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art forgery,Diamonds,Fabrizio Valguarnera,Italy,Manuel Alvares Carapeto,money laundering,Paintings,Portugal,Spain,theft
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art forgery,Diamonds,Fabrizio Valguarnera,Italy,Manuel Alvares Carapeto,money laundering,Paintings,Portugal,Spain,theft
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Crimes, Canvases and Money Laundering: It's an older (and more complicated) crime than many think
Art is a distinctive asset class, often defined by subjective valuations and discreet sales. It is also traded in markets where the identities of the "ultimate beneficial owner" can be concealed via shell companies and proxy buyers, making its sale's venues ideal for disguising a range of problematic transactions. This inherent opacity makes art an appealing medium for laundering the proceeds of crime, as the anonymity of its sales transactions can obscure not only the identities of buyers and sellers but also how the purchaser's capital has been derived.
While some might view money laundering through art as a contemporary misuse of the art and antiquities markets, the practice is far from a new phenomenon. In fact, it dates back centuries as this article will discuss.
History gives us some compelling examples of how art and architecture have been leveraged in the past as a tool for wealth laundering.
While commissioning art is not inherently criminal, the Renaissance saw a diverse class of patrons—from influential nobles to emerging merchants and bankers—many of whom facilitated artistic endeavours in order to shape and define their legacies. Likewise, some of these same patrons, accumulated at least a portion of their fortunes through morally or legally questionable means, including influence peddling, extortion, usury, smuggling, and even in some cases, theft.
As their fortunes flourished, Renaissance patrons looked beyond mere aesthetic enjoyment, leveraging their wealth as a powerful tool to secure prestige, shape influence, and cement legacies. Much like the museum benefactors of today, the period's philanthropic commissions by the wealthy memorialised their places in their communities, presenting them as paragons of prosperity, beauty, and cultural achievement.
Through these investments, Renaissance patrons brought to life some of the era’s most iconic masterpieces—magnificent architectural achievements, from grand libraries to stunning churches, as well as sculptures, altarpieces, and paintings. Beyond enriching their communities with artistic and cultural treasures, patron endeavours could also serve a strategic purpose: rehabilitating the benefactor’s public image and diverting attention from the questionable origins of their wealth. As such, lavish support of the arts became a powerful form of social currency, cementing a patron's prestige, earning them admiration and loyalty, as well as bolstering their political and religious influence.
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| The French Ambassador's Arrival in Venice (1726-1727) by Canaletto |
At the crossroads of East and West, the merchants of Venice profited greatly from smuggling, and, later, by evading embargoes. Earlier, during the Fourth Crusade, the city-state's ships conducted military campaigns that led to the sack and plunder of Constantinople, which provided vibrant embellishments to the city's Basilica di San Marco. By the Renaissance period, this maritime republic had made its mark as the dominant force in Mediterranean commerce and benefited substantially from trade with the Islamic world, including the Ottoman Empire and Mamluk Sultanate, both of which provided Venetians with all manner of luxury goods.
Trade with Islamic states was so profitable that the Venetians were known to intentionally ignore papacy-imposed embargoes on commerce with Muslims, which the Catholic church deemed adversaries of Christendom. Rather than comply wholeheartedly with the church's restrictions, Venice pursued pragmatic defiance, often negotiating exemptions, or sometimes more simply, simply paying fines, chalking up the latter as a justifiable cost of doing business.
In some cases, Venetian authorities openly turned a blind eye to illicit trade, seeing it as it as an indispensable pillar of their thriving economy. As a result, this smuggler-backed commerce played a critical role in solidifying the Venetian gold ducat as the preferred currency for seafaring merchants across the Mediterranean. And with this steady influx of wealth, the city's patrons funnelled their coin into grand artistic commissions which furthered artistic competitiveness from artists such as Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese, each of whom helped define Venice’s cultural legacy as a flourishing hub of not just power, and commerce, but also great art.
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| Lorenzo the Magnificent receives the tribute of the ambassadors by Giorgio Vasari |
The Medici's financial prosperity also resulted in the commission of grand civic spaces including the now famous palace built on the banks of the River Arno, designed by the multitalented artist Giorgio Vasari to unite the uffici (offices) of the city's thirteen magistrates under one roof. Later, as the House of Medici's fortunes waned, the palazzo would become home not just to the Medici art collection, but one of Europe's first modern museums, the Galleria degli Uffizi.
