By
Yolanda M. Deen
Presented
March 23, 2009
Chicago
Literary Club
Copyrighted March 23, 2009
It
was a sunny summer day. Perfect, I thought, for lunch in the garden of the Art
Institute. Yes, perfect for wearing a big sun hat and a flowery dress. Perfect
to sit by the garden pool and gaze at the spouting Tritan Fountain.
Lunch
was served, raspberry chicken salad and a tall ice tea. I looked across the
patio and there was a gentleman friend, Andre King, the Consul General of
Barbados sitting at a patio table with three friends. Andre was wearing a straw boater hat. The sun dappled on their
faces. A scene out of a Degas painting, I thought. So serene, so calm and so
peaceful!
After
lunch, I went to one of my favorite rooms in the American Gallery. On display
were the same American paintings, the same American furniture that I had admired so much over the years. I
took my usual path through the gallery---through the Daniel and Ada Rice
Building, down the stairs, entering the American galleries from the left to the
American Arts and Crafts Movement rooms, past the Tiffany & Company silver,
pausing at the birds eye maple desk that I liked so much. I knew these pieces
almost by heart.
On
the west wall, I stopped to admire a painting,
“ The Herring Net” by Winslow Homer. The fishermen were bringing in
their nets. I leaned forward to take a closer look at the brush strokes.
Beep-Beep-Beep!
I
jumped back. What was that? It clearly sounded like an alarm. A grim looking
security guard swiftly approached me. “ Step back. Step back”.
Who
me?
I
called out “ what’s happening”? Then I noticed a new addition to the room, a
black wire cord stretched along the exhibit about two feet from the floor and
about two feet in front of the wall. The guard eyed me suspiciously. I tried to
appear nonchalant. “ Don’t lean over the security rope, lady---get back, get
back”!
The
serenity had been shattered. I asked the
guard if this security device was something new. Yes, she glowered. Why, I
asked?
She looked at me with a beady eye. “ Things
happen”. I decided not to explore that comment.
Gathering
my composure I proceeded to the wall
exhibiting some American furniture. Beep---beep!! It happened again. No, no! It
was not me this time. I looked around. Here came Godzilla again.
There
sitting, or rather, half laying on the floor were two young people examining
the carved leg of a side chair dated 1790 at close distance about one inch from
their noses. The chair was standing by a Copley portrait near one of those
dreaded security wires. The guard moved in-- “ Get up,
get
back, move back”. The two looked terrified. I could no longer resist.
“
Excuse me, don’t you think that this is going a little too far? After all,
there are two guards in this gallery. Shouldn’t that be sufficient? The
security alarm is disturbing and there are no signs informing visitors to step
back from the security wire. This is all very disquieting. ”
Godzilla
looked daggers at me. I noticed she had her hand on her walkie talkie. I looked to make sure she was not packing a
gun. “Well” she said,
“I
encourage you file a complaint. Stop at the lobby reception desk. Someone will
record your comments and take your name and address”.
Great
Scott, I thought--I was being fingered.
Take
my name and address? I am a member of the Art Institute and it’s Asian Society.
Who does she think I am---a thief?”
Then
I remembered the art theft of three Cezanne’s at the Art Institute some years
ago. But it was an inside job not a caper done by a visitor. An employee simply
wrapped up the paintings and waltzed out of the door with them.
It
was clever and well planned ---except for one detail. The employee thief figured
out how to steal them---but didn’t have a clue how to get rid of them through
the underworld of Chicago crime. Years later, he tried to ransom them back to
the Art Institute but was arrested and convicted. Maybe he should have simply
kept them at home and enjoyed them!
At
this very moment, the Edvard Munch exhibit is on display at the Art Institute
on loan from the National Gallery in Oslo. In 1994 the famous Munch painting “
The Scream’ was heisted from that museum. It was touted as one of the most daring
art theft ever. It was not recovered until 2007with the help of one of the
world’s greatest art detectives, Charley Hill. (By the way, the original
“Scream” is not included in the current exhibit here as it will never travel
out of Oslo ---I can’t imagine why!). We will most likely never learn the
identity of the thief for the details are often kept under wraps. Detective
Hill it seems is capable of easily switching between many different worlds to
get the information he needs to solve a case. Once he has a bonafide lead he is
capable of thinking like a thief. The question here is--- how exactly does one
think like a thief???
