The Gilded Age finale ending, explained: Are Bertha and George Russell headed for break up?
Carrie Coon, who plays Bertha, spoke to Cosmopolitan about where the couple went wrong this season and how Bertha's experience of the shooting differs from George's.
"When George has this near death experience, she realises how much she loves him and how they belong together," Carrie said. "But he has a real crisis of faith in his own decision making and his own values, and whether their values are aligned. They just end up in wildly different places.
"And Bertha really doesn't understand how that has impacted him psychologically. It's a little bit under-examined. It comes out of left field for Bertha, even though nothing really comes out of left field, if you really think about it."
To recap, they still don't technically know who shot George, and because they don't want to involve the police, the shooter is presumably still at large and whoever hired him still wants George dead. George made many sloppy mistakes this season, and in my opinion, leaving Bertha in this moment will end up being another one of them. We'll have to wait for season 4 (which is confirmed) to see how this plays out.
Aunt Ada finally gets her moment in the sun when Agnes allows her to sit at the head of the table at dinner. After all, she is paying for it!
Aunt Agnes learns that the woman from the historical society wasn't trying to shake her down for money, but actually wants to make her a vice president of the foundation. She's incredibly flattered.
Peggy accepts William Kirkland's proposal! But her father only gave his blessing with a warning about how marriage only exists between a man and his wife, not a man and his wife and his parents. William's dad, meanwhile, is working on putting Mrs. Kirkland in her place. Good luck to this newly engaged couple.
Oscar proposes a kind of lavender marriage to Mrs. Winterton, who you'll remember as the woman who tried to sleep with George. The proposal is simple: they live separate lives when they're not in New York, and when they're in New York, they play at being a power couple. He gets access to her money, and she gets access to his connections. Other than the whole love aspect (who needs it!?), it's a win-win!
Gladys is pregnant! So it turns out moms can be right sometimes. She and the Duke seem to be happy, and his sister Sarah has been kicked to the curb.
Larry and Marian seem to come to a resolution, but they never discuss whether their engagement is technically back on or not. They do share a dance at Bertha's ball, which feels like a makeup. We'll see!
Aurora Fane and Charlotte Astor both appear at Bertha's end of season ball. This is a huge deal because both of them are likely getting divorced, and Bertha made an exception to Mrs. Astor's own rule. Mrs. Astor, in an even more shocking move, showed up at the ball anyways.
Jack (or as I like to call him, Clock Twink) has moved into his new house, and when he comes back to have tea with the gang downstairs at the van Rhijn home, Bridget seems to realise how much she misses him and gets a bit jealous of the young women working in his home. She brings him a stew at his new place, and they share a very adorable meal together. He reminds her that in his house, she's not a servant, she's an equal. Raise your hand if you were chanting 'Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!' during this scene, because I definitely was.
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Business Insider
4 hours ago
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I toured the private library of J.P. Morgan, one of the richest men of the Gilded Age. It felt like going back in time.