When a coin in the coffer rings,
A soul from purgatory springs.
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| Pope Julius II orders the works of Vatican and Saint-Peter basilica, 1827 by Horace Vernet |
Farther south in Rome, when Pope Julius II laid the cornerstone for his grand basilica over the burial place of St. Peter, he too resorted to unique funding schemes. One of which was the financing of his new construction project through Jubilee indulgences.
The Catholic Church taught that sin has a dual consequence: both guilt and temporal punishment. When an individual committed a sin, they offended god and disrupted their relationship with him, thus incurring guilt. Said guilt could be addressed through the sacrament of confession (also called reconciliation), where the sinner could receive absolution. Through this process, the guilt of the sin was forgiven, and the sinner could be reconciled with God.
The Church however also held that sin causes lingering effects, often described as temporal punishment. This refers to the spiritual or moral consequences of sin that remain even after absolution. Temporal punishment in the Renaissance was viewed as a necessary process of purification, where the repenter could absolve him or herself, on earth, or in purgatory, through acts of penance or almsgiving. And in the case of the upcoming celebratory Jubilee, charitable donations which benefited the papal godfather's new St. Peter's Basilica.
In European art history, one of the boldest examples of art intersecting with unsavoury dealings is the outlandish escapades of Fabrizio Valguarnera.
Valguarnera was a Sicilian nobleman from a once-prominent Palermo family, which had included the barons of Godrano. His daring criminal scheme emerged within the vibrant and rapidly expanding 17th-century art market—a reflection of the sweeping societal and economic changes which were reshaping Western Europe during the Baroque era.
His manipulation of purchase records, by employing a fabricated identity to mask his role as the buyer, and his commissioning of both original artworks and copies with illicitly obtained funds, underscores the timeless appeal of art as a tool for disguising the origins of "dirty money," a place where it could be transformed into seemingly legitimate wealth.
Beneath the façade of Valguarnera's declining familial pedigree, he carefully cultivated the image of a sophisticated man-about-town. Draped in the well-tailored veneer of noble respectability, he understood that his aristocratic lineage, however diminished, could grant him access to influential circles and thereby open doors otherwise closed to the lessor bred.
From 1628 to 1629, after leaving behind his wife in Sicily, he followed his uncle Mariano, the chaplain to King Philip IV to Spain. Arriving to Madrid during the Spanish Golden Age, Fabrizio set his sights on becoming the court's physician, supporting himself along the way as art dealer and by initially selling four Italian artworks that he had brought with him from Palermo.
During his sojourn in Spain, Valguarnera befriended influential artists and boasted that he had cured (albeit unsuccessfully) Peter Paul Rubens' gout, during the Flemish artist's stay in the capital. His close relationship and business transactions with Rubens are documented in the grandiloquent letters the Baroque period diplomat wrote to him. In one of these Rubens speaks of the Sicilian's seemingly forgotten commission for the not yet completed painting "Adoration of the Magi." In that missive the painter signs off adoringly, referring to himself as Fabrizio's "most affectionate servant."
But Valguarnera was not your archetypal 17th-century art patron, casually apportioning some of his fortune on grand commissions which showcased his religious, political, or social ambitions. As fate would have it, he had been born into a noble family of more modest means, and failing to succeed at his quest to become physician to the Spanish Court, had come to rely on his art dealing to keep pace with those around him.
But in a twist straight out of a TV crime series Valguarnera did more than simply buy and sell paintings.
In the summer of 1629 Valguarnera's Portuguese friend, Manuel Alvarez Carapeto, had been hired as a cashier for a syndicate of Iberian and Flemish merchants. In this role, the gentleman was tasked with receiving and securing an important incoming shipment of rough diamonds belonging to the wealthy buyers which was scheduled to arrive from the East Indies aboard a vessel docking at the Port of Lisbon.
Not for the faint of heart, the highly volatile diamond trade during this period was volatile. Once the motor of Eurasian exchange, control of the flow of gem stones from India was no longer dominated by the Iberian crown.
Merchant consortiums, like the one which had hired Carapeto, had only recently overcome a 1627 embargo on diamonds coming from the fabled Golconda mines, north of Pitt's base in Madras. Known to Europeans since the time of Marco Polo, these mines —in the Godavari Delta— were then (still) the only known source of diamonds in the world.
