The Paintnapers

Interviewed on the radio, the assistant mayor of the Riviera town of Aix-en-Provence confidently brushed aside a question that was very much on the minds of local art lovers. An Aix museum had on display a major Cezanne show of 22 oils, 19 watercolors and 19 drawings. In view of the successful burglary over Bastille Day weekend of 57 canvases from the Municipal Museum in nearby St. Tropez, were the authorities concerned that the Cezannes might be stolen? "Not at all," said the assistant mayor. "In Aix we have armed guards." Thirty hours later, eight of the Cezannes were gone.

In terms of market value, an estimated $2,000,000, the theft was the most sensational since the Louvre's Mona Lisa was stolen just 50 years ago (by an Italian bent on repatriating it). Aix, where Cezanne had lived for much of his life, had theoretically taken every precaution. Four searchlights kept the outside of the museum lighted up all night. At 12 o'clock on the night it happened, the policeman on guard assured Curator Jacqueline Martial-Salme that "everything is all right." and Mme. Martial-Salme herself made an inspection of the museum's three floors just to be sure. But two or three hours later, the thieves somehow climbed up the lighted, ornate fac,ade of the museum,*sneaked through a small window on the second floor, spirited away six canvases from one gallery and two from another while Mme. Martial-Salme and her husband slept a few yards away. Wailed the show's organizer. Leo Marchutz, next day: "Cezanne would be furious if he were alive."

Cezanne might also have been puzzled. The stolen paintings had come from as far away as Cardiff and St. Louis; all were well known, including the Louvre's famous Card Players, which alone is valued at more than $1,000,000. What could the thieves possibly do with such recognizable loot? The police saw only one answer. The Riviera thieves were apparently a new breed of felon: paintnapers, who would hold the Cezannes for ransom.

* Built as a villa by the Duke of Mercoeur in 1664, the museum is dominated by two giant sculptures whose agonized brow-clutching never seemed more appropriate (see cut).

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