One of the most famous figures of the Gilded Age was J. Pierpont Morgan, also known as J.P. Morgan. Toward the end of his life, Morgan became obsessed with building an impressive collection. Now, his personal library is a museum for anyone to visit and enjoy. HBO's " The Gilded Age" may be over for the year but, thankfully, the era is inescapable if you're in the New York area. A new character added to season three was none other than J. Pierpont Morgan — you may know him as J.P. Morgan. Yes, like the bank. If his introduction to the show made you curious about the Morgan family, how he made his fortune, and, crucially, how he spent his millions, you need look no further than the Morgan Library and Museum, located in Manhattan. After Morgan's death in 1913, his son, Jack, decided to turn his father's private library into a public library for people to view his father's extensive collection. It opened in 1924. The museum, which costs $25 to enter, is actually comprised of three buildings once owned by various members of the Morgan family. The buildings are connected by a large lobby that was constructed in 2006. The oldest building is the Pierpont Morgan Library, which was completed in 1906. It was built to hold Morgan's rapidly growing collection of art, antiquities, books, and manuscripts that he spent millions of dollars amassing. Today, it looks exactly as it did when Morgan spent his time there. The second building is the Annex, which stands on the land that used to be Morgan's brownstone. It opened in 1928. The third building, now known as the Morgan House, was originally the brownstone owned by Morgan's son, Jack. It was purchased by the museum in 1989. Entering the library felt like stepping back to a time when families like the Morgans, Astors, Vanderbilts, and Rockefellers ruled NYC. Here's what it's like to visit the Morgan Library and Museum. I visited the Morgan Library and Museum, located in the Murray Hill neighborhood of Manhattan. The museum is open every day (except Mondays) for visitors to take a trip back to the early 20th century. There are also temporary exhibits inside. From June to September, there's an exhibit dedicated to Jane Austen that's included with admission. J. Pierpont Morgan, a famed Gilded Age figure, commissioned the library in 1902. It was completed in 1906. You enter the museum through this modern addition that features floor-to-ceiling windows and the museum café. It was built in 2006. There's a scale model of the library in this entryway. There's also the original brass bell from Morgan's third yacht, the Corsair. It's still rung daily to signify closing time. The section of the museum that houses Morgan's library is clearly marked. Even just walking across the threshold felt like entering a time machine. The modern wood and glass was replaced with marble and dark wood. This rotunda connects to the three rooms open to the public in Morgan's library. When visiting the entire museum, you shouldn't forget to look up. The ceilings in every room are works of art. The first room I entered was Morgan's private study. This ceiling was imported from Italy by architect Charles McKim. It's believed to have been constructed in the 1500s. This is Morgan's desk. Many deals were made in the presence of this desk — Morgan was known as "America's greatest banker." A portrait of Morgan hangs above the fireplace. Notice the unique walls — it's not wallpaper, it's silk damask. The pattern is based on a design made for the Renaissance banker Agostino Chigi. Morgan collected fragments of Renaissance-era stained glass for years until he had enough to construct windows in his study. Installation took two years. In the corner of the room is the door to Morgan's private vault. The walls of the vault are lined with steel. It's still the home to some of the rarest books in Morgan's collection. After going back through the rotunda, I entered the main event: Morgan's library. This room is a book-lover's dream. I was overwhelmed by the sheer size, the artistry present in every detail, and the amount of history located in this room. There are three floors of shelves. In every corner, there was a piece of art to study. I spent much of my time looking at all the books and manuscripts on the shelves. Located in this beautiful binding are the Lindau Gospels, a manuscript from the ninth century. This is the Stavelot Triptych. It's thought to contain a piece of the "True Cross," the cross on which Jesus was crucified. There are dozens more pieces like that in this library. I could spend hours here. I also visited the librarian's office. While it's not as large as the library, it's nothing to scoff at. The ceiling is covered in murals in the style of an Italian Renaissance painting. The first librarian at the Pierpont Morgan Library was Belle da Costa Greene. Greene, born in 1879, was the daughter of Richard T. Greener, the first Black graduate of Harvard. After her parents separated, Greene, her brother, and her mother began passing as white to avoid racism and segregation. While working at Princeton, Greene met J.P. Morgan's nephew, Junius Spencer Morgan, who introduced her to his uncle. Greene worked at the Pierpont Morgan Library from 1905 until 1948. This fictionalized version of her life is for sale at the gift shop. My next stops were the temporary galleries. They're located in what was once J.P. Morgan's brownstone, which was annexed in 1928. "A Lively Mind: Jane Austen at 250" was packed with visitors. The exhibit, which runs through September 14, is a love letter to the "Pride and Prejudice" author's legacy. In the museum, a sign pointed to this grille, which has "648 wrought-iron birds, each with a unique beak." This was added in the '20s. I walked upstairs to look at the rest of the museum. There's an impressive art gallery on the second floor. I spotted memorabilia once owned by Edgar Allan Poe, Leonardo da Vinci, and Frédéric Chopin. My favorite thing about the second floor, though, was the view. My last stop was, of course, the gift shop. It's located in the Morgan House, which was once the brownstone of Morgan's son, Jack. Of course, there were books for sale. I ended up buying "Sense and Sensibility," an Austen classic. My final activity was taking in the museum's garden, which is open seasonally. A plaque said the museum had been declared a National Landmark in 1966. I was able to get a better view of the original exterior of the Pierpont Morgan Library from here. This ceiling was also not to be missed. There were also Renaissance statues inside the portico. The garden itself wasn't that impressive. But I was amused that, just a few feet away, modern life continued, even though I felt like I had just gone back 100 years. Now that "The Gilded Age" is on hiatus, taking a trip to the Morgan Library is a great substitute for immersing yourself in New York gone by.
