British Museum: Art Theft Scandal
Charles Townley: An Aristocrat's Obsession with Antiquity
Born into a privileged world of wealth and lineage in 1737, Charles Townley had all the hallmarks of a refined English gentleman. His early years were marked by the finest education and the enriching experiences of Continental travel. Yet, hints of a restless spirit and a thirst for worldly knowledge lingered beneath his polished veneer. Upon coming into his inheritance, Townley's settled existence in English society proved short-lived as he embarked on the first of three transformative journeys to Italy. It was here, amidst the ruins of empires and the whispers of forgotten histories, that his fascination with ancient treasures took hold.
Townley's impeccable timing proved fortuitous. A wave of economic strain was sweeping through Italian aristocratic circles, compelling many to part with treasured heirlooms. He seized this opportunity, acquiring a captivating Roman bust of Clytie, the wistful nymph, from the Principe di Laurenzano, a piece he playfully referred to as his "wife." Meanwhile, the ongoing unearthing of marvels at Hadrian's Villa became a bountiful source of antiquities, and the renowned art dealer Thomas Jenkins supplied Townley with such masterpieces as the Discobolus, its muscular form frozen mid-throw.
Returning to London, Townley transformed his townhouse near St. James's Park into a living testament to his passion. Johan Zoffany's painting, initially titled "A Nobleman's Collection," immortalizes this scene—Townley surrounded by friends and marble masterpieces, a towering Venus commanding the room, while countless smaller treasures like cameos and intaglios fill meticulously curated cabinets.
Townley's Legacy and the Impact of the Elgin Marbles on British Antiquities
Townley's dedication to antiquity made his collection one of Europe's most admired. Yet, his approach bore the unmistakable stamp of 18th-century sensibilities. To enhance their visual appeal, sculptures underwent dramatic restorations; Clytie's figure was subtly accentuated, and the Discobolus received a head from a different statue entirely. These interventions would raise eyebrows by today's conservation standards but were commonplace during his era.
In 1791, Townley's influence extended to the halls of the British Museum, the country's first national public museum, where he served as a trustee. Upon his death in 1805, his prized antiquities found a new home in the museum, purchased for the substantial sum of twenty thousand pounds. A gallery dedicated to his collection opened three years later, solidifying his legacy as a patron of the ancient world.
However, Townley's collection would soon be eclipsed by a breathtaking new acquisition. By 1810, London's art enthusiasts thronged to a humble Mayfair shed to experience a different set of ancient sculptures. Removed from Greece's iconic Parthenon under the controversial direction of Lord Elgin, Britain's Ottoman ambassador, these weathered marbles stirred powerful emotions. The artist Benjamin Robert Haydon was profoundly moved, proclaiming their potential to revitalize the stagnant state of European art.
The Elgin Marbles: A Contested Treasure
Lord Elgin, a Scottish nobleman decades younger than Townley, embarked on a mission to extract and transport the Parthenon marbles to Britain—an ambitious project spanning over ten years. Unlike Townley's acquisition of Roman treasures, Elgin's actions were propelled by a sense of urgency fueled by the belief that Greece, then under Ottoman rule, could not adequately protect its cultural heritage. While he initially envisioned the marbles adorning his ancestral home, financial challenges ultimately led to their sale to the British Museum in 1816. Even at the reduced price of thirty-five thousand pounds (still a significant sum exceeding Townley's collection), the renowned sculptor Joseph Nollekens proclaimed their superior beauty.
The Elgin Marbles Controversy: From National Treasure to Diplomatic Dispute
The arrival of the Elgin Marbles, as they became known, dramatically shifted the landscape of antiquarian appreciation in Britain. Their exquisite craftsmanship and undeniable connection to ancient Greece eclipsed the Roman statuary popularized by collectors like Townley. Moreover, the decision to display the fragmented marbles unrestored signaled a new approach valuing authenticity over idealized perfection. Despite its well-intentioned beginnings, the acquisition proved controversial from the outset, with critics like the poet Lord Byron condemning the removal of the sculptures from the Acropolis as an act of vandalism. Yet, their significance was undeniable and their display in a purpose-built gallery at the British Museum cemented their status as a national treasure.
