The Italian Job: Rome, Part II

Villa Borghese, located just north of the Spanish Steps, is Rome’s largest public park. Originally a vineyard, the area was converted to a park by Cardinal Scipione Borghese, nephew of Pope Paul V. The villa was constructed from a sketch by the cardinal himself. The city of Rome acquired the grounds from the wealthy Borghese family in 1902, and the park was opened to the public. Today, Villa Borghese offers a surprisingly peaceful respite from Rome’s bustling pace and is home to numerous museums, including the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna and the Galleria e Museo Borghese.

While it may not possess the household-name status afforded the Colosseum, the Forum, or the Pantheon, the Galleria e Museo Borghese is an absolute must-see for any visitor to Rome. Reopened in 1997 after undergoing a meticulous 14-year restoration project that began in 1984, the Borghese’s incredibly ornate rooms house an impressive private collection of Italian art, with each gallery seemingly more stunning than the previous one despite the fact that much of the collection was sold to France in 1809 and moved to the Louvre. Advanced reservations are essential.

If you don’t know who Gian Lorenzo Bernini was, you’ll be enlightened by the time you leave the Museo Borghese. Several of Bernini’s most important sculptures are here, including David (the moment before he slays Goliath); The Abduction of Proserpina by Pluto; and my personal favorite, Apollo and Daphne, which is displayed beautifully in gallery with a painting of the same subject and depicts Daphne’s transformation into a tree as she flees the sun god Apollo.

Other notable sculptures in the collection include Antonio Canova’s Pauline Bonaparte, in which Napoleon’s sister poses as Venus.

Paintings include Titian’s masterpiece, Sacred and Profane Love and Caravaggio’s David With the Head of Goliath, in which Caravaggio painted his own self-portrait to represent the slain Goliath. Interestingly, Caravaggio fled Rome after having been accused of murder in 1606, and this painting (1609-1610) was presented to the papal court as a sort of a painted request for pardon.

The museum has some stringent rules: a maximum of 300 visitors at a time are allowed on the first floor, and no more than 90 are allowed on the second floor. In addition, no cameras, bags, or purses of any kind are allowed inside the museum. Ladies, this means don’t even attempt entering with your purse in tow. It’s not going to work. You’ll be directed back to the coat room, and you’ll find yourself relegated to the end of the line.

This is one of the most amazing museums I have ever seen. Even non-art lovers will come away impressed with its dazzling collection, and the spacious park that surrounds it offers big, shady trees and pleasant walking paths.

Additional Information:
Metro: Spagna (Line A)
Bookings and reservations: Tel.: 39.06.32810, or click here for online reservations.

You’ve got some energy for another museum, yet you long for a change of pace from all Rome’s antiquities and a reprieve from the large crowds that perpetually haunt its most popular attractions and piazzas. The Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna might be just what you’re looking for. This oft-overlooked museum houses a collection of 19th- through mid-20th-century Italian paintings and sculptures. In addition, the museum has a nice selection of works by non-Italian artists from the same period, including Delacroix, Rodin, Monet, Renoir, Degas, Cezanne, van Gogh, Pollack, Giacometti, and Klimt.

During the last half of the 19th century, while French painters were turning the art world upside down with impressionism, a number of Florentine artists, referred to as the Macchiaioli, developed a style of their own. This Italian take on impressionism was largely overlooked internationally. The gallery pays homage to the "macchiaioli painters," along with De Chirico, Carrà, Casorati, Marini, Modigliani, Sironi, and others.

Our touring party, which had grown to seven now that we were in the company of The Better Half’s spry 91-year-old nonna, had just visited the nearby Galleria e Museo Borghese. We’d decided to let the group fracture for the remainder of the afternoon to pursue more individual sightseeing interests. Being a sucker for most anything Vincent van Gogh or Amedeo Modigliani have ever done, I chose the Moderna.

The museum’s most prized possession is, without a doubt, Gustav Klimt’s dazzling work The Three Ages of Woman, painted in 1905 during Klimt’s "golden period," which reached its apex with The Kiss in 1907 to 1908.

