The Medici Conspiracy

by Peter Watson

  Swiss market. . . . It was attributed to the Foundry Painter by Dr. Robert Guy of Princeton when it was in the possession of Robin Symes, and Guy has discussed with us the remarkable importance of the vase shape. . . . There is no market price that is truly comparable because there is no similar vase known. We purchased in 1983 approximately 2/5 of a large kylix signed by the potter Euphronios and painted by Onesimos for $180,000. Although the shape and decoration of the vase are quite different, the price gives a fair description of the value of an unusual vase from the artists of the Euphronian circle.

  It was bought from Bürki for $200,000.

  A tripod, a candelabrum, a red-figure amphora, an Apulian pelike, a black-figure Attic bowl, a Corinthian alabastron and a Corinthian ariballos, a red-figure kantharos—eight beautiful, rare, valuable objects, for each of which the documentation in the Freeport was the same: photographs of the antiquities at various stages of their journey from the ground of Italy to display in the Getty, from dirty and encrusted fragments to the restored and polished ensembles that the public sees in the showcases. The pattern was consistent for all of the forty-two objects the Getty acquired (see the Dossier for a full list).

  Every single one of these forty-two antiquities was important, in the sense that they were all by definition of museum quality. Some of the vase shapes were unique, the only known examples of their kind; all were by major vase painters and were valued collectively at millions of dollars. Between 1983 and 2000, the Getty published six volumes of Greek Vases in the J. Paul Getty Museum, which purported to be a reputable academic publication. In fact, it was an ostensibly reputable academic publication that dealt in considerable detail with loot. There is probably no equivalent in the history of antiquities scholarship that has so betrayed its high ideals.

  One of the most important objects in the Getty, which Medici handled and which reveals most about the activities of the Los Angeles museum in this field, was a splendid red-figure Attic kylix, made between 490 and 480 BC by Euphronios and decorated by Onesimos. Because these two artists were among the greatest known in the ancient world, this kylix is, therefore, directly comparable to the krater acquired by the Metropolitan Museum in New York in 1972 (see the Prologue). The subject of the Metropolitan’s Euphronios vase was the death of Sarpedon. In this myth, taken from Homer’s Iliad, Sarpedon, a hero of the Trojan War, is killed by the spear of an enemy warrior. The subject of the Getty’s Euphronios-Onesimos kylix is a related theme, Iliupersis, or the sack of Troy, the central event in the Trojan War, and there are many scenes from this episode on Greek vases. The Italians had had their eye on the kylix for some time.

  As Pellegrini pieced together the story, it emerged that the Getty had acquired the cup, in fragments, over a number of years in the 1980s. These fragments, it was said in the documents, were bought “on the European art market” and were published in the Getty Museum Journal as well as in Greek Vases in the J. Paul Getty Museum, which went through several volumes. By studying these publications, Pellegrini and others in Italy were able to establish that the first nucleus of fragments was bought in 1983, with others added in 1984 and 1985. In 1991, Dyfri Williams, head of the Greek and Roman Department of the British Museum and a noted expert on Attic ceramics, published the kylix in volume five of Greek Vases. Among other things, he said in an addendum that, in November 1990, he had seen a photograph of another fragment of the kylix. He said that this other fragment formed part of the edge of the vessel and was itself divided into three pieces. All this was, let us say, untidy. If three fragments existed—somewhere—and had been photographed, why were they not in the Getty with the rest of the object? What was going on?

  Some light was thrown on the situation in 1993, when, in an official excavation, the Archaeological Superintendency for Southern Etruria discovered an impressive building for a cult in the S. Antonio area of Cerveteri. The cult was dedicated to Hercules and it was as certain as could be that the kylix (if not the Metropolitan’s krater) had come from there. For a start, there was writing on the kylix that suggested this: a dedication, in Etruscan, to “Ercle,” the Etruscan form of “Hercules.”