Oddly
enough, the publicity about these art heists is more about the painting and the
museum or estate where such thefts occur. But not a great deal is revealed
about the thief and his motives? The perpetrator and his motive are largely
ignored. The mystery focuses on the importance of the painting, the
circumstances surrounding the theft, the details of the break in and the type of
security breach. But not much attention is revealed about the thief. Except, of
course, in the movies!
Here
the thief is romanticized and may turn into a hero by the end of the movie.
Often, he gives up his life of crime for some social or romantic justification.
Or, he falls for some debutant from whose family he has stolen a painting. In
fact, in many cases, we like the thief and wish him well, the clever fellow.
Notice
how I characterize the art thief as a “ him” and not a “her”—as is usually the
case in the cinema graphic life. There are notable exceptions, of course, as we
shall later learn. We are intrigued with the movie thief and may even identify
with him for a few moments. After all, let’s admit it, we all have a little
larceny in our hearts. I shall leave that thought with you for the time being
and will revisit it later.
The
movie thief is engagingly handsome---whether playing the role of a suspect like
Cary Grant with Audrey Hepburn in the Metro Goldwyn thriller “ Charade” about
the theft of a rare stamp or a playful, mind game thief like Steve McQueen in
one of my favorite art theft flicks, the original
“The
Thomas Crown Affair” where McQueen as Thomas Crown, plays a debonair bank
executive who believes he has pulled off the perfect art heist.
In
that film, a raison d’etre for theft is posed! It’s a wonderful psychological
gambit laced with a most romantic interlude. Crown is playing a game of chess
with the sultry lady insurance detective played by Faye Dunaway. She is hot, literally and figuratively, and
is on his trail convinced that he has stolen a valuable painting from a New
York Museum that is insured by her company. He, of course, is the lovable
thief. She is trying to entrap him. We are uncertain, however, as to who is
trying to entrap whom?
The
game progresses. These two are not just playing a game of chess
but
one of liars poker as well. The banter
goes back and forth.
He
looks seductively across the game board---hand lingering before making the
final move. He looks into her eyes and poses the central question,
“
How big a thief could you be?” Check mate! The postulated question is laid on
the game board , “would she, if the prize were big enough or the stakes
tempting enough turn the tables and succumb to temptation ---changing from
detective to thief ?
It’s
the early 70’s and I am sitting in one of my favorite spots in New York--- the
King Cole Room at the St. Regis Hotel with it’s Maxfield Parrish mural of Old
King Cole and his subjects which hung over the long stand-up bar.
It
was in the King Cole Room that many times I came within elbow rubbing distance
with one of the great mystery writers of all time, Agatha Christie who would
appear with her entourage and be seated at one of the big round tables near the
center of the room. Often sitting at a table for two next to me was Salvadore
Dali and his wife Gala. Naturally, he kept a luxurious suite at the St. Regis
as befitted his fame. Yes, it seemed like the makings of an art theft mystery
to me that Agatha might write complete with the venerable Poirret. Salvador and
Gala having a small repast while some hotel manager was taken in by a plot to
steal some Dali paintings while the two sipped their demitasse.
Yes,
that actually happened. The hotel manager was not implicated but the theft,
never solved, did happen! No, no it was not me---I was at my table all the
while eating my favorite King Cole Room desert-- rice pudding with raisins. Of
course, after the theft the Dali’s moved to the Plaza, I was never able to nod
at them again and the case went unsolved at the time. As a footnote,
interestingly, this case has been recently reopened.
If
we were to focus on the thief and his motives, what might they be?
Speculating
on the motives, we might ask---“ why do good people go bad?” What is the
psychology of the art thief? But who cares about an art theft anyway---is it
not a relatively victimless crime?
Criminal
psychologist Dr. Michael Alper says in his paper “ Reversal Theory” that there
are different motives that prompt crime and theft---exhibited in different
people at different times. He introduces these theories. There is the self-oriented
state of mind. Simply put, the thief engages in his crime for money and
seems bent on joining the underground world of blackmailers and fences.
Then
there is the thrill seeking, playful state of mind, to steal for
the fun of the risk, to beat the system, done simply for the pleasure of doing
wrong. Then Dr. Alper completes his theories with the rebellious, revengeful
state of mind, the “ get even with
them theory”.
