came to have 51 paintings by Picasso, many more than by any other master.’ Nikolay Preobrazhensky, author of this reminiscence, added: ‘In speaking of Picasso, Shchukin did not say that he felt any admiration for his works or that he was better than all others, no, he said that Picasso mastered him, as if it were some kind of hypnosis or magic.’15i

When he bought his first works by Picasso, Shchukin was to some degree was overcoming himself. Several years later Tugendhold wrote: ‘we should follow the example of Shchukin who says, even when he does not understand Picasso, “it’s probably he who is right and not me”.’16 It was this sense of magnetic rightness that led to the purchase of so many Cubist canvases. Increasingly convinced of the significance of the young artist’s work, Shchukin decided to fill in gaps in his collection, purchasing early works, as he would never have done for a lesser master. In 1911, therefore, he purchased The Absinthe Drinker.

At the very start of the 20th century, only the Paris collection of Leo and Gertrude Stein could compare with that of Shchukin, but that collection was later to be dispersed. As a result, Russia – through Shchukin – gained Three Women (1908, Hermitage), perhaps the best of all Cubist paintings, while Morozov acquired the best of the Pink paintings, Girl on a Ball. Kahnweiler, through whom Picasso sold most of his paintings, saw Shchukin as the only major admirer of avant-garde art at the time. He recalled, for instance, that when he received a whole series of works by Picasso he immediately telegraphed to Shchukin, who at once set out for Paris. Is this perhaps the group of works of 1908? This first stage of Cubism was concentrated in the hands of Shchukin – and now in the Hermitage – as nowhere else.

Buying Picasso’s paintings on a grand scale, Shchukin seemed almost to forget that space was already extremely limited in his gallery. There was clearly no wall area left for the new paintings. They filled the relatively small hall, hung carpet-like across the whole wall, arranged in two or three rows, frame to frame, right up to the high ceiling. Shchukin’s manner of hanging his paintings was of course derived from nineteenth-century practice and differed little from the rules accepted by his predecessors. Such principles are alien to us today but that does not mean that Shchukin was indifferent to the arrangement of his paintings. From time to time he liked to move them around himself. Sometimes he felt no need for paintings by a single artist to hang together, it sufficing that neighbouring works were of a similar formation and were as far as possible subordinate to the overall principle of decorative balance. But in the Picasso room everything seems to have been deliberately mixed up in a whirlpool of battling forms – ‘blue’ and ‘pink’ Cubism, arranged out of chronological order, the frightening faces of people and objects penned into a single cage.

© Pablo Picasso, Man with Arms Crossed, 1909, co Pictoright Amsterdam 2010

Shchukin’s younger contemporary, Pyotr Pertsov, wrote in the first guide to the gallery: ‘The separate Picasso room is as strangely fitting to house such work as the large, light, handsome Salon is suited to the handsome works of Matisse. In this room you immediately feel as though you have been removed beyond the bounds of all the rest of the art… Before you is something so strange, unfamiliar and nightmarish, that in the first moment you hesitate to admit: is this art? In any case, it is some kind of extraordinary, self-destroying, self-negating art.’17

In Picasso’s early Cubist still lifes, the best of which were acquired by Shchukin, Impressionism was not – as it had been for Cézanne – sufficient; it was excluded entirely. The break with the nineteenth century came through clearly in the distortions that were far more deliberate in the work of Picasso than in the work of any who had gone before. He was often indifferent to what the objects were made of. Just some material or other, hardstone, natural, not subject to the effects of time. Each of the most important canvases of 1908, Woman with a Fan, Seated Woman, Dryad and Three Women, set and resolved new plastic questions. Characteristically, all these paintings depict the naked female figure, a genre which Shchukin had until recently regarded somewhat warily: in Moscow society such things might have been misinterpreted. Picasso, forever opposed to the painting of the Academy and the Salon, was much taken with the possibilities of the subject. In the early Cubist paintings which Shchukin was one of the first to admire, everything that makes the woman attractive was removed. Here Picasso achieved maximum dynamism through the use of hyper-relief contours, tense poses and compressed surrounding space.

During the last years of the Shchukin gallery, it was Picasso’s Cubism that was the main stubmling block for visitors. Shchukin may not have fully understood the evolution, but he carefully followed all its phases and as late as the summer of 1914 purchased his last works by the artist. He did not seek to embrace all of Cubism and he paid no attention to the followers, but the mystery of Picasso’s work drew him like a magnet.

The incredible decorative invention of Picasso’s works of 1914, in which he incorporated the most unexpected materials – not just card and paints, but collage, wallpaper, woodshavings – was bound to attract one who was, by virtue of his occupation at least, such an admirer of textiles and decorative art overall. But Shchukin was even more drawn by the phantasmagorical quality that was so in harmony with the mood of Russian (and indeed all European) society on the eve of the First World War.