  Following this discovery, the Italians began to put pressure on the Getty to return the kylix, but the seizure of the Medici material in Geneva closed this particular circle. For among the photographs seized in Corridor 17, there was a whole raft of incriminating material. There was, to begin with, a color photograph of the tondo, the central round fragment that formed the base of the cup. There were also professional black-and-white photographs of the same piece, which may have been used to propose the object to the museum. Then there was a photograph of the last fragment that the Getty acquired and of the fragment(s) that the Getty never purchased but which Dyfri Williams wrote about. Finally, there was a photograph of the restored kylix with the last fragments that had reached the Getty. What was especially revealing about the Polaroid of the tondo was some writing on the margin, which read: “Prop. P. G. M.” The object had been “Proposed to the Paul Getty Museum.”

  Then, and finally, to settle any doubt in the matter, Pellegrini discovered in Geneva a letter that Marion True wrote to Medici in January 1992, the main point of which was to thank him for the donation of a kouros head mentioned above (the one that “proved” the Becchina kouros was a fake). On the second page of this letter, True added: “I am enclosing, with this letter, with my compliments, a copy of Greek Vases 5. I hope that you enjoy it. I think that you will find many pieces included that you will recognize.” Greek Vases 5, of course, contained the article by Dyfri Williams on the Euphronios-Onesimos kylix, with the note that he had seen a photograph of extra fragments.

  Armed with this fresh documentary evidence, coming on top of the discovery of the cult building dedicated to Hercules in Cerveteri, not to mention evidence of the gradual acquisition of the fragments throughout the 1980s, the Italians now put still more pressure on the Getty. In the first instance, the museum was forced to open up its files and make their documentation available to the public prosecutor, Dr. Ferri. He also sent an international rogatory asking for all the museum papers on the forty-two objects that Pellegrini had identified, together with any documentation concerning a number of named individuals: Robert Hecht, Fritz and Harry Bürki, Robin Symes, Frida Tchacos, and of course Giacomo Medici. He also asked that the premises and offices of Marion True be searched and any relevant documentation surrendered. This latter request was not granted.

  When they arrived in Italy, the Getty papers showed that the central part of the kylix—the tondo—had been acquired from the Galerie Nefer in Zurich, the gallery owned by Frida Tchacos-Nussberger. When questioned later, she said she had bought the tondo from Nino Savoca in Munich. According to the Getty paperwork, other fragments were allegedly acquired from the S. Schweitzer Collection, of Arlesheim, an old and mysterious Swiss collection often used to provide a false provenance for objects, because it had been donated to the state more than thirty years before and was difficult to cross-check. (Many museums in North America have a few items from this collection.) Still more fragments of the kylix were purchased from the Hydra Gallery in 1985 and originated, according to Boursaud, in the “Zbinden Collection.” All this was disingenuous, yet more examples of triangulation, and nowhere more obvious than in the case of the Zbinden Collection. This is because, according to documents later supplied to Ferri and Pellegrini by Sotheby’s, and unknown to the Getty and Boursaud, “Zbinden” often sold material at auction together with Boursaud. They were so close that they had the same account number with Sotheby’s. This was yet more dissimulation and triangulation to protect Medici’s involvement with the kylix.

  Faced with this mountain of evidence, the Getty was forced to bow to the inevitable, and in February 1999, it did the decent thing and returned the Euphronious-Onesimos kylix to Italy. It may now be seen, on display, at the Villa Giulia Museum in Rome.

  Medici also bowed to the inevitable. Knowing that the game was up, knowing what incr
iminating evidence was contained in the documentation that had been seized, he surrendered three more fragments of the kylix, three that fitted together to make one piece (as Dyfri Williams had exactly described them in his Greek Vases article), and which Medici had in his possession. He told the authorities that he was returning them “out of love for his country.”

  This episode had a happy ending—in a way. Ferri, Pellegrini, and Rizzo put the value of the Euphronios-Onesimos kylix at about $5 million. But it is even now not complete: There are some fragments still out there and the prosecutor is still looking for more.

