ARTS
The import export controversy
There's nothing new about export controls on works of art, as Jonathan Scott explains
Saved: the Becket Casket
EXPORT STOP ON THE THREE GRACES, BECKET CASKET SAVED FOR THE NATION, GETTY FURY AT MINIS- TER'S INTERVENTION. In recent years, the UK's system of export controls has caused regular controversy and excitement whenever any important work of art has been acquired by an overseas buyer and is threatened with export. Under the 'Waver- ley rules', if the Export Reviewing Commit- tee makes a recommendation, the Minister can refuse an export licence for any object which is of outstanding historical impor- tance or aesthetic merit or is of key signifi- cance for study or research; British buyers then have a period of up to six months (and, on rare occasions, longer) to raise funds for a matching offer. For some 45 years the system has provid- ed a mechanism for keeping works of national importance in the UK — as long as funds are available. With the freezing of museum purchase grants in 1985 this became so difficult that the reference of an important masterpiece to the Reviewing Committee, prior to its consignment to the export packers, was in danger of becoming one of those quaint old English customs, like Morris dancing on the village green, the original purpose of which had been for- gotten. This situation should be radically Improved by funds from the Lottery. Many of the works referred to the Reviewing Committee were, of course, originally imported into this country, paint- ings from Italy and Spain, Greek and Roman antiquities, collections put on the market by distressed French aristocrats and the spoils of war and empire. It is a curious fact that the purchases made by the loung- ing milordi so vividly portrayed in the Grand Tour exhibition, currently at the Tate Gallery (until 5 January; and then at the Palazzo delle Esposizioni, Rome, from 5 February until 7 April), were often sub- ject to export controls in their country of origin a couple of centuries ago. The system was strictest in Italy. There was already an export control procedure in the papal states during the 17th century, but it was hardly necessary because impor- tant works of art, particularly antique stat- ues, were so greedily snapped up by the popes and their families that there was lit- tle chance of a foreigner making any signif- icant acquisition. Charles I was lucky to be able to buy a collection of major paintings and antiquities when Vincenzo Gonzaga's financial problems forced a sale — but the vendor was the Duke of Mantua who could do what he wanted in his own independent little duchy. Alas, this collection was largely bought by foreign courts after the king's execution. During the early 18th century, as their fortunes declines, the Roman nobility start- ed to sell off the contents of their galleries. Some of these were exported as diplomatic ploys to secure favours from the courts of Dresden and Madrid, and a collection of treasures, including a spectacular sarcopha- gus, was packaged for the young Duke of Beaufort in 1727 to foster his enthusiasm for the Jacobite cause. It was a constant source of complaint that the British barbar- ians, ignorant, inebriated but very rich, were carrying off everything. Only on rare occasions was a limit drawn; when a famous statue of Marcus Agrippa had been sold by one of the Grimani to a foreign tourist, a Venetian police officer is said to have arrived on the quay to wish the statue and its ex-owner a pleasant exile. The sale was cancelled.
To satisfy fashionable demand and increase the flow of exportable trophies, a number of dealers resident in Rome, Thomas Jenkins, Gavin Hamilton, James Byres and others, started a series of excava- tions. Their procedure was similar to that of a modern mining company, obtaining a concession to exploit a defined area, sub- ject to the payment of royalties; the finds might be divided into three shares, one for the Camera Apostolica, which granted the licences, to stock the newly founded papal museums, one for the owner of the land and one for the excavator. The authorities sometimes preempted the whole excava- tion and sometimes the dealer bought out the shares of the other parties before the ground had been opened. Export licences were still required for all major works that were recovered, but the problem could be diminished by suggesting that the object was destined for the British Royal Collec- tion or by applying for a licence for the two halves of a statue separately. Nevertheless, the system was a good way of reconciling the national interests of an impoverished state with the requirements of those who provided the external capital. It has much to commend it today as a way of reducing illegal excavations.
Export licences were also required for paintings. It was often rumoured that impoverished princes sold their Claudes and Rosas to Grand Tourists whose agents smuggled them out of Rome, but only after good copies had been made so that the gaps on the walls would not be noticed and that the copies were then sold as origi- nals a second time. When French republi- can troops arrived in Rome in 1798, the princely families flooded the market with paintings, but, in the turmoil, there was no problem about obtaining licences even for great works like the Altieri Claudes, which were acquired through British dealers by William Beckford of Fonthill.
The dominions of the Sublime Porte in the eastern Mediterranean, including not only Greece but the ancient Greek cities of Asia Minor, were always a fertile source of antiquities. Frustrated by the difficulty of obtaining good classical statues in Italy, Lord Arundel asked Sir Thomas Roe, who had been appointed Stuart ambassador in Constantinople in 1621, to act as his agent there. Sir Thomas set to work with enthusi- asm but, even in Turkey, licences were required and bureaucrats had to be sweet- ened. Although the reliefs of Theodosius on the Golden Gate proved too tricky to extract, despite tempting offers to the Sul- tan's Treasurer, a permit was obtained authorising another of Arundel's agents to sweep the Peloponnese and the Ionian islands for statues and inscriptions. The resultant haul was shipped off to London to form the basis of the Arundel Marbles.
The Turks regarded the Parthenon as exceptional and never permitted the removal of carvings, although they made no effort to protect the buildings from the erosion of local builders and visiting sou- venir hunters. The failure of Napoleon's Egyptian campaign gave the British ambas- sador, Lord Elgin, a chance of influencing the Porte to change policy. A finnan or let- ter of authority was obtained from the act- ing Grand Vizier, addressed to the Chief Justice of Athens, with instructions that Elgin's agents were not only to be allowed to draw and take plaster casts on the Acropolis, but also to remove any pieces of stone with inscriptions or figures. The fir- man was vigorously exploited and, after some judicious gifts to soften the last scru- ples of local officials, the famous marbles were removed. In fact, if the British fleet had not controlled the Mediterranean at the time, the French would have done exactly the same to enhance Napoleonic gloire.
Today, if Greece seeks to reclaim the Elgin Marbles on the grounds that the Turkish authorities had no right to grant an export licence, Britain can reclaim from the Prado and the Louvre the spoils of King Charles's collection, dispersed without authority by Cromwell's usurping regime. The resultant Euro-row will keep the Mar- bles safely in Bloomsbury for at least the next three generations.
Jonathan Scott was Chairman of the Review- ing Committee on the Export of Works of Art, 1985-1995.
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