The portrait of Anna Zborowska is one of the three Modigliani canvases in the gallery’s collection. His subject is the common-law wife of the Polish poet Leopold Zborowski, whom, by 1916, had become Modigliani's primary dealer and made many personal sacrifices to further Modigliani’s career. In subsequent years, Modigliani painted many portraits of the couple.

The museum has two very nice van Gogh portraits, L'Arlesienne (Madame Ginoux) and Portrait of a Young Peasant. Both of these poignant canvases were painted during van Gogh’s year long stay at the asylum at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France, between 1889 and 1890. I later discovered that Portrait of a Young Peasant has a fascinating story behind it.

Another highlight is Paul Cézanne’s Le Cabanon de Jourdan. The painting is unfinished and was one of Cézanne’s last canvases before his death in 1906.

The museum was practically deserted on a rainy Sunday afternoon when I visited, and tourists in Rome doubtlessly have other sites in mind. However, if some of the artists in the collection are of particular interest to you, then the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna is worth a stop. You can easily find what you’re looking for and peruse the rest of their collection in under an hour.

Additional information:
Website: http://www.gnam.arti.beniculturali.it/gnamco.htm
Metro: Flaminio (Line A)
Tel: 34 06 322 981
Fax: 34 06 322 1579

The Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica (National Gallery of Ancient Art), has been housed in the stunning Palazzo Barberini since 1949. Just to the east of Piazza Barberini, this beautiful palace occupies the site where a vineyard, Vigna Sforza, once stood. Constructed for Maffeo Barberini, who became Pope Urban VIII, Piazza Barberini was designed by Carlo Maderno. But when Maderno died in 1629, Gian Lorenzo Bernini and Francesco Borromini completed the work, adding design elements of their own as the structure was completed.

Purchased by the Italian government to house the museum, part of the building still serves as the officer’s club of the Italian army. The palazzo’s interior features a helicoid-shaped staircase and great hall, which Pietro da Cortona labored over for 6 years between 1633 and 1639. Currently, the site is in the throes of a major renovation. So major, in fact, that it was difficult for us to find our way inside.

We located the massive front gate along Via delle Quattro Fontane, then wandered past pallets of building materials in search of the entrance. We found what looked like the unlocked main entrance with nary a soul to be found, then walked down a flight of stairs to the coat-check room—-or at least that’s what it used to be—again, not a museum employee in sight. Finally, we discovered the entrance on the second floor. Museum personnel, dressed in jeans and T-shirts, gave further indication as to the museum’s current state of affairs.

Some of the notable pieces include works by Fillipo Lippi, a small diptych by El Greco, Bartolomeo Manfredi’s Bacchus and the Drinker, and some incredible paintings by Caravaggio, including Judith Beheading Holofernes, St. Francis, and Narcissus. The canvases of St. Francis and Judith Beheading Holofernes are both visible on the right in the photo.

Perhaps the museum’s most famous painting is Raphael's enigmatic La Fornarina, reputedly a portrait of a baker’s daughter from Siena who was his mistress and the model who posed for his Madonna portraits. Raphael is said to have been so smitten with his beautiful mistress that his obsession may have led to not only the genesis of this canvas, but also to his untimely demise at age 37. Some sources contend that Raphael’s infatuation distracted him from his work and that his sexual exploits caused the fever that killed him.

Other notables in the collection include works by Bernini, Titian, Francesco Francia, and Hans Holbein.

Given the museum’s current state of disarray, I can only recommend it to those who are serious enthusiasts of some of the works in the collection. I’m sure it will be a more pleasurable and user-friendly experience when the current renovation project is completed. Nonetheless, the palazzo itself is worth checking out, if only for the views of its exterior.

Piazza del Popolo offered my first real glimpse of Rome. After our overnight flight, we’d taken the train to Termini, where we got on the subway’s Line A to the Flaminio stop. In truth, we should have exited at Spagna, since it was closer to our hotel. Chalking up that minor blunder to our fatigue, we somehow managed to extricate ourselves from the subway car intact with our luggage. It was so crowded, I felt certain the poor people who had been stuck standing behind me were now wearing zipper marks on their faces from my double backpack.