Greece gained independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1830, soon launching an appeal for the return of the sculptures. This marked the beginning of a protracted diplomatic dispute that continues to rage today, with the British Museum steadfastly refusing Greek requests for repatriation. Over time, the reputation of Townley's collection declined. His once-treasured marbles were relegated to less prestigious spaces, their gallery demolished in 1841 during a museum expansion. Smaller items like cameos and intaglios disappeared into storage, many lacking proper documentation. This neglect set the stage for a crisis that would rock the British Museum centuries later.
Image Credit - Regency History
The British Museum's Moment of Reckoning
In recent years, the British Museum has been thrust into a storm of controversy, facing scrutiny on two fronts, both rooted in the interwoven legacies of Townley and Elgin. News broke in 2022 of secret talks between the museum's chair, George Osborne, and Greece's Prime Minister, Kyriakos Mitsotakis, hinting at a potential deal allowing the Parthenon Sculptures to return to Greece in some form. These discussions ignited fierce debate, with many Britons long favoring a resolution to the diplomatic stalemate while others decried the notion as an unacceptable affront.
Then, another bombshell followed. The museum was shaken by revelations that hundreds of objects, including cameos and intaglios once owned by Townley, had been stolen and sold over many years, seemingly by a member of the museum's own curatorial staff. The news headlines were sensational, some even likening the crime to a thrilling heist. It's important to note that in archaeology, the term "gem" typically refers to engraved semi-precious stones or objects crafted from glass, not costly diamonds or rubies. Nevertheless, scholars like Martin Henig of the University of Oxford attest to the immense value these treasures hold. Their significance rests in the insights they offer about ancient beliefs, practices, and artistic expression.
Ethical Dilemmas at the British Museum: Cultural Guardians or Historical Thieves?
Both the Townley thefts and the Elgin discussions inevitably placed the British Museum under intense scrutiny. The museum's collection exceeds eight million artifacts, primarily acquired during Britain's imperial reign, raising complex ethical questions. It's not just classical sculptures that fill its halls. Chinese ceramics, Assyrian wall panels, Anglo-Saxon weapons, and the Rosetta Stone all tell the story of a global empire, presenting a multitude of perspectives and potential for conflicting narratives. Alongside institutions like New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, the British Museum faces calls for restitution from places like Benin, Nigeria (looted bronzes), and Ethiopia (sacred artifacts).
The Townley thefts were made possible by incomplete or nonexistent records for numerous objects, exposing a disturbing lack of accountability on the part of an institution that often portrays itself as an unimpeachable guardian of history. For some, the irony was inescapable: a museum long accused of cultural theft became the victim of theft itself. The scandal even became fodder for British humorists, with the winning joke submission in a year-end contest mocking the museum's display of a stolen Christmas cake.
An Unlikely Detective and a Painful Investigation
The British Museum's painful reckoning might not have occurred without Ittai Gradel, a Danish antiquities dealer and collector. Gradel doesn't fit the stereotype of the treasure-seeking archaeologist. A scholar with academic stints in Denmark and the UK, he combines deep knowledge with an eye for a bargain. His preferred hunting grounds are not ancient excavation sites but eBay, where he searches for overlooked and misidentified treasures.
A few years ago, a German auction house offered a group of 19th and 20th-century cameos for sale. Gradel's sharp eye immediately spotted what he suspected: an ancient Roman cameo of Germanicus Caesar, described by the renowned 18th-century scholar Johann Winckelmann as one of the finest examples in existence. Somehow, this masterpiece had vanished without a trace for two centuries. "What I am looking out for is the mistakes, and the stupidity, of other dealers and auction houses," Gradel told me. "That is where the bargains are."
A decade earlier, Gradel had been approached by a dealer offering a reserve of glass and stone gems, purported to come from an estate sale in the north of England. He bought almost three hundred over the years, assuming they may have once belonged to the aristocratic Howard family of Castle Howard fame. His hunch was that the gems less valuable than those sold to the British Museum in the past might have been dispersed at the time.
Ebay Mysteries: Connecting the Dots on Ancient Gems
Gradel sent inquiries to curators at the British Museum about a possible Howard link, to no avail. Meanwhile, more of these gems kept emerging from the same dealer. The supply seemed strangely inexhaustible until 2011, when it finally dried up, and Gradel was told the elderly seller, Paul Higgins, had passed away.
A short time later, remarkably similar gems began appearing on eBay. Curious about their origin, Gradel discovered the seller claimed to have inherited them from his grandfather, Frank Nicholls, an antique shop owner who'd died in 1953. Gradel checked records and the timeline seemed plausible, except Nicholls had actually died in 1952—a minor detail easily attributable to a family member's faulty memory. However, this eBay seller naming 'Paul Higgins' stirred a sense of unease. Gradel confronted the seller about the connection to the previous Paul Higgins, only to receive the reply, "He's no relation of mine. But I agree it's an odd coincidence."
