Senhor Robin Hood

Everybody in Brazil knows about Francisco de Assis Chateaubriand Bandeira de Mello, or just plain "Chato." To some, Chato, a 63-year-old human tornado, is "a pirate from Paraiba" (his home state) ; to others he is the "only man in Brazil who gets things done." The boss of 28 newspapers, 19 radio stations, five magazines and two TV stations (TIME, June 8, 1953), Chato has channeled his efforts into every field, from organizing free milk stations to setting up Sao Paulo's first art museum.

In seven years, Chato has made Sao Paulo's Museum of Art one of the finest in the world. Among its treasures, it boasts two Titians, two El Grecos, four Goyas, four Manets, two Monets, seven Modiglianis, ten Toulouse-Lautrecs, eleven Renoirs, four Van Goghs, five Ceezannes, two Gauguins, two Picassos and such masters as Bellini, Mantegna, Memling, Raphael, Rembrandt, Rubens and Valasquez. Most of these possessions are a result of Chato's winning way of putting the bite on other people for money.

Chato's scheme, according to one donor: "He calls you on the telephone, bubbling over with enthusiasm about a new Ceezanne or Modigliani he has just bought. Right away you know you're involved in this purchase somehow. Before the conversation is finished you find you've just donated the painting. I've always thought of Chato as a kind of Brazilian Robin Hood. He robs the rich and gives it to the people."

Chato does not count on civic pride alone. Both the newly rich, empire-building Paulistas and the established granfinos (high society) have a finely developed sense of rivalry. When one contributor donates a painting, Chato scurries around to the others to help them make sure they are not being outdone. He places donors' names conspicuously beneath the paintings, and ballyhoos their gifts through his newspaper chain. Coffee King Geremia Lunardelli is the donor of a Goya, a Manet, two Renoirs, a Rodin bronze, two Toulouse-Lautrecs, a Degas and a Ceezanne; the Jafet family (iron) has come through with a Tintoretto, a Renoir and a Gobelin tapestry; Bank President (and former Ambassador to the U.S.) Walther Moreira Salles is donor of a Picasso, a Degas and a Modigliani; Sugar Magnate Fulvio Morganti is down for a Utrillo; Financier Adriano Seabra gave a Titian. In all, persuasive Chato has roped in 381 donors, including nine banks, 38 industrial companies and Sao Paulo's Jockey Club.

Recently Chato won Old World recognition of his taste and good works with a showing of part of his collection in Paris, Brussels, Utrecht, Bern and London. Chato himself was on hand for the sparkling opening at London's Tate Gallery. The show's 79 paintings (worth, says Chato, about $14 million) ranged from gilded early Italians through paintings by Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Rubens and Hals, and on into a luxurious display of French impressionists. Included for the first time were 33 brand-new purchases which had not even been seen in Sao Paulo. Centerpiece of the show: a fine Renoir, Baigneuse au Griffon, a nude against a background of muted brown.

At the opening, London's art critics were properly stunned by the beauty and opulence of the collection. Chato himself was overwhelmed by the reception. He chatted with the guests, bounced out to a party, finally landed up at Claridge's in time for breakfast (chicken sandwiches, toast, marmalade) and did a little triumphal dance in his bare feet down the corridors of the hotel. Last week he was back in Brazil, with a stack of newspaper clippings. Crowed Chato: "People were mad, mad, mad! They cried! They had never seen such a collection!" And the truth was that neither the Old World nor the New expected ever again to see such a collector as Chato.

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