The Medici Conspiracy (15 page)

It is often said by those who oppose any restrictions on the trade in unprovenanced antiquities that the bulk of the material on the market is relatively unimportant and that therefore the world need not be too concerned, because the loss to knowledge from this international, illicit traffic is, in effect, incidental, inconsequential. There will be many opportunities to address—and to contradict—this point throughout the rest of the book, but here we confine ourselves to three preliminary observations. The first has already been alluded to in making mention of a number of published reports about the trading patterns of ancient Greece—for example, Alan Johnston's study of the export patterns of vases with and without “hallmarks.” This report provides a great deal of information about trading patterns in antiquity, about economic activity in both the country of origin and the country of reception, and of the relations between the two. It also throws light on matters of taste—that is, which artists and designs were popular where. Then there was the case of the Nolane vases,
Greek amphorae made exclusively in Greece for export to Etruria, a survey of 800 of which, in 1991, showed that only one specimen has ever been found in Greece. Medici had several. Think how our understanding would be changed if
any
of these did not come from Italy. “Ordinary” vases—the “poorly drawn and average,” to repeat Dietrich von Bothmer's phrase—can still tell us a great deal about history.

Second, there is the fact that the sheer scale of plunder of “ordinary” material has very serious consequences. One small bronze dagger among the Medici material dated from the fifteenth century BC. This period was characterized by the deposition of arms in water or near the summit of high places. But the meaning of these cult places is still obscure: Who can say if the exact location where this particular dagger was found might not have told archaeologists a great deal about this mysterious cult? Again, a small bronze boat, of slightly later date and seized in Geneva, was of a type always associated with Sardinian clan chiefs. This was likely to have been found with other belongings of the clan chief, all of which are lost. Medici also had five couplings from horses' bits: This means a chariot would have been part of the excavation, much more interesting and much more valuable (a bronze chariot was found on an authorized dig in Vulci). A number of eighth-century BC axes were found together. These, in all probability, were not found in a tomb but had been buried in accordance with a cultish ritual. Who knows how interesting and important the cult was, or what the ritual consisted of and meant? This potential knowledge has all been lost. The same argument also applies to six semicircular razors found among the Medici material. The kantharoi with cusped handles, which fit with material from known illegal digs in the Monte del Bufalo area in Crustumerium, are the fruit of an illicit network that has, over the years, plundered more than 1,000 tombs. How can anyone say that the plundering of 1,000 tombs does no damage to our knowledge?

Also among the Medici material were 153 Etrusco-Corinthian balm containers, the fruit, say the experts, of the plundering of about twenty to thirty room tombs of southern Etruria. Such looting must have uncovered much other important material—all missing. By the same token, the 118 intact Bucchero vases also indicate the looting of many room tombs, all coming from one “bottega,” about which, in all probability, we shall now never know anything. A number of geometric ceramics found in Medici's
warehouse, though not everyone's favorite—as they are rather plain—have nonetheless been of great scientific interest over the last thirty years, because of the light they may throw on the early Greek colonization of Italy and the possibility of pre-colonial frequenting, by the Greeks, of the Tyrrhenian and Sicilian coasts, while they suggest at the same time the possible early settlement of Greek artisans transplanted into Italy. The exact excavation locations and the accurate dating this permits are thus of crucial importance. Once again, “ordinary” objects are very important.

But it is also true that much of the Medici material wasn't “ordinary” at all. On the contrary, as the experts went through the objects in the Freeport, and as their report makes clear, they found much of it “important,” “noteworthy,” “unique,” “rare,” and “magnificent.” As well as vases by Euphronios and Exekias and the Villanovan fibula with a twisted gold thread, there was a rare Etruscan
bacellata
(bas relief), of particular interest because it had a double inscription of ownership on both the interior and exterior of the base, giving both the first and last name, and this was very unusual. There was a very rare and important triple-handled bronze cauldron of the kind found in the antechamber of the Regolini Galassi tomb at Cerveteri and a tubular
askos
(a smaller vase, perhaps three inches long, used for oils or perfume and often fashioned in the shape of an animal) in laminated bronze decorated with small chains, only found elsewhere in the rich tomb of the Bronze Chariot at Vulci. There was a rare pilgrim's ceramic flask, of the kind that comes from Veio, two magnificent amphorae attributed to the Painter of the Cranes, active in Caere during the second quarter of the seventh century BC, plus a rare askos by the same artist. A red-and-white painted biconic vase from Cerveteri was equally impressive, together with a rare oinochoe with a frieze of ibexes attributable to the Swallows Painter, who was active in Vulci. Another Vulci figure was by the Feoli Painter, and Medici had a polychrome oinochoe by him—of which only one other example is known, say the experts. A large alabastron from Tarquinia was in a style similar to that of the so-called Three-Heads Wolf Painter but sufficiently different that this must have been by someone else, an unknown painter, possibly a pupil. There were also two large Etruscanized Campanian amphorae from a very rare bottega. Buccheri decorated with “fan” graffiti were unique so far as the experts were concerned, and there were many Cerveteri vases, goblets,
ladles, and female-caryatid stands that were sufficiently rare or valuable as to be singled out—seventy-five in all. The same argument applied to the Etruscan archaic period bronze objects in Medici's possession and the seven pairs of rare Etruscan gold earrings and two house-shaped funeral stelae from Cerveteri “of which there is nothing similar known.” Other rare items included a late proto-Corinthian figured vase shaped like an owl, a single-handled Laconian pitcher, and a krater with stirrup handles with meander decorations. One goblet by the entourage of the painter Naukratis and in the manner of the Painter of the Hunt was similar to only one other known, which appeared on the Swiss antiquities market in the late 1980s and disappeared. Various
lekythoi
were rare or noteworthy, as was a red-figure
hydria
(a water-storage vase), “the only known work in this technique by the Rycroft painter.”

