
Man with a Hoe, 1860–1862, Jean-François Millet. Oil on canvas, 32 1/4 × 39 1/2 in. The J. Paul Getty Museum, 85.PA.114. Digital image courtesy of Getty’s Open Content Program
As the COVID-19 pandemic unfolds, there has been much discussion in the museum world about art’s social function during times of crisis, and I am reminded of disastrous moments in our past when art managed, almost miraculously, to provide a measure of comfort and good news.
Such is the story of Jean-Francois Millet’s Man with a Hoe, an icon of French realism that was nearly incinerated in the fires that devastated San Francisco following the terrible earthquake of April 18, 1906. Destroying most of the city, this catastrophe was a global media event, and amid all the coverage of the lives lost and buildings destroyed, of the ensuing humanitarian crisis and relief effort, the fate of this one painting attracted disproportionate attention.
The Man with a Hoe belonged to William H. Crocker, son of the railroad baron Charles Crocker, and it was initially presumed to have perished in the blaze that consumed his mansion on Nob Hill.

Photograph of William H. Crocker’s mansion, ca. 1890. California State Library.

Untitled (City Hall from California Street between Jones and Taylor Streets, San Francisco), 1906, Arnold Genthe. Cellulose nitrate negative, 2 13/16 x 5 3/4 in. Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco, 1943.407.126.1. Museum purchase, James D. Phelan Bequest Fund.
In late April, however, the news broke that the painting had actually been saved, thanks in large part to Crocker’s butler, Mr. Head, who went unnamed in the newspaper reports (though the American Art News acknowledged that “art lovers everywhere” owed him their thanks). A sigh of relief in the papers: “Rich Paintings are Saved. ‘Man with Hoe’ and Others Safe”!
The newspaper reports repeatedly singled out the Man with a Hoe because it was easily the most famous painting on the West Coast, and certainly one of the most renowned in the United States. Indeed, it is hard for us today to grasp the towering stature it enjoyed.
The painting had debuted in 1863 at the Paris Salon—the official, state-sponsored exhibition of contemporary art. Its unvarnished portrayal of an exhausted peasant bowed over by brutal toil scandalized viewers. Millet hadn’t prettified or sentimentalized his rural subject, and this offended urban elites, who suspected him of being some kind of socialist revolutionary.
The furor died down, however, and the Man with a Hoe disappeared from public view for some two decades. By the time it reemerged in the 1880s, after Millet’s death, critics were hailing it as one of his signature masterpieces. It was a major highlight in several loan exhibitions that consecrated the artist: first the 1883 blockbuster, “One Hundred Masterpieces from Parisian Collections,” held in the upscale galleries of dealer Georges Petit; then the 1887 Millet retrospective at the École des Beaux-Arts; and lastly the centenary exhibition of French art at the 1889 Paris World’s Fair—an event that attracted more than 30 million people.
Millet’s art simultaneously triumphed on the art market as collectors vied for his pictures, driving up prices and prompting anxiety among the French that their cultural patrimony was being sold out from under them, particularly to the insatiable Americans, flush with the riches generated during the post-Civil-War boom years.
The Man with a Hoe played its part in the frenzy, as the dizzying inflation of its market value suggests. Having originally been sold by the artist for a modest 1,500 francs in 1863, the painting made 57,000 francs at auction in 1886, was sold in 1888 for a reported 125,000 francs, and finally, in late 1890 or early 1891, was bought by William Crocker’s wife Ethel from the Paris dealer Durand-Ruel for a rumored 700,000 francs (about $125,000 USD at the time)!
By February 1891, notices were appearing in the San Francisco papers that the Millet was to be the highlight of an exhibition Mrs. Crocker was supporting to raise money for the Maria Kip Orphanage and West Oakland Home for Destitute Children. The show ran throughout March and was a great success. Critics held it up as a model for future philanthropic exhibitions and as a sign of the hunger for art education in San Francisco. Having such masterpieces as the Millet on view boded well for the cultural advancement of the West Coast.
Subsequent charity exhibitions in San Francisco similarly gave the Man with a Hoe star billing, and it commanded the national spotlight at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, heightening its status as one of the great art treasures in America.
But it was always more than this too. In its stark depiction of human labor, the painting retained its unsettling edge and sparked a great deal of social commentary. Things exploded when the Oakland poet Edwin Markham published his poem “The Man with the Hoe” along with a reproduction of the painting in the San Francisco Examiner in 1899. The plight of the working poor was a hot-button issue in Gilded Age America, and Markham struck a nerve, judging by the heated responses to his work.
Imagine if all our current political debate about social injustice and income inequality, about corporate capitalism and dwindling labor rights, about poverty and homelessness, became focused on a single work of art; that will give you some idea of the resonance that Millet’s painting had in the US at the turn of the century.
Markham saw in Millet’s laborer the tragic spectacle of humanity brutified by slavish labor, its spiritual lights snuffed out, and he hinted ominously at a great reckoning: “How will it be with kingdoms and with kings – / With those who shaped him to the thing he is – / When this dumb Terror shall reply to God / After the silence of the centuries?”
In a way, this reckoning came to San Francisco early, not in the form of social revolution or divine retribution but natural disaster. For a shocking moment, the 1906 earthquake was a great leveler, dispossessing entire swaths of the population and forcing the community to rally together as never before.
For their part, the Crockers proved vital to the reconstruction and relief efforts. However, they decided to relocate, building a new mansion just south of the city in Burlingame, while donating their ravaged property on Nob Hill to the Episcopal Church as the site of the future Grace Cathedral. Although they lost much in the fire, Mr. Head had managed to save a few choice paintings along with the Millet, notably Théodore Rousseau’s The Oaks, which made its way to the Getty in 2016 for the loan exhibition “Unruly Nature: The Landscapes of Théodore Rousseau.”