Cosmopolitan
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Cosmo x Prime Video's ‘The Map That Leads to You' Screening Recap
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Black America Web
8 hours ago
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We All Need To Get On Da Gild
Source: HBO / HBO I'mma need y'all to trust ya boy here. I am a grown-ass man. A Morehouse man. A man who knows where things in Home Depot are and can explain the relative pros and cons of any wall anchor. I am a product of the city that brought you Allen Iverson and Michael Vick, and I know how to order food from a carry-out. I have at least four different exotic daps in my arsenal, and my algorithm thinks I only care about sports, politics, and barbecue videos. And yet, every Sunday night, without fail, I've been on my couch with a glass of something brown, watching HBO's The Gilded Age like it's the NBA Finals. No, I don't watch it 'ironically.' No, it's not 'my lady's show' that I just happen to sit through. This is my show. I watch it alone and enthusiastically. I am all in on the late-19th-century real estate beefs, opera box tiffs, them hats that require their own zip codes, and the petty slights of society surrounding who gets an invitation to the ball. We care about your data. See our privacy policy. It's a show that is, ostensibly, about the interplay of wealth, status, and power in late-19th-century New York. But, in reality, it's storytelling that's found a way to extract intrigue from the banal. From one week to the next, we're exposed to the exhausting expectations of place, gender, and race in ways that seem quaint now, but were definitive and confining then. Honestly, it's a show that is more minor interpersonal narratives than any sweeping drama. So, you're not watching because of its relative intensity. You're watching because you're nosey. But more than anything, I'm here for Arthur Scott, Peggy Scott's father. Because grown-ass Black men, Arthur Scott is one of us. Now, for the uninitiated: Arthur Scott sells drugs in Brooklyn in the '80s. Okay, let me clarify. Mr. Scott is a pharmacist in 1880s Brooklyn, but the Shawn Carter parallel kinda works. Born enslaved, he hustled his way into one of the most respected professions available to Black men of his era. In a world that was hostile by design, he built something lasting, not just for himself, but for his family and community. If you're a Black man over 40, tell me you don't recognize that arc. Some of us started with nothing. Maybe not literal chains, but the economic ones of redlining, underfunded schools, and neighborhoods treated like containment zones. We came of age dodging police harassment and navigating the kind of 'twice as hard for half as much' pressure that made every choice feel like a potential life sentence. And still, we found a lane. Maybe it was law, medicine, engineering, corporate leadership, or entrepreneurship. Maybe it was learning a trade or becoming a community advocate. The details vary, but the grind is the same: take whatever you're given, flip that into a seat at the table, then turn that seat into a legacy for your children. That's Arthur Scott. A paper chaser who got his block on fire. But here's the thing about making something from nothing: once you get it, you guard it like your life depends on it. Because in a way, it does. Mr. Scott is proud, rightfully so, of the life he's created. And with that pride comes the reflex to control every variable. He wants Peggy to live a certain way, marry a certain type of man, and work in certain spaces. But, because of the shame he carries from his former enslavement, he operates with an existential sense of obligation to his family, but especially to his daughter. He wants her to be safe and, in his mind, safety comes from sticking to the rules that got them here. He sees the game for what it is and is trying to play it the best he knows how. Tell me that doesn't sound familiar. I've caught myself doing the same thing with my own daughters, assessing their world through my anxieties and steering them toward what I think is 'safe,' what I think is 'smart,' what I think is 'right.' It's not about stifling their dreams; it's about knowing how unforgiving the world can be for Black women, especially when the margin for error is razor-thin. But therein lies the ugly truth: sometimes that 'control' is just fear dressed up as love. One of the joys of The Gilded Age is watching Mr. Scott realize he is not the only leader in his household. Peggy, independent, talented, and unwilling to be quietly managed, is not afraid to challenge her father. Mrs. Dorothy Scott, his assertive spouse, is the kind of woman who can change the temperature in the room with one raised eyebrow. And then there's the broader community of Black women in Brooklyn's