The Medici Conspiracy (69 page)

This is not as radical or as unusual as it may seem. It is now extremely difficult to form a first-rate collection of old master paintings, because most of the masterpieces are already in museums and the supply is drying up. The same is beginning to be true of first-rate impressionist paintings, more and more of which are locked away in museums. The experience of artworks looted by the Nazis also throws into relief the problem with looted antiquities. All the major auction houses now routinely screen
their sales for paintings that have gaps in their provenance. Provenance is a major headache in the world of painting, and the salesrooms have dealt with it—or tried to—by extending their legal departments. They have taken the legal, administrative, and financial burden on the chin—because of the moral issues raised by the Holocaust. These are just some of the ways the art world, and the art market, are changing. Antiquities is not the only field facing difficult problems.

Therefore, change in regard to collecting antiquities is in the air. That said, we believe that the following specific measures are now necessary as a result of the great damage done to Italian heritage as disclosed in this book. By way of conclusion, we now argue that:

The case of Giacomo Medici proves the validity of Chippindale's Law. The antiquities underworld is far more organized, far more venal, far more deceitful, involves far more money, does far more damage, concerns many more objects, and corrupts far more people—and far more “respectable,” “professional” people—than anyone ever imagined. Bluntly, the situation is much worse than has been envisaged. Yet the world's museums—many
of them rogues until now—have it in their power to curtail this unfortunate trade. The fact is that, until now, and as this book has shown, the world's rogue museums have been the real looters. It is the demand for ancient objects that begins with them, that induces collectors to acquire objects they can subsequently donate to museums, either for social advancement or for tax breaks.

Copies of this book are being sent to all the trustees of the world's museums that have dealt in these items. They are perfectly placed to clean up this regrettable business and to staunch the enormous drain of beautiful and important objects out of Italy and elsewhere.

IN NOVEMBER 2005, Philippe de Montebello, the director of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, traveled to Rome and met with Giuseppe Proietti, an official of the Italian Ministry of Culture, to discuss the issue of the Euphronios krater and the other objects in his museum that, based on the Medici investigation, the Italians claimed had been looted. After several hours of talks, a prospective agreement was outlined, under which ownership of the objects would pass to the Italian government, but the objects themselves would either remain on display in the Met or be replaced by equally important pieces. The plan had to be approved by the Italian government and the trustees of the museum, and Mr. de Montebello at first said that he found the evidence provided by the Italians “inconclusive.” Not long after, however, he changed his tune. On February 2, 2006, the Metropolitan dramatically announced that it would “relinquish ownership” of the vase to the Italian government. More than that, in documents delivered in Rome by the museum's lawyers, the Met pledged to return the Euphronios vase plus another nineteen disputed antiquities—including fifteen pieces of the Morgantina silver and four other ancient vases. The Met also proposed that it keep some of the material on display at least until 2008, after its new antiquities galleries open in Spring 2007.

De Montebello said that the exact timetable of return had not been agreed but that a resolution did not appear far off. He had first said that the museum would consider returning objects only if the Italians could provide “incontrovertible” evidence that the antiquities were illegally taken from the country. Later he conceded that the standard of evidence he had demanded was unrealistic. “I am not a lawyer,” he was quoted as saying, “and the word ‘incontrovertible' that I used . . . it has been brought to my attention that even in murder cases it is not used.” He added that the evidence sent by the Italians in the weeks between the two announcements had satisfied him that there was a “substantial or highly probable” chance that objects were illegally removed. The museum's spokesman, Harold
Holzer, went further. “We have been congratulated on this virtuous act,” he said, adding that the museum had decided to move ahead after being confronted with “irrefutable evidence.” This evidence, we have been told, included a copy of Hecht's memoir with its two versions of how the Euphronios krater reached the Met. At more or less the same time, Barbara Fleischman resigned from her position as a trustee of the Getty Museum. No reason was given.

All of this is, of course, excellent news for Ferri, Conforti, and the rest of their team. The years of work have been vindicated—and in some style. Quite where these latest developments leave Marion True and Robert Hecht, legally and morally, is much less clear. Their trial in Rome is far from ending, and yet the Getty, the Metropolitan, and the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston—well ahead of any verdict—are returning objects, acquired via True and Hecht, irrespective of the court's decision.

In a sense, these actions—an apparent total climb-down by once-proud institutions—renders the True and Hecht verdicts almost a footnote. The Italians have already convicted the central driving force in the conspiracy—Medici—and he has been sentenced to ten years in jail, although his definitive appeal is still to be heard. Notwithstanding this, various types of archaeological material handled by Medici, Hecht, Becchina, and True have been returned to Italy from America in the past few months—all of it very important. Ferri and Conforti (and Pellegrini, Rizzo, Bartoloni, and the others) have therefore won the argument and the worlds of archaeology, cultural heritage, antiquities collecting, and antiquities trading will never be the same again. There is no going back to the bad old ways now, not so far as museums and would-be reputable collectors of classical antiquities are concerned. The auction market and the trade in New York, London, Paris, Munich, and Switzerland cannot but be affected.

But, despite this positive outcome, there are still some outstanding issues—and they all concern that institution on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan where this great chain of events began.

The first arises from the Metropolitan's claim that, in the negotiations, the Italians will accept that the museum acquired the various artifacts “in
good faith.” Now that so much important material is being returned to Italy, the authorities there—in a spirit of reconciliation and the desire for a quiet life—might accept this condition. But the rest of us should be in no doubt that such a contention is manifest nonsense. Harold Holzer may claim that he and his colleagues have been congratulated for a “virtuous act,” but the facts are that the Metropolitan has hardly behaved well over the past three decades and is now trying to ease out of its responsibilities.