But here we were. It was perhaps 10am, the weather a little cool but comfortable. We passed through Porta del Popolo, the gate at Via Flaminia that, for centuries, was the entry point into Rome for those traveling from the north. Designed by architect Nanni di Baccio Bigio, the outer face features statues of St. Peter and St. Paul. The wall’s inner elevation, commissioned by Pope Alexander VII, was designed and built a century later by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. The enormous oval piazza, which has evolved over the centuries, was directly in front of us.

Welcome to Rome, Can I Interest You in a Caravaggio?

The Better Half, who’s been coming to Rome her whole life to visit her nonna, suggested we make a quick stop at Santa Maria del Popolo to see the Caravaggios there. We were both tired, but we would be walking right by the church’s centuries-old doors. She led the way, walking smartly, her roller suitcase clickity-clacking behind her on the cobblestone. I trudged behind, tired and trying not to teeter under the weight of my stuffed-to-the-max backpack laden with guidebooks, cameras, and nearly 2 weeks worth of clothes.

Locals strolled by and passed in front of us going about their business. I couldn’t have felt more out of place. With my backpack and Marmot jacket, I was the picture of high-tech fabric, zippered pockets, and Velcro. I would have fit in better with a group making its way to Everest Base Camp. Only I didn’t have a sherpa. It was hardly the sort of couture worthy of the high-fashion sense Italy is known for. I told myself this was the sort of gear one needed for Rome in October.

We pulled open one of the heavy doors and walked in. Dating from 1472, Santa Maria del Popolo has one of the most impressive stashes of art anywhere in Rome. After our eyes adjusted to the dim interior light, we found a place to set down our bags and had a look around. The main altar was, unfortunately, encased in an impossible maze of scaffolding, so we set out to explore the two most famous chapels, Cerasi Chapel and Chigi Chapel.

Two spectacular Caravaggio canvases hang in Cerasi Chapel, The Crucifixion of St. Peter, and The Conversion of Saul, both dating from 1600. Unfortunately, the lighting leaves a lot to be desired and the paintings flank either side of the chapel, so one gets a less than perfect view of both of them. I must say, though, that they are two of the most impressive Caravaggios I have ever seen. Chigi Chapel, designed by Raphael, features an altar by Sebastiano del Piombo, flanked on either side by statues by Bernini and Lorenzetto. Highlighting the floor is a kneeling skeleton mosaic, which was added later.

Déjà vu, Piazza del Popolo

After that initial, abbreviated visit upon our arrival in Rome, we returned to Piazza del Popolo for a better look a couple of days later. This time we were able to explore the area at our leisure.

The large piazza, the focal point each year for Rome’s New Years Eve celebration, is centered by the Obelisco Flaminio and fountain. The Egyptian obelisk dates from 1200 B.C. and was taken from the Sun Temple in Heliopolis by the Emperor Augustus in 10 B.C. It was brought to Piazza del Popolo in 1589. In 1815 and 1816, Giuseppe Valadier redesigned the square and added the central fountain around the obelisk, which features four Egyptian lions. He is also credited with designing the nearby Pincio Gardens.

The other main focal point is at the south end of the piazza, where the twin churches of Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesanto flank Via del Corso, the main artery (and shopping drag) leading south to Piazza Venezia. Both churches, commissioned by Pope Alexander VII in 1658, were the work of architect Carlo Rainaldi. He cleverly gave Santa Maria dei Miracoli (on the right in the photo) a circular dome and Santa Maria di Montesanto an oval one so that they would appear symmetrical, even though Santa Maria di Montesanto was shoehorned into a narrower strip of land. Though the exteriors of the two churches are more attractive than that of Santa Maria del Popolo at the opposite end of the piazza, neither contains artistic treasures approaching those we saw upon our arrival in Rome.

Piazza del Poplolo has been the backdrop for countless events and popular performances of all kinds, including the Corsa di Barberi, a horserace that occurred during Roman Carnavale. It’s also been the site public executions as recent as the early 19th century.