The
list of motives seemed too short to me. I will add to Dr.Alpers list of
motives---the covetous state of mind or simply, “ I must have this for
myself”. Or the warped self-identification state of mind where the thief
becomes attached to a piece of art work and believes that “ this painting
personifies me, I totally identify with it, this painting is mine alone and
will belong to me”. Then there is the crime of opportunity in which the
good person does turn bad and responds to a latent state of crime that never
occurred to him until the exact right moment presents itself. Then--the greedy
state when the thief, after making the first successful acquisition by
theft, wants more and more!
The
criminal personality is characterized by amoral or antisocial behavior or
extreme eccentricity, greed and obsession with material possessions. In the
case of the art thief---this predator may charm and manipulate others and
executes the theft with great intelligence and cunning by himself or elicits an
accomplice to carry out the crime for or with him. Or, in other cases, the
criminal is a bumbling fool entering into the crime like a child playing a
game.
William
Millekin Vanderbilt Kingsland, a threadbare eccentric resided on the upper east
side of New York on Fifth Avenue to be exact. He was known as a student of Groton, a graduate of Harvard and
had once been married to a French Royal. In New York---a plausible story, don’t
you think? Being threadbare only added to his persona-- after all there are
many of those types in New York---the fifth generation Vanderbilts or the last
of the Romanoffs. Usually out and about “on the circuit” in New York as they
say!
William
was, indeed, “ out on the art circuit”. You know, attending those tony art
gallery evenings where an entire building of galleries is open by invitation
only for an evening of viewing and schmoozing---complete with the a string
quartet playing on each floor while the champagne flowed and the free mushy
unidentifiable hors d’oeuvres were gobbled down. William was a well-known
figure at these events!
When
William died an untimely death in 2006 at the age of 62. A few months later, it
was discovered that he had no will and that he resided in a small flat on East
72nd Street and that he was, in fact, one Melvyn Kohn.
He
had not attended Groton nor graduated from Harvard. Just another New York
imposter, you might say, after all, they are thick as thieves in old New
York. But wait-- his apartment was
stuffed with some three hundred pieces of art.
The
FBI eventually listed the art on the Departments home page with a headline “
Stolen Art Uncovered”, saying that the search was on for the rightful owners.
But that headline was posted well after the New York Administration had already
put the entire collection up for auction at Christies. Twenty pieces were sold
for a mere $200,000. Another Painting,
a
Copley portrait of the Second Earl of Bessborough sold for a mere $85,000 to a
dealer who upon looking into the history of the painting discovered it had been
stolen in 1971 from the Fogg Art Museum at Harvard. When it was discovered that
most of the artwork was stolen, Christies had to pull it’s catalog from public
access and cancel the rest of the sale.
Perhaps
our friend Melvyn Kohn alias William
Miliken Vanderbilt Kingsland had done his own homework at Harvard by
masquerading as a Harvard student in 1971--- stopping at the cafeteria for a
plate of chewy
mac
and cheese and then paying a visit to the Fogg with some sticky fingers. Thus
beginning his life as a greedy art thief.
Then
there is the matter of provenance! You would expect that the real owners would
naturally step forward to claim their art when they read the headline on the
FBI website. In this case, however, one third of William’s art collection was
never claimed. When you think about it,
how could someone rightfully claim ownership without verifiable evidence of
when and where it was purchased. But, suppose if it was not purchased
---well, that is another matter.
What
was William’s motive? Was it merely a
playful game for him? After all most of the stolen art was laying about in no
order, stacked casually about his small apartment. Certainly not artfully
displayed. A Giacometti bust was used as a doorstop and a Picasso litho was
propped up against the wall in his bathroom. Melvyn, it would seem, was a
greedy kind of a guy---the more he lifted---the more he wanted. In fact, it
seemed that he had no real interest in the art. After stealing it—he didn’t
much bother with it!
Agent
Wynn of the FBI perceptively noted that most of the artworks were very
small---some only 5 inches x 6 inches and a genuine Toulouse Lautrec a mere
5inches x 9 inches. Easy to pocket, I‘d
say.
It
was a cold Friday night in Chicago and I had been invited to a showing of a
collection put up for sale by the auction house at Christies. The exhibit was
traveling from city to city prior to the sale. It was the IBM collection of the famous female Mexican painter Freda Kalo
who had been married to
Diego
Rivera. I had always been fond of Mexican art and have a Rivera poster in my
office. But, I had always been particularly drawn to Freda’s work and was
anxious to attend the showing.
