Reflection by the Duke of Devonshire, KCVO, CBWE, DL

This service has been planned for us in every detail by the late Charles Ryskamp. Let us remember him through the readings and music we hear, the hymns we sing, and the prayers we share. It is his wisdom and kindness that imbues every part of today, and it is through this service that we should recall so many aspects of his wonderful personality. I have been asked to share some personal reflections, but these are by no means an account of his myriad achievements. I offer them merely as a prelude to the service he devised so carefully.

Now, it has been suggested that Charles Ryskamp might be the last of a dying breed:  the gentleman scholar. I think that this is pessimistic. Think of the thousands of students that he has taught, many of them by now grandparents. I feel sure that Charles’s extraordinary ability to enthuse his audiences with the desire to learn will have produced future scholars in his mould. These erstwhile students will surely have encouraged their children to start their own libraries — by at least the age of seven, which was when Charles was sticking his first book plates into his earliest acquisitions.

I do not know if the auction houses keep a record of the age of their clients. If so, we could trawl them for the thirteen-year-old novices who have started buying at the same age as Charles and thus find some up-and-coming Ryskamps. There will not be many, but just a few will be enough to carry the torch of the gentleman collector. Charles, however, was much more than a gentleman collector, and what might be harder to replicate is his brilliant ability to be his own man. He did not follow fashion, though he never underestimated it. 

During his two remarkable directorships, at the Morgan Library and at the Frick, he combined his academic abilities with his supreme charm, to take these two institutions to great success and popularity. In his collecting, he was not contrary for the sake of it. But, perhaps because he was entirely self-taught in art history, he was pragmatic. In order to collect great works with what was a pretty limited personal budget, and to avoid any possible conflict of interest with the acquisition policies of the institutions he worked for, he had to look further afield and thus discover under-appreciated schools. Consequently, he accumulated a collection of drawings of the Danish Golden Age, which is of international importance.  Many of his drawings from France and Holland and Germany are of equal distinction. He collected because he loved the chase, and the fact that the chase — the search — often spanned decades to secure the sought-after item. And he collected because he loved to share and indeed to give:  he gave much of his treasure away during his life, and now his scholarship will be even more widely shared through the generous distribution of his lovely things to publicly accessible institutions.

Collecting was one of his passions, teaching was another. He taught all his life, he never stopped. He taught at Princeton, and recently he taught a seminar at Yale. But he also taught all the time, in his conversation and in his correspondence.  All of us who knew him were his students. And he taught a vast range of subjects. He taught English Literature, of course. But he also taught Paul Mellon how to name race horses. He taught many young Englishmen and women how to enjoy New York. He taught us at Chatsworth how to place contemporary sculpture. He taught food and fine wine. He taught the pleasure of knowledge, and he explained how to look at art, especially drawings, understanding that for beginners it helps to see a good work beside a much less accomplished one, side by side. He taught in an invisible way:  that meant his students themselves often believed that they had reached the conclusion he offered. And of course he would never disabuse them of that success. His teaching — his life — was infused with enthusiasm: his eyes merry, his eyebrow often raised, questioning, silent, but happily, brilliantly, teaching nonetheless.

Charles suffered fools gladly, very gladly indeed, and he made us, just by his company, less foolish. His passions were indeed collecting and teaching, but I must add friendship as well. He was superb at all three: these passions were interdependent. He made friends easily and those friendships lasted, people did not forget this man.

As we participate in this beautiful service that he planned for us, let us remember Charles:  a great man of many accomplishments of which his generous charm and good company were by no means the least.

May he rest in peace.

Reflection by the Duke of Devonshire

Readings from the Memorial Service for Charles A. Ryskamp