Today, Piazza del Popolo is one of Rome’s most appealing squares. This vibrant piazza is one of the best places to soak up the Roman experience. The triangle to the south is home to some of the city’s most exclusive shopping, and the ocher-colored buildings that dominate the surrounding neighborhood make for pleasant wandering through narrow side streets. We had one of our most enjoyable lunches at one of the outdoor cafés surrounding the piazza.

Having endured the onslaught of tourists at Piazza di Spagna and the Trevi Fountain, we turned our attention to just a few blocks away, where the flood of tourists slowed to a trickle.

Piazza Barberini is situated due north of the Giardini di Quirinale and completes a loose triangle with the Spanish Steps to the northwest and the Trevi to the southwest. While it’s neither among the Eternal City’s largest nor its most beautiful piazzas, it is home to one of Bernini’s most famous fountains, and, in addition, there are enough noteworthy points of interest nearby to make it worthy of a visit. That we encountered just a smattering of other tourists made it all the more enjoyable.

Four dolphins and a sea god

At the center of the piazza is the Fontana del Tritone (Fountain of the Triton), one of Bernini’s most imaginative designs and his last major commission for Pope Urban VIII. Constructed from 1642 to 1643, it features the sea god Triton kneeling atop a scallop shell supported by the four entwined dolphins. Water cascades from a conch shell Triton blows into. The papal tiara and bees, emblematic symbols of the wealthy and influential Barberini family, are implemented into the design.

Via Vittorio Veneto, which gained fame for its prominent role in Federico Felini’s 1960 classic La Dolce Vita, spills into the piazza from the north. The elegant, tree-lined street had its heyday in the 1950s and 60s, when it was a favored haunt of movie stars, socialites, and the paparazzi. Today, it sweeps tourists past upscale hotels, cafés, and shops to the Hard Rock Cafe (Via Vittorio Veneto, 62) and Palazzo Margherita (Via Vittorio Veneto, 119), a neo-Renaissance styled palace constructed in 1886, now the U.S. Embassy.

Fontana delle Api (Fountain of the Bees), also designed by Bernini, is located at the bottom of Via Vittorio Veneto and features the Barberini family coat of arms. Designed as a drinking trough for horses, it’s been moved from its original location on Via Sistina at the opposite end of the square. The fountain was dismantled around 1867 and reassembled in its current location in 1916. Some of the parts were lost while it was in storage, and as a result, what we see today is not completely faithful to Bernini’s original.

Cappuccino and bones, anyone?

I’d venture to guess that most tourists on their way to the Hard Rock barely notice the unassuming Santa Maria della Concezione, at Via Vittorio Veneto 27, for there’s nothing extraordinary about its exterior to differentiate it from the hundreds of other churches that dot Rome’s landscape.

But, alas, nestled within these walls is one of Rome’s lesser-known gems. Also known as the Church of the Capuchins, this once-grand structure was more or less swallowed up by the construction of Via Veneto, and changes to the facade have further diluted its grandeur. Its construction occurred between 1626 and 1631 by Cardinal Antonio Barberini, a Capuchin friar and the brother of Urban VIII. The first chapel on the right features St. Michael the Archangel (1630) by Guido Reni, and Caravaggio’s St. Francis is in the sacristy, but what really sets this place apart is what lies beneath it, the Crypt of the Capuchin Monks.

This macabre exhibit is easily one of the most unique sights in all of Rome. Five small chapels contain the bones of more than 4,000 monks who died between 1528 and 1870. The remains of the Capuchin’s deceased brothers are stacked like cord wood and arranged in intricate displays that adorn the walls and ceilings of each chapel. A sign hanging above a collection of skulls simply states, "What you are now, we once were; what we are now, you will be." The display even includes complete skeletons that stand clothed in the friar’s traditional brown, hooded garments. It only takes about 5 minutes to see the crypt, but what a 5 minutes they are.

Unfortunately, as of this writing, the crypt is closed for "structural repairs" and no reopening date is known. It’s been speculated that the keepers of the crypts were told to close up permanently because the "respect for human remains" is being violated. It’s best to call ahead (39.06.487.1185) or check with the main tourist information office (Via Parigi, 5; Monday to Friday 8:15am to 7:15pm, Saturday 8:15am to 1:45pm; 39.06.4889.9253 or 39.06.4889.9255).