Not
surprising, I was somewhat late after wrapping up my week of work. I arrived only 20 minutes before closing
time. A coat check girl took my wrap. I put my gloves in my pocket, gave her my
hat and went in. There were only a few
people left. The champagne was finished. Only a handful of staff was
congregating in a room near the exit---most likely, cogitating as to whether
any of the viewers were interested buyers.
I
was thrilled to see the collection with only a handful of people still there.
It’s a wonderful experience to see great works of art virtually by yourself
with no others about. I recalled a few other occasions where this had happened
to me in small obscure museums in Europe. It’s an experience not to be
forgotten.
I
stepped into another room---no, not exactly a room but a narrow passage leading
to a larger exhibit room. There it was--- in the narrow passage---a small self
portrait of this tortured and festooned creature Freda Kalo sitting on an easel
in the middle of this tiny space. Then it crossed my mind.
There
we were---just Freda and me--- and me carrying a very large purse.
It
seemed Freda was staring right at me! Yes, beckoning me was a crime of
opportunity. But fear not, I was not really tempted and not about to set out on
a life of crime! I dismissed the thought. Why I must have read too many Agatha
Christies mystery books! But, what a crime of opportunity.
I
thought, Christies had better check their inventory list of these Kalo
paintings before moving on to the next city for a showing.
As
I left two staffers paid no attention to me. The coat check was unattended. I
put on my coat and reached into my pocket for my gloves--- Whoops! My good kid
gloves were gone. A crime of opportunity committed by someone, I thought.
Of
course, New York is adrift in art thieves and plots by imposters who built part
of their reputations on owning and displaying valuable pieces of art---be they
borrowed or stolen. Such is one Christian Karl Gerhartsreiter alias Clark
Rockefeller. He had hobnobbed his way through New York and
New
England circles, wore a university tie to cocktails at the Metropolitan Club
attended by the local gentry and even gained admission to the exclusive Lotos
Club where he was listed underneath Lawrence Rockefeller, as a grandson of John
D. Christian Karl in fact, fooled a lot
of people including his straitlaced wife of thirteen years who was a partner at
the management company of McKinsey & Co.
His
membership at the Lotos Club and his bonafide art collection of Rothkos and
Mondrians gave him credence, to say the least. Peggy Stone, an owner of an
Upper East Side art gallery vetted them as “absolutely genuine and fabulous”.
Gosh,
I wondered if I had been introduced to him when I stayed at the
Lotos
Club through my reciprocal Club arrangements with the
Cliff
Dwellers and the University Club! Possibly at one of those scintillating
evenings at a Lotos Club reception in their beautifully wood carved library
where every one clinked glasses and told a lot of lies!
But
where did he come up with this fabulous art collection?
The police may address that issue later but for now they are concentrating on other charges including murder and kidnapping as police are picking their way through his twenty-seven aliases.
To
quote a very respectable and knowledgeable New York gallery owner,
“ I
don’t care how fake he is—but, the paintings, the art, that was authentic. The
question is, if he is not a Rockefeller—where in the hell did he get the
paintings?” We can only guess that after the other crimes are solved of which
he is accused---art theft will be added!
His
fatal error, unlike most criminals and imposters, was to make himself much too
visible at gallery parties and publish too many articles under the Rockefeller
name. He and his wife then moved to Cornish, New York where the real
Rockefellers had property just up the road in Woodstock, Vermont. Of course, no
one had ever heard of him in the Rockefeller clan---but maybe they should
inventory their art collection carefully if ever he had attended a party in their
digs. As for motive, it seems Christian Karl alias Clark Rockefeller had gone
over the top in terms of self-identifying with the Rockefellers, and had used
the Mondrians and Rothkos to climb the
New
York social ladder! But the most interesting question is---where the hell did
he get the paintings? His straitlaced wife was equally interested when the
truth came out because the art would soon be confiscated by the FBI.
It
was a beautiful day in Florence, Italy and I had decided on a trip to Fiesole
in the Tuscan Hills for a lunch at the famous hotel, the Villa San Michele,
a
15th Century monastery designed by Michelangelo. Yes, the
Michelangelo!
I
arrived after a 20 minute taxi ride to find this heavenly place. Lunch was
served on the long loggia overlooking Fiesole.
I
ordered a salad nicoise and some ice tea. The waiter looked askance at me. “
Will that be all, Madame?” “ Oh, no, no. I quickly reminded myself where I was
and that this was not the place to be penurious. “I will finish with some
Pecorino
cheese and some fruit” I answered. The waiter relaxed and smiled.