  One final set of objects—and their associated documentation—reveals the close links, even intimacy, between the Getty and Medici. On April 29, 1987, in a handwritten letter, on the headed notepaper of “Atlantis Antiquities, 40 East 69th Street, NY, NY 10021,” was written:Received in commission for resale from Giacomo Medici at the price of $2,000,000.—(two million dollars) less 5% commission, payable to Mr. Medici after receipt of any payment from the J. Paul Getty Museum:1. 20 Attic red figure plates ca. 490–480 BC

  2. Various attic red figure fragments ca. 490–480 BC

  The above named objects have been delivered to the J. Paul Getty Museum with a receipt to Atlantis Antiquities, but are the property of Mr. Giacomo Medici.

  Geneva, Switzerland

  It was dated and signed by Robert E. Hecht, Jr.

  On the same day, John Caswell, associate registrar of the Getty, and Hecht jointly signed a loan agreement for “one year from the date of arrival,” between Atlantis Antiquities and the museum, for three sets of objects. The loan agreement made it clear that the three sets of objects were twenty plates by the Bryn Mawr Painter, thirty-five fragments of a red-figure calyx krater by the Berlin Painter, and nine “Miscellaneous” fragments, though all were dated “ca. 500–490 BC/ ca. 490–480 BC.” The entire group was insured for $2 million.

  These plates were the same ones that had been found in Geneva, sequestered in the safe in Medici’s outer office on Corridor 17. Besides the objects themselves, however, elsewhere in the warehouse three sets of photographs were also found relating to these objects. In the first set of photographs the plates were shown before restoration; they were in fragments. Each fragment was a few inches square, and it is hard to tell how beautiful or valuable they are, at least from the photographs. A second set showed the plates in the process of restoration. There were some gaps, but the figures on them can be identified. Third, the same plates were again photographed when their restoration had been completed. Pellegrini’s conclusion was that this third set of photographs was the one that had been used for the presentation to the Getty, because there was a tag attached to one of the photographs, valuing them in shorthand at $2 million.

  On this occasion, John Walsh, the director of the Getty, thought that it was an inappropriate use of museum funds to spend $2 million on so many works all by the same painter, and the plates were therefore sent back. Here too the transaction was revealing. The plates were returned not to Hecht, as the loan file in the museum showed the proprietor to be, but to Medici, the owner as Hecht’s written note identified. The shipping receipts, kept by Medici and seized in Geneva, show that the plates arrived at the Freeport in December 1987. Medici kept the shipping documentation, opportunistic as ever, for use later as a provenance, to suggest that the plates originated from the United States, should he be able to sell them later on.

  In fact, of course, the plates almost certainly came from Cerveteri. They are of such a quality and made on such a scale that if they had been excavated on an official dig, either recently or in the distant past, their importance is such that they would have been extensively written up, published, displayed, and discussed. The fact that the first set of photographs were Polaroids and showed the plates in fragments, and then being gradually restored, also confirms that they had come to light recently, having been previously in the ground.

  Two other documents confirm the triangulation at work in this instance. Although the plates were notionally offered—loaned—to the Getty by Hecht-Atlantis, which is what appeared in the loan card (the Getty sent the Italian authorities no official documentation because they hadn’t acquired the plates), they were also the subject of the two letters that Marion True wrote to Medici in June 1987, one in Italian, the other in English. On June 10, in Italian, she wrote:Dear Mr. Giacomo, I am sorry to have to inform you that we cannot purchase the 20 plates at the moment on loan to the museum. I have spoken to the director who carefully examined the plates and has decided it is not opportune to purchase them now, for the following reason: the plates are all by the same artist and for a collection like ours it is preferable to spend 2 million dollars purchasing vases by different artists. I tried to convince the director of the uniqueness of this collection but he remained of the opinion not to purchase them.

  On June 26, in English, she wrote:I am terribly sorry about the plates myself, and I do hope that you will understand that the decision was certainly not mine. This is the first time that John has actually refused something that I have proposed. I should have mentioned the Berlin Painter fragments in my letter; naturally, we will return them with the plates as they were part of the Agreement....