Ancient art, modern construction site

Just to the east of the square along Via delle Quattro Fontane is the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica (National Gallery of Ancient Art) housed in the stunning Palazzo Barberini.

Carlo Maderno, Francesco Borromini, and Bernini all had a hand in the palazzo’s circa-1630 design. Purchased by the Italian government in 1949 to house the collection, the palazzo is currently in the throes of a major renovation project. While the exterior and grounds can be admired to a degree, the disheveled state of the palazzo’s interior and galleries resulted in something less than a user-friendly experience.

Among the artistic luminaries in the collection are works by Lippi, Rafael, El Greco, Caravaggio, and Peter Paul Reubens. During the current renovation project, however, the museum is worth checking out only for those who possess a particular interest in the collection.

More by luck rather than by design, on my first trip to Paris, my chosen accommodations, while further away from some of the major attractions than I might have liked, proved to be in a pleasant neighborhood delightfully void of other tourists.

Traveling solo and during off-season, I recall feeling somewhat like an eavesdropper walking a few blocks from my hotel on Boulevard Voltaire in the 11th arrondissement to get my first glimpses of daily Parisian life. The streets were illuminated with holiday lights, and something of a flea market had sprung up on the perimeter of the nearby Place de la Nation, with vendors selling Christmas trees and other holiday wares. It was all very festive, and I relished my good fortune as I explored my surroundings, soaking up the local ambience. For the length of that trip, I never tired of venturing back to that market to wander around and pass the time.

Ever since that trip to Paris, whenever I visit a major tourist destination such as Rome, one of the things I look most forward to is the prospect of looking beyond the major attractions to seek out the countless small pockets of local life. What follows is a random collection of a few memorable discoveries from Rome and a favorite photograph or two. All of these photos were taken within a few blocks of our hotel.

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As many visitors to Rome may know, Giolitti is Rome’s oldest gelato shop. Most contend it offers the best product (I consider myself among those inclined to agree). Little did I know beforehand that the famed establishment was only 2 or 3 blocks from our hotel. No matter the hour, the place always seemed to be a hub of activity. We walked by it several times (well, okay, we stopped in to partake almost every night after dinner). Whether it was a group of singles on a weekday night, a local family on Saturday afternoon, a trio of local businessmen stopping by to kick off the weekend before heading home on a Friday evening, or tourists like us, it seemed as though everyone in Rome went there.

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One of the things that always intrigues me about large European cities is the boundless variety of vehicles one finds: small trucks, cars, motorcycles, scooters, and bicycles of all types, ages, and states of road worthiness. Most cars are small, relatively few are large; some are shiny and new. Others, at least by their outward appearance, seem to have long outlived their useful years. It’s a cornucopia of personal modes of transport one rarely, if ever, gets to witness in the U.S. Here, a battered old Citroen still sees duty near Piazza Navonna.

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The Better Half’s grandfather left Italy as a young man in the late 1920s to escape the fascist regime. When he finally returned to Rome decades later, in 1952, he somehow became the owner of an enormous 1951 Packard. The car became his vehicle of choice, but it was so big that navigating some of the Eternal City’s tiny streets was impossible. On more than one occasion, infuriated drivers behind him had to back up because his car was effectively pinned by a narrow backstreet or tight corner. A bicycle and doorway on one such street, Vicolo della Vetrino, resulted in one of my favorite photographs from our trip.

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I came upon the elderly accordion player on my way back to our hotel after one of my nighttime excursions. Perhaps he has a few favorite locales throughout the city, but on this night, he was set up to play behind the Pantheon. If his age were any barometer, one might guess he’s been serenading passers by for decades. The photograph is misleading to the extent that it appears he and I were the only ones around. In truth, I set up my camera and waited several minutes for the large crowds to pass on the street that separated us until there was a gap in the traffic large enough for me to click the shutter.