Half
way through lunch I noticed a fly in my tea. I beckoned the waiter.
“
Your tea will be replaced immediately, Madame”. He swept away the glass. When
the check arrived I noticed that I had been charged for two glasses of tea.
Obviously one for me and one for the fly. Well, no matter,
I
lingered over the scene. I wondered if I could see the Villa I Tatti from
there. For the Villa I Tatti was the home of one of the most famous art historians
and collectors and dealers in the world---the now deceased Bernard Berensen.
In
1884, after only one year at Boston University, Berensen managed to get
admitted to Harvard in 1884. His financial wherewithal ( to move ahead so
swiftly, in as he called them, “ his neediest years”) was provided by mentors
and sponsors who recognized Berensen as a brilliant student and a genius. Soon
Bernard became Editor- in-Chief of the Harvard Monthly. His bent for prolific
writing took on his interests in psychology, mystical prophets and religion. He
was seen as highly motivated and fit to pursue a literary career. In fact,
several sponsors, who staked him to his education and beyond, did so believing
that he would be a great writer. After graduation from Harvard and without
funds, he longed for a sojourn abroad.
Sponsors came through again. Bernard left on a trip abroad financed by
some of these same patrons who would launch him on a lifetime of submersion in
the arts.
Bernard’s
first months were spent in Paris, taking in the theatre and opera, buying many
books with his dwindling purse and spending endless hours at the Louvre where,
as his biographers noted, he gained a strong sense of aesthetic proprietorship
as he visited and revisited the Bottecelli’s and the Leonardo’s.
He
set himself up in a sun filled room overlooking the Luxembourg gardens and it’s
museum. He became mesmerized with the great art. He wrote to his sister, “
under the influence of Paris I feel himself a changed animal”. He saturated
himself in the galleries and museums. It was on a trip to Italy that his fervor
for art caught fire. He traveled through Lucca, Pisa, Bolonga, Palma to Venice
and to Florence. He wrote of his discoveries of paintings long forgotten or
unknown or neglected caches of art in remote villages and tiny chapels. He made
a science of befriending the simple friars tending these churches and chapels.
They gave him access to the catacombs to study these forgotten pieces of
art---some identifiable art --others not!
Berensen
made up his mind---he was determined to become an art historian and art critic
and connoisseur. He had become obsessed with this art, in particular, Old
Master Italian art. He identified with it, he studied it, he committed it to
memory and later, he sold it and owned it. For a bit of supposition, the friars
may well have become easy prey---particularly when Berensen converted to
Christianity. Easy entry to these 16th century churches became all the more
accessible then.
Bernard
developed an even stronger sense of proprietorship during these art
explorations and longed to own some of this very art. The relationship of art
to life was an issue that Berensen dwelt upon for the rest of his existence.
After all, Berensen’s early driving interests had centered upon the psychology
of man.
Seeking,
finding, authenticating, publishing—he quickly took on the mantle of a
connoisseur ---then began dealing, bargaining, buying these long forgotten Old
Masters that had languished for centuries without any known established value.
Yes, Berensen had negotiated with the old friars and private families to buy
their art “ for a steal”, shall we say. For little did these innocents
understand what treasures were secreted away in these dungeons and catacombs.
But Berensen perceived pay dirt!
Berensen
knew he had to eventually make a living and wanted to get out from under his
sponsors. He eventually married a kindred soul, Mary Smith who was as
impassioned about art and became his primary art essayist and collaborated with
Berenson on their many books written on the subject of Old Master art, in
particular. But, his travels, his passion cost money-- putting he and Mary in a
state of constant financial jeopardy.
Berensen
then remembered one of his early patrons. He had not corresponded with her in
five years. Back then she had sponsored him thinking he would become an
important writer. Instead, he had become an art connoisseur. He knew she was
wealthy—so why not unearth this connection and interest her ---no, better yet,
sell her ---some of the
Old
Master art. His writing skills had turned to small books about Renaissance art,
Venetian painting and the art of Florence, Rome and Verona. He had hoped to
free himself of his dependence on patrons---but selling them art was, well,
something else again. He sent her a copy of a book he had written entitled, “
The Venetian Painters”.
The
book was sent to none other than Isabella Stewart Gardner of Boston, Mrs. Jack.
This gesture was about to change his life! Or, was it that her life was about
to be changed by Berensen? Isabella had been devoting herself to collecting
rare books and antiques through the largess of her millionaire husband.