The Oaks, ca. 1858, Théodore Rousseau. Oil on canvas, 32 3/8 × 36 1/2 × 4 1/4 in. Evan F. Lilly Memorial, Eskenazi Museum of Art, Indiana University, 70.87. Photo Credit: Eskenazi Museum of Art/Kevin Montague
Another rare survivor of the San Francisco disaster has found a permanent home at the Getty: Giovanni Segantini’s Spring in the Alps, which in 1906 belonged to Jacob Stern of Levi Strauss & Co. Segantini was one of many late 19th-century artists deeply impressed by Millet, a story that is currently being told in the exhibition “Millet and Modern Art,” which opened at the Saint Louis Art Museum just before the lockdown began.

Spring in the Alps, 1897, Giovanni Segantini. Oil on canvas, 45 11/16 × 89 3/8 in. The J. Paul Getty Museum, 2019.3. Digital image courtesy of Getty’s Open Content Program
When this exhibition reopens and the Man with a Hoe returns to Los Angeles afterward, I hope we can look at it, and all the other artworks entrusted to us, with fresh eyes, and never take them for granted.
fascinating – it also shows the fickleness of fashion as Millet became so unfashionable in the post WW1 era – until really the ”60s when the Japanese began to push up his prices. But always a great artist.
Very interesting- amazing history /incredible legacy- great article- thank you
Scott – Thank you for sharing this bit of art and social history so articulately. Seems the world is still swimming with so much injustice. I wonder (hope) if our corporate world and the rest of us will learn from the current pandemic and change our ways of consuming and being community. Love, Aunt Mary
Sorry for grammatical error below.
Thank you for this. I am going through withdrawals. I haven’t been to an exhibit in 3 months. I like these short articles.
In contrast, another great icon of social realism – Courbet’s “The Stone Breakers” – didn’t survive World War II. However, there’s another great rescue story from the 1906 quake: botanist Alice Eastwood managed to retrieve the herbarium type specimens from the original Academy of Sciences building.
Putting those paintings online enabled me to view them closely which is something we cannot do in the art gallery. Thank you
Thank you! I enjoyed this article very much.
Great story and ownership time line.
Thank you …looking forward to seeing the painting !
HOW did the butler save the paintings? Inquiring minds want to know!
Thank you for your insights. “The plight of the working poor” is a sword that is still embedded in the soul of our country today.
A beautiful written article on an incredible painting that retains its powerful portrayal of contemporary political debates! Thank you.
Thank you for the back story; a treat for a lover of Millet, San Francisco, the Getty…
This article made me so grateful for the courage of the people who were entrusted with these beautiful paintings and who courageously saved them. It reminded me of the many people, including members of the Royal Family who saved many irreplaceable works of art when there was such a devastating fire at Windsor Castle. Thank heavens for brave people like this all over the world who are so devoted to preserving these gems of art for future generations.
Great story—interesting read! Thank you!
Thank you. It’s a joy having something to see and think, since I can’t get to museums. I do love Millet’s paintings of harvesters and farm folk and I see them in my mind’s eye when visiting deep France, but this one in computer repro is coarser than it might be in real life. Millet’s farmer’s feet can be seen gravitationally stuck in the clods. Segantini’s dog, unfortunately, isn’t standing in the grass, the sky looks like a 1930’s woodcut, and the whole image can’t decide whether it is a cartoon or a magazine cover. I’ll look for it at the museum, when we’re allowed, hoping it will be better than this computer copy. Thanks again.
Thank you for this backstory on one of my favorites at the Getty. Had no idea of the notoriety of the painting, let alone the Crocker ownership and having survived the SF earthquake and fire. I have always viewed the man as an example of resilience in the midst of an unforgiving environment (which rings true to our very day). Looking forward to its return (and my own return) to the Getty. Thank you.
This story has special meaning for me, My mother was born in San Francisco & was 11 years old in 1906 when the earthquake & fire happened. She & her family left their home in their nightclothes & went to Nob Hill to watch the fire before taking the Ferry to Sausalito to stay with relatives.. She talked about the Crocker Mansion on Nob Hill
burning down with all of their many valuable paintings. Such an interesting story!!
Thank you ! I miss touring museums so this is a treat !
Have an art inspired day ….
Patti
I am so glad I read this article, it provide a relief to the dark feelings of the unknown the virus has created. I was able to view the painting as close up as the computer permitted and could see the burdened look of the ‘man with the hoe’. Thank you for this opportunity in armchair learning.
Thank you for the history of Man with a Hoe. What a beautiful painting. I would have never know it caused controversy in its debut. I live in Burlingame now and to know this painting lived here at one time is exciting.