Vanishing Treasure

In latter-day Venice, the Church of Ss. Giovanni e Paolo is a kind of glorious barn. It is some distance from the Grand Canal, and although it houses the tombs of 25 doges of ancient Venice, tourists come chiefly to see the equestrian statue by Verrocchio in the piazza outside. But like many another church in Italy, attended only by a desultory group of the faithful, Santi Giovanni e Paolo had its treasures dating from a more devout age. There were panels by Bartolomeo Vivarini and a glowing polyptych by Giovanni Bellini in a chapel to the right of the main aisle.

Bulky Swag. One night last week, somebody hid in the church while a sacristan locked up. When he left, the thief let in his team of accomplices. Working by the flickering light of votive candles, they pried two Bellini panels and three Vivarini panels out of their niches--no mean task, since the panels average 5 ft. by 2 ft. in size. Then, with their bulky swag, the thieves sneaked out a back door, crossed the kitchen garden of the sleeping Dominican friars who were the guardians of this treasure, and loaded them into a work boat. Then thieves and works vanished.

Unhappily, the theft is not unique. Only a week earlier, similarly clever thieves, helping themselves to Communion wine as they worked, made off with a classic Titian from the parish church in Pieve di Cadore, which was Titian's birthplace. Both these recent burglaries are only the latest of an appalling series. In 1970, there were at least 259, resulting in the loss of objects cumulatively valued at some $48 million. In 1971, the pace is up; thefts are averaging one a day.

The baffling question is: What does a thief do with incredibly valuable, well-known art objects? In the case of the Bellinis and Vivarinis, there is also the problem of bulk--each panel is as big as a kitchen door. How does anyone smuggle them through customs? Who will buy them? If bought, where can the buyer hang them, except in some Goldfinger or Doctor No hideaway?

Dr. Rodolfo Siviero, who carries the title of minister plenipotentiary and chief of the delegation for the recovery of works of art, is convinced that there is a kind of art Mafia, masterminded by big brains in Switzerland, Germany and Italy. "The big boys wait for a statute of limitations to run out in a European country, in Latin America or in the U.S. They can wait as long as 20 or 30 years." Others suspect that the burglars are merely common thieves who hope to get a couple of thousand dollars from an obscure dealer or fence.

Some kind of value can be put on the losses. But, as Siviero says: "You can't measure a piece of civilization like the Titian. His daughter modeled for the Madonna, he painted himself as the shepherd, it was done for his own family chapel." On the open market, the painting might bring, say, $5,000,000. But this is not the point. Money is only money, and someone can always find another $5,000,000. No one can recreate the Titian or the Bellini.

The complexities of international law in the art world were demonstrated again by the U.S. customs decision in the matter of the Raphael Portrait of a Young Girl, triumphantly exhibited by the Boston Museum of Fine Arts only 20 months ago. Siviero protested that it had been illegally exported from Italy; the museum protested that it had done nothing wrong, but it was generally conceded that the picture had been smuggled through customs in a briefcase by one of the Boston's own curators. Goaded by Siviero, U.S. customs seized the painting and mulled over the issue for eight months. Last week officials announced the decision: the Boston "bore no responsibility" for the illegal smuggling. Probably by arranged agreement, the museum announced that it was sending the painting back to Italy.

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