However, inheriting two million dollars from her father made her ripe for a new
phase in her collecting. Propitiously, Berensen enters at the right moment!
Isabella was ripe for the picking!
Berensen
had the air of a genius about him. He possessed a fantastic memory and an
intimate knowledge of Italian Renaissance art just before the market was made
in it in the late 1800’s. We could go so far as to say that Berensen was
largely responsible for making the market in Old Master art. After all, he had
made a science of finding and absorbing the contents of every public and
private collection in Italy. This genius would serve Isabella well and she
quickly recognized it! By degrees, Isabella came to the idea of building a
museum to house her collection. With that dream, Berensen joined in her quest
and also became instilled with even more grandiose dreams.
Mrs.
Gardner was, however, not a pushover when it came to paying the price for a
piece of art. She wanted only the first-rate paintings and wanted them at
bargain basement prices. Berensen became, in fact, hell bent and totally
obsessed on getting what she wanted. And, she became deeply psychologically
involved with the art just as Berensen had and came to
self
identify with it.
To
add to their collecting relationship, an air of romance could be detected
between them. His marriage was far from ideal. Mr. Jack tried, in vain, to
restrain Isabella’s collecting habits that were clearly “above and beyond”. The
relationship between Isabella and Berensen could be glimpsed through their
letters. He wrote from Italy to her in Boston, “I would that I could dispatch
this golden weather to you. I am basking in it---the radiance of the summer
land is here this winter. I could spend all afternoon wandering about embodied
in joy”. This romantic mixture of-- art
and nature stirred her most susceptible nature.
While
building Isabella’s collection at the same time Berensen’s collection grew and
eventually filled the Villa I Tatti. --- later to be successfully hidden from
the Nazi’s during their occupation of Italy. His collection was rarely to be
seen, Berensen had said to his wife , “
Get it all down. They can see it after I am dead ”. Was there some
evidence or reason why Berensen was so secretive about his collection? Perhaps
some incriminating clues about attribution?
It
was late 1800’s now. Bidding was now getting tough and Isabella turned to other
dealers. The American museums were now angling for the great rarities of
Italian Masters as well and Italian art had become very, very popular with the
robber barons and investment moguls of the time.
Isabella
longed and longed for a particular Giorgione that was supposed to be in Milan.
She called upon Berensen again and like a seductress---she kept cajoling
Berensen to get it. Berensen wrote that there were absurd difficulties in
acquiring the painting and in getting it out of Italy which was becoming much
more difficult. When it was suggested that a good copy could be made for a mere
hundred pounds, Berensen was ready to carry out the plot. A copy was made and
then the real painting would be smuggled out in Isabella’s vast trucks during
her trip to Italy.
What
was to follow was a real thriller right out of a scene from an Italian opera.
We shall call this opera “ L’ Isabella
d’ Amore”.
Act
I: The Death Scene : A darkened bedroom: The old count Loschi,
the
owner of the painting was dying and an agreement was made with his successor,
the young count Loschi, who needed money to feed his gambling habits. The
original Giorgione was to be swapped with the fake Giorgione. The original had
been willed to the town by the old count on his deathbed. But why not swap it? After all, who would know the difference? Not
the city fathers and not the soon to be dead old count.
The
producer of this opera was none other than Bernard Berensen.
Isabella
was a willing actress on this Italian stage. The Giorgione was smuggled out in
Mrs. Gardner’s trunks---or shall we say, more accurately, stolen.
Act
II: At I Tatti: When it was discovered
that the original had been smuggled out of Italy, denials were made by all.
When a few carabinieri
(the
Italian version of a cop) appeared to investigate, Berensen let his wife deny
all. The title of the painting “Christ Bearing the Cross” didn’t stop them!
The
Italians authorities were, however, smartening up and instituting restrictive
exportation laws. Sadly, however, the Italian inspectors were easily duped. Recall our opera!
Act
III: Scene – At the Docks: “ What is
that, an inspector would ask peering into a crate that was being transported
out of Italy? “ Oh that, it’s just a picture of a man and a woman” “ Value?”
Answer, maybe twenty lire.” The inspector, more interested in his next meal of
pasta aglia olio would conclude, “ They can do what they like with that
rubbish”--- all the while watching a priceless painting being stolen from under
his nose and shipped out in a trunk packed full of cheap dolls.
Mrs.