  Evidently, as far as the Getty Museum is concerned, Medici was responsible for forty-two antiquities that the museum acquired, all illicitly looted from Italy and smuggled abroad, under his direction. In none of these cases is Medici’s name mentioned in the official documentation that the museum keeps, but in the great majority, museum personnel—Marion True above all—must have been well aware of the origin of these pieces, as revealed by these letters to Medici. The tone of these letters, incidentally, is affectionate and almost intimate, as well it might be, considering what was going on. She is amazingly open in their correspondence. Medici seems never to have anticipated being raided in Geneva and perhaps True never imagined her correspondence with him would ever be seen by third parties. One of her letters, dated January 1992 and again written to him in Geneva, reads:I was also very grateful to have the information on the provenance of our three fragmentary proto-Corinthian olpai [an olpe—plural olpai—is a medium-sized, single-handled wine jug]. To know that they came from Cerveteri and the area of Monte Abatone is very helpful to the research of one of my staff members....

  I intend to be in Rome together [with] John Walsh on February 19th through the 23rd. I will be back in Rome again from March 8th through approximately March 12th. During one of these visits, I hope that we will be able to get together and have some further discussion about future acquisitions.

  It is hard to escape the conclusion, therefore, that the triangulations that Pellegrini identified were intended to protect the museum. If, for example, we did not have the material—and above all, the photographs—seized at Medici’s warehouse in Geneva, but just had the Getty internal documentation, it would only be shown that the museum had acquired a number of objects, mainly through the European market, over a number of years. The fact that the “European market” turned out to be mainly, but not exclusively, Swiss dealers would be suspicious to anyone knowledgeable about the traffic in illicit antiquities, but it would not amount to proof of anything, as is shown by the fact that the Getty maintained this acquisitions policy for so many years.

  But the Medici documents now remove all doubts on this score. The J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles is stuffed with loot, illegally excavated antiquities smuggled out of Italy. What is more, senior personnel know this, and have known it for many years. And they saw to it that the trade was so organized as to keep the museum’s image “clean.” The Getty well deserves the nickname that one of the dealers used during interrogation later in Dr. Ferri’s inquiry. She said that the Getty was known in the Swiss trade as the “Museum of the Tombaroli.”

  In some ways, by getting involved with the antiquities underworld—the Medici conspiracy—the Getty Museum made a rod for its own back. The most obvious example is with the so-called Getty kouros.
This was bought from Becchina, but the fake that was sent to the museum to prove that the kouros was not authentic was volunteered by Medici. Was he really trying to be helpful to the Getty, or was he settling old scores with Becchina? In dealing with such people as Becchina and Medici, how can one ever be certain—of anything? Medici claimed that his fake shared certain features with Becchina’s kouros—but does that make the kouros fake? Who can be trusted when the cordate are bitter rivals?

  8

  THE METROPOLITAN IN NEW YORK AND OTHER ROGUE MUSEUMS

  THE GETTY MUSEUM IS A RELATIVELY new institution, but the same cannot be said about the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which traces its origins to a Fourth of July party held in the Bois de Boulogne in Paris in 1866, when John Jay, a lawyer and grandson of the first chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, declared to fellow New Yorkers at the table that it was time for the American people to found their own gallery of art. The charter of the Metropolitan Museum was approved by the New York State legislature in 1870, and the building was inaugurated in 1880.

  The museum has some notable coups to its credit. J. P. Morgan, the banker and financier who made a practice of collecting other men’s collections, had an active association with the Metropolitan. Through him, and through Roger Fry, the scholar and art historian whom Morgan hired, the Met made some outstanding purchases: Leonardo da Vinci’s Head of an Old Man, Renoir’s Madame Charpentier and Her Children, and other masterpieces by Andrea del Sarto, Giovanni Bellini, and Botticelli. Benjamin Altman left his Rembrandt and Limoges enamels to the museum. In 1961, the Met paid a record $2.3 million for Rembrandt’s Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer, and in 1970 it acquired Velázquez’s Juan de la Pareja, for a price that must have exceeded the £2.2 million that the Wildenstein Gallery had paid at auction shortly before.