elite, strategizing for survival in a world that barely acknowledges their existence. Sound familiar? If you are a Black man of my generation, you've likely been surrounded and, if you're honest, guided by women like this. Mothers who told you 'no' with a tone that ended the conversation. Partners who had the vision to push past limits you'd made for yourself. Daughters who refuse to accept 'because I said so' as an answer. Aunties and sisters who will ride for you but also won't tolerate the play-play when you're out of line. In The Gilded Age , these women don't just support Mr. Scott; they expand him. They nudge him toward more progressive thinking, toward trusting the strength and judgment of that energy in his life, toward realizing that control is not the same thing as care. And Black men need to see this. I know some of the homies see The Gilded Age as 'that white people in costumes show.' I mean, yeah . But that's the thing, it's not just about them. The presence of the Scotts and the arc that encompasses their story changes the whole landscape. That peek at the primordial that eventually became institutional Black excellence. It forces you to ask: what else have we been left out of in the stories we tell about America? How many Black men like Arthur Scott lived, thrived, and passed on wealth — economic, cultural, and intellectual — while the history books skipped right over them? For Black men who've made it into middle age, watching Mr. Scott is like holding up a mirror. He's a man who is living with all the trappings and privileges of success, who regales his family with uncomfortable stories of surviving white supremacy. Watching him chuckle while discussing an uncle who was sold down the river over lunch feels no different than telling my kids about guys I knew who sold rocks back in the day. Slave auctions or corner boys, we were all on the block. Let's be real, Arthur Scott's pharmacy in 1882 provided him with the economic freedom that we all hope the gods of capitalism bestow on all of us someday. We're all pursuing a place where we can stake a claim in the economy and our community without having to ask permission or be exploitative. Being a provider and a pillar on your own terms and in your own time is a constant refrain of Black manhood. And here's where The Gilded Age earns my respect. It doesn't turn Arthur Scott into some perfect paragon. It lets him be stubborn, flawed, and human. But it also gives him something so many portrayals of Black manhood don't. It lets him change. By the end of certain arcs, you see a man who realizes that love isn't control, and that the next generation can handle more than you think, even if they do it differently than you would. That's a lesson I'm still learning. It's one thing to protect your children from the wolves. It's another to trust them to grow their own teeth. And it's another level entirely to trust that the women around you might just have a better map than you do. It's an odd paradox, really. If we do our jobs as Black men, eventually the people in our lives will not need us. In fact, our evolution is predicated on our obsolescence. So yeah, I'm a grown-ass man who loves The Gilded Age . I'll watch Arthur Scott debate the merits of propriety over a plate of oysters and see myself more clearly than I do watching a '30 For 30.' Because grown manhood, to me, isn't about sticking to the 'approved' list of hobbies, shows, or interests. It's about discernment. It's about knowing what feeds you, what challenges you, and what reminds you of who you are and who you can become. Some weeks, that might be interrogating a Nas verse and how it applies to my current situation ('I don't work this hard to be around people I don't like…'). Other weeks, it's Mr. Scott standing in his pharmacy, wearing the weight of both history and hope, realizing that his daughter's path doesn't have to look like his to honor the sacrifices that built it. So, judge me if you want. I'll be over here, waiting on Season 4, not just because it's polite society in high collars, but because somewhere in all that 19th-century décor is a story about us. We didn't work this hard to build our futures just to be saddled by our tastes of the past. Corey Richardson is originally from Newport News, Va., and currently lives in Chicago, Ill. Ad guy by trade, Dad guy in life, and grilled meat enthusiast, Corey spends his time crafting words, cheering on beleaguered Washington DC sports franchises, and yelling obscenities at himself on golf courses. As the founder of The Instigation Department, you can follow him on Substack to keep up with his work. SEE ALSO: Quiet Pivot: Black Men, Money, And The Search For 'Enough' You Deserve: A Black Man's Guide To The Soft Life SEE ALSO Black Men: We All Need To Get On Da Gild was originally published on