Gardner continued on her quest to buy and buy more for her future museum. She
continued her poor cry to Berensen. He would write urging her to “ borrow, to
do anything---though it would require cunning and angling to bring that beauty
to your land”. Beg, borrow or steal, you ask?
She
would write back “ I shall starve and go naked for the rest of my life and
probably be in debtor’s prison to get what I want”. She would do anything to
get her way!
But
not to worry, she could afford it---particularly after Mr. Jack conveniently
died leaving his entire fortune to her. That is when Isabella began the
building of Fenway Court, the Isabella Gardner Museum in Boston .
When
Mrs. Gardner’s Venetian palace museum was completed, she summoned Berensen to
America. She considered him her most prized possession! With Berensen’s arrival
his reputation as a preeminent art historian was launched in America. The
Kidders, the Peabody’s and the Cabot’s were all anxious for his counsel and
advice.
Berensen
eventually became a partner with the renowned gallery owner Duveen until in the
end they had a bitter court fight over an incorrect attribution made by
Berensen of another Giorgione, thus in the end, damaging Berensen’s reputation
that he had so carefully created.
Fenway
Court amazed Berensen. It was a fairyland carpeted in green moss, lovely
statues inside---perfection. It contained 290 paintings, 280 sculptures, 160
drawings and 460 pieces of furniture. The museum was meant to focus on Old
Master Italian art but other great art, Dutch, French and Chinese was also
prominently on display in separate rooms. But make no mistake, the building was
a replica of a Venetian palazzio---an enormous Venetian Gothic palace hung with
great Botticelli’s and the Fiorenzo “Annuciation” purchased by Isabella but
from other dealers. A tribute to Italian art and architecture.
Berensen
grew faint. When he saw some art that Isabella had purchased from other
dealers, he was absolutely petrified with horror. He recognized some of these
as fakes. He nearly swooned for fear that the world would hold him responsible.
But to paraphrase---if these were fakes----who had stolen the real things? Yes,
a lot of folks had gotten into the act!
But,
fear not, Isabella’s museum is definitely stuffed with the real things, too! On
Isabella’s death in 1924, she left instructions that nothing was to be moved
and nothing added, nothing changed. Nothing whatsoever! Real or fake! Not a
single painting or sculpture or vase—all was to be left in tact into perpetuity
under the orders of her trust.
She
had lived in an apartment on the fourth floor of the museum until her death--
surrounded by her art and ten portraits she had commissioned of herself. Her
life-- ended with a crescendo.
The
Final Act of our Italian opera; we shall call it “ La Morte d’ Isabella”. Isabella drifts about her museum home wearing
flowing gowns, swooning, collapsing and dying in the end, calling out
Berensen’s name with her last breath.
Talk about self - identifying with art---living and dying with
it! Isabella has gotten her way until
this very day—nothing has been changed although a new wing is planned for
offices and for space for a new
Artist-In
Residents program.
Nothing
was changed--- that is until 1990 when two men dressed as Boston police, one
sporting, a fake waxy black moustache, gained access in the night to the
museum, tied up the museum guards and wandered about for well over an hour to
make a heist! Oddly enough, they stole Dutch and French art, a great Rembrandt
and a Vermeer and a Manet---thirteen pieces in all--ignoring the most prized
painting in the museum, the great Italian painting, “ The Rape of Europa” which
was hanging in a nearby room..
The
thieves savagely tore the Manet from its frame.
The
theft has still to be solved. The museum officials are still offering a reward
of five million dollars for any undamaged art that is returned. One wonders if
the museum officials have smartened up at all.
When I gathered up my gumption and called the Museum to make inquiry
about the theft, they freely spoke with me by phone not asking my name or
reason for the call. Good, I thought, I would not be fingered!
The
investigation of this art theft has ranged from questioning the Boston
organized crime figures including Francis Salemme better know as
Cadillac
Frank , several US drug cartel suspects, members of the Japanese underground as
well as shadowy figures from the Irish Republican Army who leaked to the Boston
underworld that they were seeking ransom for an IRA prisoner in return for the
paintings---which as it turned out ---
they
did not have! Numerous other suspects were very interested in the five million
dollar reward but did not have the art. To this day, no bonafide clues have
come to light. All were simply a dead end!
Permit
me now a moment of speculation. What were the two thieves doing? What was their
motivation? After all, some of America’s
most notable art thieves were later discovered to be bumbling dummies---so
maybe they were acting on their own. But why?? And, why did they hang around
the museum for well over an hour??? Having tea in one of Isabella’s porcelain
tea cups? Or, maybe they were having a hard time finding their way around the
museum rooms and failed to read the museums floor plan? Or, maybe they couldn’t
read!