When the Soviets came to power, the gallery which Shchukin had planned to turn into a publicly-accessible museum ceased to belong to him. Forced to submit to the general ‘squashing up’, by which large apartments and buildings were split up as public housing, he and his family vacated their rooms. Yury Annenkov, who painted the new leaders one after the other, related how he and Trotsky, who was a great admirer of Picasso, visited the Shchukin mansion. ‘Once we dropped in to the Shchukin Museum, just a couple of steps away from Revvoensovet.18 The Museum had been nationalised and Shchukin himself, who had discovered Picasso, who had discovered Matisse, Shchukin who had created in Moscow a priceless museum of the latest European art, this most generous Shchukin had been allocated the “servant’s room” leading off the kitchen in his own house.’19 More terrible than these living conditions, however, was the perpetual fear of arrest, to which Shchukin, as a member of the haute bourgeoisie, was hourly subject. In fear of repression, he fled to France.

The last line in the tale of Shchukin and Picasso was written when the Moscow collector was already long dead. Picasso and Kahnweiler, however, were still alive. In 1967 Kahnweiler donated 20 coloured lithographs by Picasso each to the Hermitage and to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow. This act was performed in memory of Sergey Shchukin, whose efforts at the very start of the twentieth century played a major role in the avant-garde’s advance to a leading position on the art scene.

  • 1 The paintings formed the basis of the collection of Western European painting of the Rumyantsev Museum which in turn formed the core of the picture gallery of the Museum of Fine Arts, now named in honour of Alexander Pushkin.
  • 2 Consisting of works from the Hermitage and the Shuvalov and Yusupov Palace Museums in Leningrad (St Petersburg).
  • 3 The Hermitage received 93 paintings from the State Museum of New Western Art, formed mainly of the former collections of Sergey Shchukin and Ivan Morozov.
  • 4 The Museum’s collection was shared between the Hermitage and the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in Moscow. More than 150 paintings came to the Hermitage at this time. It seems that those representing the interests of the Pushkin Museum, closer to the centre of power in Moscow and therefore under closer ideological watch, seem to have ceded most of the works by Matisse, Picasso and Derain without opposition.
  • 5 During Stalin’s lifetime and even for some time after the paintings sent to the Hermitage from the Museum of New Western Art remained in store, wince Stalin’s order stressed their ‘reactionary bourgeois’ nature and their anti-realist tendency.
  • 6 Shchukin totally ceased collecting Russian painting while Morozov added to his interests, not only collecting the Impressionists, Cézanne, Gauguin, Bonnard, Denis and masters of the newly emerged avant-garde, but paying no less attention to Larionov, Goncharova, Chagall and other ‘leftist’ artists.
  • 7 Ya. Tugendhold [Tugendkhol’d], ‘Французское собрание С.И.Щукина’ [S. I. Shchukin’s French Collection’, Аполлон [Apollo], 1914, No. 1-2, p. 6 (hereafter Tugendhold).
  • 8 Letter from M. Yu. Shapshal to Pavel Ettinger, 30 September 1907. P. D. Ettinger, Статьи. Из переписки. Воспоминания современников [Essays. From his Correspondence. Reminiscences of Contemporaries], Moscow, 1989, p. 104.
  • 9 ‘La chambre rouge me plaît enormément. Letter from Shchukin to Matisse, 21 February 1909. A. Kostenevich, ‘La Correspondance de Matisse avec les collectionneurs russes’, in A. Kostenevich, N. Semionova, Matisse et la Russie, Moscow-Paris, 1993, p. 163 (hereafter Kostenevich).
  • 10 B. W. Kean, French Painters, Russian Collectors. The Merchant Patrons of Modern Art in Pre-Revolutionary Russia, London, 1994, p. 161.
  • 11 This portrait, which belonged to Pierre Matisse, is now in the Metropolitan Museum.
  • 12 A. Barr, Matisse. His Art and His Public, New York, 1951, p. 147.
  • 13 ‘… en somme je trouve les panneaux interessants et j’espère de les aimer un jour. J’ai pleine confiance à vous. Le public est contre vous, mais l’avenir est à vous.’ Letter from Shchukin to Matisse, 20 December 1910. Kostenevich, op. cit., p. 168.
  • 14 Shchukin feared arrest and fled Moscow in 1918, ending up in Paris. Two years later the Soviet powers permitted the sick Ivan Morozov, supposedly appointed assistant curator of his own gallery, to travel abroad for medical treatment, but he died there shortly after.
  • 15 N. Preobrazhensky, В галерее С.И.Щукина в Москве. Меценаты и коллекционеры. Альманах Всероссийского общества охраны памятников истории и культуры [In the Gallery of S. I. Shchukin in Moscow. Patrons and Collectors. Almanach of the All-Russian Society for the Preservation of Historical and Cultural Monuments], Moscow, 1995, p. 49.
  • 16 Tugendhold, op. cit., p. 30.
  • 17 P. Pertsov, Щукинское собрание французской живописи. Музей новой западной живописи [The Shchukin Collection of French Painting. Museum of New Western Painting], Moscow, 1922, p. 92.
  • 18 Revvoensovet – Revolutionary Military Council. The Council performed the functions of the war ministry and it was the Shchukin Museum’s location so close to such an establishment that proved fatal for the historic mansion. It was soon handed over to the military and remains in their hands to this day, in accessible to visitors.
  • 19 Yu. Annenkov, Дневник моих встреч [Diary of my Meetings], Leningrad, 1991, 2, p. 275.