Some gems were priced suspiciously low, leading Gradel to occasionally enlighten the seller about their true value. He felt compelled to offer more for a third-century BC ring after realizing, based on the seller's photo, that it was not a fake as initially suspected. "It was jolly decent of me," Gradel explained, "but also because I wanted to be in his good books. If he had more items ... I would like for him to come to me first."
Museum Mysteries Unfold: The Unveiling of Missing Gems
Gradel's purchase of a cast-glass gem once owned by Charles Townley ignited a flicker of recognition. He was certain the museum should own this object but assumed it was disposed of long ago. The eBay seller's interactions became more baffling: offering gems seemingly identical to those from his late grandfather's shop, then claiming they were purchased at a junk shop. While not impossible, the coincidences piled up. The inconsistent descriptions were also puzzling; some gems were correctly identified as ancient, others not. Gradel started to suspect the seller was hiding something.
Then, in 2016, something even stranger happened. The seller listed a fragment of an onyx cameo featuring a young woman alongside Priapus, the god of fertility. Gradel instantly recognized it from a 1926 British Museum catalog of engraved gems and cameos. While absent from the museum's website, Gradel still believed the seller might be acting in good faith, unaware that this object was stolen decades earlier. But after an attempted purchase fell through when the seller's sister allegedly refused to part with the piece, Gradel's suspicions deepened.
Exposing the Scandal
In May 2020, Gradel made a startling discovery while browsing the British Museum's website— a photograph of the very same Priapus cameo fragment. The museum's photo, however, showed the cameo with a gold mount that had since been removed. There was no denying it—the provenance story was a lie. Gradel realized he'd been dealing with a thief all along, and likely a professional one with intricate knowledge of the museum's collection. Reviewing his records, the name on his most recent PayPal receipt from 2018 caught his eye: Peter Higgs. After a phone conversation with a UK colleague, Gradel's initial confusion turned to horror. He was told, "You do realize, don't you, that that's the name of a curator at the British Museum?" The full gravity of the situation became chillingly clear.
Gradel, torn between anger and a sense of vindication, knew he had to act. He feared being branded a profiteering dealer seeking a reward, potentially undermining any findings. With this in mind, he contacted a Danish journalist, who then approached the British Museum on behalf of an anonymous source. The museum initially responded with a commitment to investigate any possible thefts.
Museum Heist Unveiled: The British Museum's Artifacts Scandal and Legal Fallout
On June 2, 2021, Gradel visited the museum, armed with a copy of the 1926 catalog and a folder filled with eBay screenshots. While the curator he met with seemed receptive, the museum later dismissed his information, suggesting no cause for concern. Frustrated, Gradel contacted the journalist again. This time, the British Museum issued a terse statement acknowledging an "ongoing investigation" into the possible theft of a small number of objects.
In early 2022, police raided a property in the south of England, arresting a sixty-year-old man—Peter Higgs. Court documents revealed charges related to thirteen stolen objects, including rings set with intaglios, a brooch featuring the god Pan, and a silver statuette. They were all acquired by Townley in Italy and purchased from his heir in 1814. Many had never even been on public display. Upon searching Higgs's home, police discovered over four hundred stolen gems and coins, although not all were from the Townley collection. It's believed that Higgs carried out these thefts over at least fifteen years.
The British Museum Scandal: Internal Theft, Legal Quagmires, and Reputation at Stake
Higgs, a quiet and unassuming man, had worked in the museum's antiquities department for thirty-eight years and was even a co-author on several scholarly publications. In 2020, he resigned after being confronted about inconsistencies in his research records. The museum, already under scrutiny for missing artifacts, had no inkling of large-scale theft by an employee. Sadly, in December 2022, Higgs took his own life.
The British Museum has refused to release a complete list of stolen objects or their disappearance dates, citing concerns about encouraging further thefts. Martin Henig, the Oxford scholar, calls this stance "disgusting" and believes a full accounting is necessary. He fears the damage to the museum's reputation is already irreparable. Higgs likely intended to sell the stolen items through a third party. A 2019 request to visit the coin-and-medal department (where many more Townley gems are stored) was declined – a decision that seems hauntingly prescient in retrospect. Uncertainty also surrounds which of Gradel's eBay purchases may be stolen merchandise. Legally, he bears the responsibility as the buyer to verify the seller's good title to the objects.