In
this case, however, I do not buy the theory that two rather stupid thieves
committed the crime. Let’s consider this
instead. Boston has a large Italian population. Forty percent to be exact. As
we now know, some of the suspects questioned by the Boston Police were well
known Boston mob members. Maybe the mob had their eye on the “Rape of Europa”
or another of the priceless Italian paintings. But they wouldn’t do the heist
themselves, would they? No, the mob always hires out for a big job. So instead
they hire two goofy goons who steal the wrong paintings.
But--
I am not so sure about that theory either. I prefer to think that the thieves
were, well, Italian purists and simply wanted to remove forever some paintings
from the museum that were not Italian because they offended them. It reminds me
of a security guard in a Chicago museum who had slashed a valuable painting in
2006 and who recently went on trial.
When
cross-examined as to why he had slashed the painting---the guard said--- “ I
didn’t like it!”
Yes,
I think the thieves loved the Italian art in Fenway Court and could not stomach
the French and Dutch art---so they savagely ripped the annoying French and
Dutch art from their frames and left. To substantiate this theory, it must be
noted that none of the thirteen works of art that were stolen were Italian! The
Italians were left to rest in peace forever in the museum with the ghost of
Isabella.
My
friend Miriam was headed on a trip to Holland and called and asked,
“I
know your ancestry is Dutch. Give me your family name in case I see it on some
street sign or on a dike in Rotterdam. You did say your family was from
Rotterdam?” What a far-fetched idea, I
thought. Well, I’ll humor her. The family name on my Mother’s side is
“Verschuur,” I answered.
Later
on her return, came an excited call from her. “ I was in Rotterdam and went to
a traveling art exhibit from the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art and there was a Frans Hals painting entitled
“ Portrait of a Man”. The exhibit information indicated the sitters name was
Paulus Verschuur painted in the mid- 1640’s.
On
my very next trip to New York, I dashed to the Met, inquired as to the location
of the painting and was told it was in the permanent collection of European art
in Gallery 13. I rushed up the marble stairs, into Gallery 13 and there it was.
Let
me introduce you to my ancestor, Paulus Verschuur. ( This is a copy of the
painting from The Metropolitan Museum of Art book titled
“
Europe in the Age of Monarchy”).
As
I stood before the painting goose bumps covered my body. There he was---and
guess what? Why my Uncle Pete and Aunt Frances and Cousin Jean all look exactly
like him! Small deep-set eyes, a strong forehead with a noticeable vertical
crease, a prominent bony nose and wavy hair. I couldn’t believe it. It sent
shivers up my spine! Just one look and I knew this was my ancestor!
I
immediately asked about admission to the Met Library and was taken to it and
there I found three volumes on the paintings of Frans Hals. Volume One clearly
identified the subject as Paulus Verschuur. He was said to be an unusual
subject for Frans Hals to paint because most subjects had very formal tight
curls around their faces. But not Paulus. The book noted that uncharteristicaly
for the period, Paulus poised with casual unruly hair dropped to his shoulders
looking at us with far less disdain that many sitters of the period. The author
of the book said it was very likely that, for the period, Paulus was quite
casual by nature for persons of stature---
I
liked that very much!
With
research from the Dutch genealogy archives, it turns out that Paulus was a
wealthy cloth manufacturer in, served several terms as burgomaster of Rotterdam
and was a Director of the Dutch East India Company that, unfortunately, went
broke towards the end of Paulus’s life. Paulus had an interest in having his
portrait painted by a more recognized artist rather than a local artist and
choose Frans Hals who was respected beyond his own city of Haarlem. Further
exploration into the family tree traces Paulus’s lineage to modern times and to
our immediate family. And the family art interests remain to this day. I was
thrilled! My very own ancestor painted by Frans Hals! I always visit him whenever I am in New York.
I just love the painting!
So,
if you promise to keep a secret, I have collected a few floor plans of the Met
leading to Gallery 13. Tonight, I am asking for any one of you might like to be
my accomplice, please quietly contact me to plan, well, a heist!
I
promise I will never finger you when the caper is discovered. After all, I am
not interested in the money but I would like to hang the painting in my very
own dining room. It’s become a matter of personal identification and
attachment. My motive is pure! Yes, it would be a steal---but it’s for love not
money!
****