The Theft, Recovery and Forensic Investigation of Leonardo Da Vinci's
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7 The Theft, Recovery and Forensic Investigation of Leonardo da Vinci’s Madonna of the Yarnwinder Martin Kemp On 27 August 2003, I was sitting under an umbrella on the terrace of the Villa Vignamaggio,1 above Greve in Chianti, a villa once owned by the Gherardini family, and haunted by the shade of a famous daughter known as Mona Lisa, when Thereza Wells, my former research student and co-author, called to report the theft of the Duke of Bucceluch’s treasured Leonardo painting, the Madonna of the Yarnwinder, from Drumlanrig Castle in the Scottish bor- ders. The news is as yet hazy. It seems that some men driving a VW Golf GTI had abruptly removed it, shortly before the rooms were to close to the public that day. They had overpowered the female custodian and threatened her with a knife. I received the call when I was in the process of writing a new book on Leonardo, for Oxford University Press, which involves, of course, a discussion of the Madonna of the Yarnwinder.2 A coincidence of the worst kind. The Madonna of the Yarnwinder is among the most clearly documented of Leonardo’s compositions. We know that it was commissioned in Milan by Florimond Robertet, Secretary of State to the invading French King, shortly before Leonardo’s departure from the city, in December 1499. The artist was actively working on the picture in Florence in 1501, and it can reasonably be identified with the “small picture by his hand that has recently arrived here [in Blois],” recorded in a letter of 1507 from the Florentine Ambassador to the French court.3 A “Madonna with a Child in her arms” subsequently appears in two inventories of the possessions of Leonardo’s long-term assis- tant, Salaì. The lists were drawn up in 1525, so that Salaì’s assets could be divided equitably between his sisters, following his death the previous year.4 If this is the Madonna of the Yarnwinder – and there are no other obvious can- didates – Leonardo must have produced two paintings of this subject, one delivered to Robertet and one remaining with the artist. 87 N. Charney (ed.), Art Crime © The Editor(s) 2016 88 Terrorists: Policing, Investigation and Terrorism Of the very many copies and variants that survive, it has long been recognized that two are of major account. One has long been in the pos- session of the Dukes of Buccleuch. The other was once in the distinguished 19th-century collection of the Marquises of Lansdowne, and is now in a pri- vate collection. Technical examination has demonstrated conclusively that Leonardo was involved in the execution of both paintings, undertaking major revisions as both paintings evolved beside each other in his work- shop, even if assistants helped in a subsidiary way in making the finished works. These two paintings are almost certainly those that are documented, but we do not know which was received by Robertet and which remained in Leonardo’s own hands. The theft The press story inevitably runs in two phases. First comes the narrative of the dramatic snatch. The police issue information. They are seeking a white Volkswagen Golf GTI, five-door saloon car, registration number H596 VRP, which contained four men, one of them wearing a large white hat. The car was last seen locally on the Thornhill to Durisdeer Road at about 11:15 hours. Two of the men are described: “1) in his early 40’s, 5 feet 10 inches tall, slim build and clean shaven, he was wearing brown shoes, cream trousers with black belt, a cream T-shirt, brown Nubuck leather jacket, a light colored brown baseball cap and round framed glasses; 2) in his late 40s, 5 feet 10–11 inches tall, slim build and clean shaven. He was wearing black trousers, black shoes, cream long sleeved shirt, sleeveless taupe colored safari type jacket with lots of pockets and a light cream colored wide-brimmed hat.” CCTV pictures and e-fit images are issued, with appeals for informa- tion. One shows the man in the flat-brimmed white hat and his partner in crime scuttling into the white Golf before speeding to the exit of the estate. Next, experts are wheeled out to assess the painting and to confirm its authorship. A series of arbitrary pronouncements are made by scholars, most of whom have not seen the painting in the original, and invariably without reference to the technical evidence. They should know better. The pro- nouncements resemble those made about the Raphael Madonna of the Pinks that London’s National Gallery has purchased. The quality of the quoted comments on whether it is really by Raphael are for the most part dire. The same applies to the reactions, even by accomplished scholars, about the recently discovered Leonardo portrait of a young lady on vellum.5 I decide to do just one interview, with Godfrey Barker of The Sunday Times, not because I like the paper (and I have been misquoted and badly treated on three occasions by The Times), but because I have dealt with him before, and found him to be a serious and responsible journalist.6 I explain that there is no lost “original,” that both paintings are of high status. He reads back my quotes for his piece, and I confirm that they are OK. There are things in the Martin Kemp 89 story that I would question, but I did not write it, and I recognize that he is bound to report views with which I might not agree. In the various press reports, the quoted value of the painting fluctuates wildly according to whether it is considered “autograph” or a studio “copy.” The upper estimates are in the £50 million range. The Duke (John Montagu Scott Douglas) is deeply affected by the loss, and feels that he has let Britain down. The greatest immediate worry is that it has been stolen by lower league thieves trying to move into the big time, who will find that the work is unsaleable and will decide that it is best to destroy it. The myth of the “Mr. Big” who is hoarding a great secret collection by commissioning thefts remains a fantasy. The police contact me to ask if there are features that will infallibly identify the painting as the real thing, if they recover it or what purports to be it. Not too difficult, I explain. Two officers from the Dumfries and Galloway Constabulary visit me in my house, and I take them through unpublished evidence of the scientific examinations of both versions. They are fascinated, not least because they can recognize similarities with the kind of scientific forensic work they use in their own investigations of crimes. Unhappily, the question about means of identification is framed in anticipation of the Duke’s panel being found eventually, and not because they have recovered it. There is still no sign of the painting, and the trail seems to have gone cold. For the moment, and we hope it is only for a short time, we have to reply on comparing the results of a very thorough analysis of the Lansdowne Madonna, conducted by the Opificio delle Pietre Dure in Florence, with the lower resolution IR reflectogram of the Duke’s stolen painting and an old x-ray plate. We pray that the Buccleuch Madonna will be restored to its owner. And we wait. The Duke follows up a suggestion that the painting is in Milan. This leads nowhere. A reconstruction is shown in September on the BBC program, Crimewatch, in the hope of jogging witnesses’ memories. My best guess is that, after a gap of some years, the new possessors of the painting will, via intermediaries, contact the loss adjustors who have been acting for the insurers, and that they will attempt to strike a lucrative deal for its return. The thieves may, in the meantime, have been using their “asset” as security in major criminal deals, as in the drugs trade. At least this will mean that the painting is being looked after. As damaged goods, it would be worth less to them. Restored to the Duke Then, early in October 2007, a detective constable from the Dumfries and Galloway Constabulary calls the Department of the History of Art in Oxford, asking if I will contact him. Even before calling back, I feel a rising sense of optimism. The police indicate that the painting may have been recovered, 90 Terrorists: Policing, Investigation and Terrorism and ask for confirmation about tests that would confirm that any recovered painting is indeed the one that was stolen, and not a clever replacement. I explain that the unpublished IR reflectograms would provide about as good forensic evidence as they might wish. No forger would know about the under-drawing in the detail that we did. They ask if I will travel to Edinburgh to look at the picture they have in their hands. I am very sorry to say that I cannot go on the date they suggest, which falls during the frantic first days of term. It also coincides with the run-in to the opening of the exhibition, Seduced. Art and Sex from Antiquity to Now that Marina Wallace and myself are curating, with Joanne Bernstein, at the Barbican Art Gallery. Michael Clarke, Director of the National Gallery in Edinburgh, looks at it in my stead. He knows his way around old master paintings and can of course make an informed judgment. I arrange to visit Edinburgh on 24 October, which is my first free day.