A Legacy of Theft and a Question of Restitution
The British Museum has declined to comment on these matters during the ongoing criminal investigation. However, some believe the final tally of stolen objects could reach into the thousands, making this the worst security breach the museum has ever faced. A government-ordered audit revealed severe shortcomings in record-keeping, with many artifacts only documented in ancient handwritten ledgers. These are now being digitized to improve accessibility.
Cases of curators as thieves are not unheard of. In the 1970s, a senior curator at the Met in New York allegedly made copies of figurines, sold the fakes, and profited handsomely until the statute of limitations ended prosecution. The Higgs case may be the first of its kind where online auction sites were exploited for selling stolen artifacts, highlighting the dangers of anonymity in the digital age.
The Townley thefts force the British Museum to confront the unsettling truth about its origins. Accusations of reluctance to acknowledge the dubious circumstances surrounding many acquisitions –including the Parthenon Marbles and Benin Bronzes –have plagued the museum for years. "Britain never really came to terms with its imperial past," reflects Ahdaf Soueif, an Egyptian-born novelist and trustee of the British Museum. She speaks of the museum as "an imperial collection" and believes the time for apologies and reparations is long overdue. It seems the British Museum can no longer avoid this reckoning.
The British Museum's Uncertain Future
The scandal surrounding the Townley thefts has exposed the British Museum's underlying tension between preserving its past and embracing a future where colonial-era justifications for its collection no longer hold water. The global push to decolonize museums and repatriate objects acquired under questionable circumstances poses complex challenges. Who ultimately deserves to be the guardian of cultural heritage? What role do museums play in shaping historical narratives? These crucial questions force the British Museum to confront uncomfortable truths about its legacy.
The Greek government's relentless campaign for the return of the Parthenon sculptures has garnered increasing international support. While the notion of splitting the collection between Athens and London has been floated in recent negotiations, finding a mutually agreeable solution remains elusive. The debate transcends the marble statues themselves, becoming a potent symbol of contested ownership and cultural identity in a post-colonial world.
The Ethics of Repatriation: Balancing Heritage and Universalism in Museums
Museums face mounting pressure to collaborate with nations and communities whose cultural heritage they hold, rather than operating as sole arbiters of history and value. However, the potential for large-scale restitution raises logistical and ethical concerns. Some question whether all source nations have the necessary infrastructure and resources to properly care for repatriated artifacts. Others argue that breaking up collections for the sake of nationalistic agendas risks undermining the very premise of a universal museum, a concept at the core of the British Museum's founding mission.
The Townley thefts highlight the museum's failure to fully protect the objects entrusted to its care – a problem not unique to this institution. Many museums worldwide grapple with incomplete records and undocumented artifacts, making it difficult to determine provenance and identify potential thefts. Such shortcomings call for greater transparency, comprehensive digitization of records, and increased collaboration across institutions and national borders.
Conclusion
In an era of heightened consciousness about the origins of museum collections, the British Museum must decide what form its self-examination will take. Many scholars and advocates suggest a full public disclosure of the Townley thefts is essential to restoring trust and regaining credibility. Furthermore, addressing the museum's overall complicity in colonialism seems unavoidable, prompting the reevaluation of its mission and its very reason for being.
The British Museum, like similar institutions founded during eras of empire, was designed to be a repository for a vast range of objects reflecting humanity's cultural and artistic achievements. Its unparalleled collection was assembled at a time when moral considerations about acquisition methods were conveniently overlooked. Today, holding onto treasures gained through exploitation is morally indefensible.
Acknowledging the unsavory aspects of the museum's origins does not diminish the inherent value of the objects themselves or their potential to educate and inspire. But it shifts the framework through which they are presented and understood. Context, provenance, and the stories behind the artifacts become just as important as the objects themselves. This approach requires a radical rethinking of traditional exhibit design and greater involvement of stakeholders from source nations, including descendant communities.
The British Museum's future may lie in embracing a role as a global forum for cross-cultural dialogue and collaboration rather than a colonial-era trophy room. Sharing authority, facilitating open and honest discussion about contentious histories, and possibly returning some objects, are all potential paths forward. It's a challenging transition, but one that could reshape the British Museum into a symbol not of imperial conquest, but of global understanding and respect for the complex layers of human history.