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Our hotel was only a brief 5-minute walk from the Ponte Sant’Angelo. We would traverse the bridge many times during our weeklong stay in Rome. On one occasion, threatening clouds loomed in the distance as the sunny weather we’d enjoyed up to that point appeared to be coming to an abrupt halt. The figures in this statue on the Ponte Sant’Angelo caught my eye, as it almost looked as though they were bracing themselves for the oncoming tempest.

A van Gogh Masterpiece in Rome

I stood inside the nearly empty
href=http://www.gnam.arti.beniculturali.it/gnamco.htm target=_NEW>Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna on a rainy October afternoon in Rome. I was looking at Vincent van Gogh’s Portrait of a Young Peasant. His portrait of L'Arlesienne (Madame Ginoux) hung beside it. Both canvases were painted during Vincent’s yearlong stay at the asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France, between May 1889 and May 1890.

For several minutes, I stood before the two paintings, the only two van Goghs publicly displayed in Italy. Both are striking to see in person. Together, they exemplify the simple workman’s life and happy home Vincent desperately sought but never realized.

Jan Hulsker, perhaps the world’s foremost authority on van Gogh and his art, writes that Portrait of a Young Peasant "… is one of countless paintings of van Gogh’s that one must see firsthand--or at least in color reproduction--in order to appreciate them fully. It is a delightful painting that in its freshness and simplicity, radiates health and joy in living, although the expression of the eyes and mouth characterizes the farmer as a difficult fellow."

Nearly 2 months after I’d returned from Rome, I discovered this difficult fellow had quite a story to tell.

An Obscure Law, and the Sale of a Masterpiece

The story begins on January 8, 1954. Italy’s Ministry of National Education, which, at the time, had authority over such matters, officially declared the painting to be a work "of historical and artistic interest" as was allowed under a statute of Italian law. In essence, the law granted the state the right to cut in front of a potential buyer and purchase any work of art classified as such at the price the buyer would have paid. Twelve days later, the order was served on the painting’s owner, an art collector in Rome by the name of Verusio.

On July 28, 1977, nearly 90 years after Portrait of a Young Peasant had been painted, an art dealer named Ernst Beyeler agreed to purchase the canvas for ITL600,000,000 (roughly €310,000) through an intermediary, a Rome antiques dealer named Pierangeli. In essence, Beyeler, a Swiss national, hid behind Pierangeli in order to obtain the best possible price. Operating behind his intermediary, Beyeler would remain hidden for many years, cleverly avoiding any risk of a pre-emption order. It was an obscure statute, but one that was universally known in the art world.

Days later, Verusio filed the necessary paperwork with the Ministry of Cultural Heritage as the aforementioned law required. His was the only signature on the document, which named Pierangeli as the other party and made no mention of Beyeler. The law’s 2-month time limit passed without the Ministry exercising its right of pre-emption.

Beyeler’s Identity Emerges

On December 1, 1983, Pierangeli filed papers with the Ministry stating that he had indeed purchased the painting on Beyeler’s behalf. The following day, Pierangeli and Beyeler informed the Ministry that the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice agreed to purchase the painting for US$2.1 million, reiterating that the 1977 transaction had been made on Beyeler’s behalf, and asked the Ministry if it intended to exercise its right of pre-emption under the same law.

In January 1984, the Ministry notified Pierangeli and Beyeler that it was unable to exercise its right of pre-emption since, in its view, Pierangeli was the owner. Therefore, there was no contract to sell and a mere unilateral declaration was insufficient. Pierangeli’s subsequent attempts to export the painting were denied on the grounds that it would be detrimental to the national cultural heritage. The dispute would linger on for the next 5 years. Beyeler would continue to shield his identity to some degree, dealing with the Ministry either with or through Pierangeli.

In light of the confusion over the true owner and the Peggy Guggenheim Collection’s failure to comply with its undertakings, the Ministry expressed concerns over the conditions in which the painting was being kept, and on April 23, 1986, ordered the painting moved to Rome for safekeeping at the Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna.

Meanwhile, due to the rapid acceleration in fine art prices at the time, the painting's price had skyrocketed to US$8.5 million. Not to be outdone, Beyeler brazenly asked the Ministry for US$11 million to exercise its right of pre-emption.

