A Spectator's Notebook
The late Captain George Spencer-Churchill inherited a magnificent collection of early works of art which he kept at his home, Northwick Park, Gloucestershire. He was also himself a lifelong and voracious collector. When, however, potential buyers of works of art sought his advice, his reply was anything but candid. "Always buy Impressionists or Victorian subject pictures," he insisted. This was an astonishing answer from a man widely known to have no time whatsoever for either of those two categories. His counsel was not disinterested, His intention (he would admit When pressed) was to divert all competition
from the works that he himself might wish to buy.
Camouflage
Not long before the last war, an American collector tried to take out of Italy a supposed
asterpiece which he had just found in Venice. But at that time the fascist regime, seeking to Preserve the country's heritage, imposed severe restrictions on the export of works of art. The collector was therefore peremptorily told that the picture must on no account leave Italy. Annoyed at being thwarted, he commissioned a local artist to superimpose on his Picture a flattering portrait of Mussolini. This naturally rated an immediate export licence and the canvas was borne off in triumph to 13arts, where it was taken to the studio of an Vert restorer for the removal of its disguise. r-arlY next day the restorer nervously telephoned his client to say in removing all traces of II Duce he was disturbed to find that the Italian masterpiece was also vanishing. In the end, all that remained was an indifferent Portrait of the then President of the United States — Herbert Hoover.
Theft for blackmail
The theft and mutilation of works of art are !iothing new, but in very recent years their Irequency has outraged civilised standards. In °WY two ways has the danger diminished. First, criminals seem to have realised that important Paintings cannot be disposed of. The legend of a gloating millionaire in some distant country hiring a gang of thieves to amass a collection for him can have no substance: he would remain perpetually exposed to blackmail at the hands of his criminal employees. ,Another malpractice has also, happily, uecome less common: the stealing of pictures. and other works of art by criminals who are Prepared to return their loot to the company Which has insured it in exchange for a substantial cash ransom less than the full insurance value. Such bargaining with criminals, at least in this country, is now much discouraged both by the pollee and by the insurance companies themselves.
But in the last year or two a new and more sinister motive for theft has emerged. Works of art have been stolen for use as pawns in a game of political blackmail, the culprits acting in the knowledge that their destruction would inevitably provoke a public outcry. The disappearance of one masterpiece, however, still remains a total mystery. Some four years ago a large altarpiece by Caravaggio of quite inestimable worth was spirited away one night from an Oratory in Palermo and has never since been seen, The Mafia may well be reSPonsible. Time alone will tell — or perhaps will not. Hand in hand with the exploitation of great works of art for political as well as criminal ends goes an alarming growth of vandalism which cannot always be publicised. Envy and revenge, ingredients of so many modern political creeds, can unbalance a man's mind as completely as any psychopathic ailment.
Wealth tax As if thefts and vandalism were not more than enough, our artistic heritage is now exposed to the massive depredations foreshadowed by a wealth tax: an insufficiently thought out application of abstract political theory. It has recently been argued by Mr Hugh Scanlon that legislation which cannot be enforced brings the law into contempt. The proposal of the present Government for including works of art in a wealth tax is just such an example. It envisages vast numbers of ordinary inexpert citizens producing what the most competent experts agree is incapable of being produced with either accuracy or equity: an up-to-date annual valuation of works of art and antiques in their possession. To require a man by law to do what is impossible deprives the law of moral sanction, and leads in practice to an obstinate, interminable and resentful resistance to its application. Self-taxation by guesswork is not a duty which any citizen can, or indeed ought, to accept, since it obliges him to assume a false position. Indeed, 'No Taxation by Guesswork' could prove as potent a slogan as the 'No Taxation without Representation' of two centuries ago. In parenthesis, it should be noted that before compiling the Green Paper, the Treasury, incredible to relate, did not seek the advice of the art trade on the fundamental subject of valuation. But such a lapse is all too common under socialism. A theory is excogitated in the clouds without reference to worldly experience: then the practical facts are somehow expected to adapt themselves to the requirements of theory. Only after much damage has been wilfully inflicted on our cultural heritage, will our present political masters realise that the facts simply cannot be equated with their elusive abstractions.
In order to avoid the reproach of philistinism the Green Paper on the wealth tax pays lip-service to the safeguarding of our national heritage. But instead of excluding works of art from the scope of the tax, as is done in several other countries which impose it, the present Government is attempting • to reconcile the irreconcilable. Works of art are to be taxed in order to gratify the malevolent jealousy of the extreme left wing; and to disarm inevitable accusations of cultural insensitivity the Green Paper simultaneously hints at a few tendentious but impracticable palliatives. One of these takes the form of a vague general principle that works of art which are to some extent "on view" to the public are deserving of special treatment; but that those which remain in a private residence are not. In practice such a principle would be riddled with anomalies. To make a start with but one of them, let me refer to two of my family's pictures which I mentioned in an earlier notebook. One Beechey's Nelson is now on loan to the National Portrait Gallery; the other, Sargent's portrait of my grandmother, hangs in my own home It would appear from the Green Paper that unless I am prepared to lend out my grandmother permanently for the edification of the general public (which I am not), I shall be required to pay an annual rent for taking care of her; whereas as long as the Admiral remains on public view I shall be graciously excused paying tax on him. Such an arbitrary distinction takes no account of human sensitivity. In such circumstances the choice of evils is obvious: to help pay for the retention of my grandmother in my own house, we should, with the greatest regret, sell Nelson to the highest bidder, who in all the circumstances could hardly fail to be a foreigner. How many other treasured works would not similarly leave our shores? The Opposition spokesman for the arts, Mr Ernie Money, MP, has drawn attention to another disturbing aspect of the Green Paper. He has pointed out that most provincial museums have neither the space nor the staff to accommodate a flood of works of art from those seeking to avoid tax by putting their objects on public view. And the many who tried and failed to secure a place would rightly have a grievance against those who succeeded. But of course works of art should be, and indeed are, willingly lent to public museums for far more elevated reasons than fiscal advantage. Do we really want to change all this? Immediately after the Green Paper was published the chairman of the 'Heritage in Danger' committee, Lord Cottesloe, said that if the Green Paper were translated into action it would threaten all our great collections with a slow and wasting sickness that would drain the cultural life-blood of the nation. The committee, of which I am honorary secretary, will do its best to see that the manifold dangers of this half-baked yet spiteful policy are fully understood by the public.
Tip-off All who suffer from the caprices of British Rail will envy the feat of a family friend who, each winter before the first world war, was accustomed to travel to the Riviera in some state. His train from Paris was comfortable enough but was billed to arrive in Cannes at the penitential hour of 7 a.m. To overcome this want of consideration on the part of the French railway company, he would stroll along the platform of the Gare de Lyon in Paris for a confidential word with the engine driver. No more could be heard than a discreet clink of coins and the admonition to drive carefully and go slowly round the corners. Our friend thus ensured not only a good night's sleep but an arrival at Cannes at an hour convenient to himself.
Hugh Leggatt
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