Medici's material was, therefore, as notable for its important objects as for its sheer size and variety. Not even these examples do full justice to the most significant artifacts he brought out of Italy—all of it looted.

That the experts found it relatively easy to link so many objects to specific cultures, necropolises, workshops, painters, and even individual tombs may seem odd until one realizes how unique this exercise was. Normally, archaeologists are able to examine only the photographs of objects in the catalog ahead of an auction; or via a brief examination on viewing days, when several or many others are doing the same, jostling for elbow room; or when an object is already on display in the museum or collection where it ends up. One might ask whether the fact that the photographs in auction house catalogs never show, for instance, the Etruscan “hallmarks” on many objects means that the salesrooms are complicit to this extent.

The experts' report clearly demonstrates that the vast majority of Medici's material, excavated by tomb raiders and fed to him by regional middlemen, comes illegally from Italy. By one route or another, it had reached the Freeport in Geneva, Switzerland. In this one warehouse there was enough to satisfy the international antiquities market for two years. The question its discovery inevitably raised was this: Where—until this discovery took place—was Giacomo Medici's treasure headed next?

A
LTHOUGH THE ANTIQUITIES themselves formed the most vivid and moving aspect of the seizure in Geneva, there was no less interest—for Conforti and for Ferri—in the documentation found in the back office behind Medici's showroom. While the three archaeologists concentrated on the objects, the paperwork became the responsibility of Maurizio Pellegrini, a photographic and document expert who had one foot in the public prosecutor's office and the other in the Villa Giulia. Pellegrini was not an officially trained archaeologist, but he had a great deal of knowledge in that field and his examination of the documentation was an exercise in detective work that was no less complex than the archaeologists' daunting task.

Of medium build, with wavy salt-and-pepper hair, spectacles, and a slightly academic temperament, Pellegrini was, on the surface, a gentle, reserved soft-spoken man, but he proved to be tenacious and strongwilled. He revealed the type of obsessive personality that provides the exacting attention to detail required to trace the hidden links among letters, invoices, and photographs, which did so much to reveal the clever subterfuges in Medici's business and in his relationships with others. On their trips to Geneva, Pellegrini worked shoulder to shoulder with Bartoloni, Colonna, and Zevi. He shared dinners with them and mainly listened in as Bartoloni and Zevi aired their academic disagreements.

The size of the task facing Pellegrini may be gauged from the fact that there were in Medici's warehouse thirty albums of Polaroids, fifteen envelopes with photographs, and twelve envelopes with rolls of film. Besides the albums of photographs, Pellegrini calculated that some 100 full rolls
of exposed film were seized, making a total of 3,600 images. In addition there was enough paper to fill 173
faldoni
, white legal binders, each about six inches thick and tied with white laces. In all, there were close to 35,000 sheets of paper.

His job was not made any easier by the fact that, to begin with at least, he could only consult the documents in Switzerland. He wasn't allowed to photocopy anything, so he was confined to taking notes and using his memory for matters that were of special interest to him. Then, when he returned to Rome, he would cross town and compare his notes with, for example, exhibition catalogs in museum libraries, or in auction catalogs at Sotheby's. It was arduous, but after he began to make progress and understand more fully Medici's business arrangements, he initiated through Ferri a formal request for some of the documentation from the Swiss authorities. This request was granted, and toward the end of 1998, he made a special trip, on his own, to photocopy what he needed.