Early in 1988, confused negotiations took place. But on November 24, 1988, the Ministry exercised its right of pre-emption in respect of the 1977 sale, and Beyeler was served on December 22, 1988. The painting was now the property of Italy, Beyeler was awarded the €310,000 he paid in 1977, and his handsome profit had vaporized before his very eyes. The battle would rage on in the courts.

The wheels of justice creaked slowly. After 1988, legal wrangling would drag on for 14 more years. In 1996, Beyeler filed suit against Italy in a European court seeking more than $14.5 million in damages. But in 1998, the story would take a dramatic turn.

The Unthinkable

On May 19, 1998, three armed men hid inside the Moderna at closing time. They donned masks, removed their shoes to reduce noise, and quickly set to work, binding and gagging three guards and disabling the alarms. Within minutes they’d pulled off one of the biggest art heists in recent memory, snaring Portrait of a Young Peasant, L'Arlesienne (Madame Ginoux), and Paul Cézanne’s unfinished Le Cabanon de Jourdan. All told, the three paintings were worth an estimated US$30,000,000. The selection of three of the museum’s most valuable pieces, coupled with the apparent ease with which the crime was perpetrated, led authorities to believe that they were dealing with professional art thieves.

They were wrong. The gang quickly discovered the stolen paintings were impossible to unload. Their best course of action would have been to dump them immediately, or failing that, sit on them for a while and keep their pie holes shut. They did neither. They first stashed the paintings in a Turin apartment, although Portrait of a Young Peasant and the Cézanne were later brought back to Rome when they believed they had a buyer. Meanwhile, police and carbinieri tapped dozens of phones and, within 2 weeks, had honed in on their suspects.

Deciding which phones to tap had been easy. The heist screamed inside job. The thieves had far too much knowledge of the museum’s inner workings: they knew the video surveillance system wasn’t working and knew their way down to the night guard’s post in the basement. And inexplicably, no one had bothered to hook up the museum's alarm system to police headquarters prior to the robbery.

Suspicion quickly gathered around a museum guard named Stefania Viglongo. Although she had an untarnished reputation at work, her husband, Claudio Trevisan, "didn’t seem to do anything for a living." He had no criminal record, but he was put under surveillance, and it was discovered that he was friends with a man named Eneo Ximenes, who had served time in Belgium on robbery and murder charges.

In addition to tapping phones, police tracked the suspects’ movements by their cell phones and bugged Ximenes’ Volkswagen Golf. Soon, the thieves’ apartments in Turin and Rome were located. On July 5, 1998, authorities raided the two apartments. Portrait of a Young Peasant and the Cézanne were recovered in Rome, the van Gogh hidden under a bed, and the Cézanne wrapped in a blanket atop an armoire. The Turin apartment yielded L'Arlesienne. The paintings were returned to the museum within days, and police arrested eight suspects. All were Italian.

The Judgment

Finally, on May 28, 2002, a European court handed down its ruling, awarding Beyeler €1.355 million in damages. Was justice served? Should Italy’s Ministry of Cultural Heritage have chosen higher moral ground rather than take advantage of an obscure statute to acquire a painting at a ridiculously low price? Or was Beyeler’s own greed, which led him to game the 1977 transaction to his best possible advantage, at fault?

It seems obvious Beyeler was acutely aware of the law he appeared to be circumventing. Nothing prevented him from disclosing his identity between July 1977 and December 1983. On the other hand, between December 1983 and December 1988, the Ministry of Cultural Heritage acted on numerous occasions as though Beyeler was the true owner of the painting. Nonetheless, the courts through which Beyeler sought remedy prior to the 2002 judgment consistently ruled against him.

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One hundred and fifteen years ago, a young man who worked the land in the south of France sat for his artist acquaintance, certainly for no longer than an hour or two. He remains forever nameless. One wonders what he’d think, not only of the lofty status the man with whom he briefly crossed paths would achieve as one of the most brilliant artists in history, but of millionaire art collectors, Ministries of Cultural Heritage, a 19-year legal battle, a gang of bungling thieves and the enormous resources expended to apprehend them, all over his likeness on a piece of cloth. There’s little doubt he’d wonder what all the fuss was about.