To keep these diamonds flowing towards the insatiable European market, and at a profitable level, diamond merchants formed strategic relationships with highly placed traders who brokered powerful trade alliances with the backing of rich financiers. Anchored by the funding provided by these syndicates, these networks formed the colonial arteries of period's diamond commerce, hoovering-up rough stones directly from indigenous traders before, during, and after the embargo and bringing them to the heart of Europe.
Diamonds, (as well as other jewels) were transported from India to Portugal in small leather draw-string bags, called bulse. Light and discreet, the colorless gemstones were popular, not only for their value in jewellery, but because they were easily transportable, sometimes serving as a universal currency which was much lighter than gold and easier to conceal.
Pouches containing the gemstones could also be easily be smuggled, hidden in nondescript containers like those which carried spices, or even in the wooden heal of a shoe worn by a ship's passenger. Together with other contraband, smuggled diamond parcels could travel unregistered and arrive undeclared to the port in Lisbon, avoiding the payment of duties, a fact that in 1621 is even testified to by the records of Portuguese merchants.
After the Mughal embargo was lifted, to better secure their valuable cargo, diamonds could also be officially packed and marked with a cargo number, merchant's mark, and transport seals. These bags would then be entrusted for safety with the captain or ship's purser, along with the stone's bill of lading, locked away for the duration of the voyage.
Once the diamonds were delivered to their European purchasers, the raw stones would be sent to lapidaries who were just beginning to cut diamonds using the newly created techniques like the rose cut, inspired by the spiral of petals in a rose bud. With laskes and table stones falling out of fashion, this innovative technique enhanced the diamond's brilliance and scintillation, giving the stones a larger, yet lighter, surface area that maximised the stone's carat weight.
But even if fuelled by the period's insatiable demand for more glittering jewellery that looked good by candlelight, the merchant's diamond trade was filled with risk, including any number of risks from unpredictable land and maritime conditions, to piracy, and as was the case with this story, outright banditry.
Arriving to the port of Lisbon in October or November 1629, the consortium's shipment of rough and laske diamonds were picked up at the moored Iberian galleon in the harbour by Domenico Fernandez Vettorino from “Hebbas” and Martino Alfonso della Palma receiving agents for Balthasare and Ferdinand de Groote. The stones were then transported via a muleteer over the Pyrenees mountains, a formidable land barrier between Spain and Portugal.
Once the journey from Lisbon to Madrid was complete, the stones were to be received by a young Manuel Alvares Carapeto, acting as cashier for a banker named Mendez de Boito and the other diamond brokers. He was tasked with holding the shipment until the stones could be apportioned to each individual stockholder, based on that merchant's financial contribution.
Carapeto is recorded as having taken possession of thousands of diamonds. However, almost immediately, he vanished.
His mysterious disappearance was particularly enigmatic, as he left behind his young wife in the Spanish capital, a woman named Giovanna di Silva. Even so, her abandonment failed to evoke pity among the frantic merchants, and instead raised their suspicions. Had her husband, their emissary been ambushed? Or was it more likely that Giovanna's presence in Madrid was simply an alibi; a emotional ruse played out to imply that her husband had either abandoned her for the jewels, or had been set upon by thieves.
Believing that Carapeto and his newly abandoned wife had played a role in the larceny of their diamond cargo, the brokers approached Fabrizio Valguarnera, who was known to have a relationship with the couple and who maintained a relationship with Giovanna even after Manuel's sudden disappearance. The merchants offered the Sicilian a reward, hoping that through his intercession, Giovanna, or the missing husband, could be persuaded to hand back their stones, if he had skipped town, as they suspected.
On or around this period Manuel is said to have wrote to his friend, initially denying the theft and later admitted to it. But still the diamonds were not returned. Becoming increasingly frustrated by Valguarnera's seeming lack of progress, the merchants began to suspect that the cashier's art dealing friend, may have formed an alliance with Carapeto to keep the diamonds for themselves.
Turning to intimidation, the tradesmen had Valguarnera followed. They even went so far as to enlist enforcers, who confronted the nobleman, ambushing him one evening as he left Giovanna's house, in an attempt to extort him into revealing what he knew about the whereabouts of the stolen diamonds.
Following that incident Valguarnera too hightailed it, vanishing from Madrid in March 1630.
To find the fugitives, the merchants spent thousands of scudi, hiring private investigators to try and track the pair's movements in what would eventually grow into an international manhunt. Focusing primarily on Valguarnera, as they believed he would be more recognisable and therefore easier to spot, the trackers searched for him in locations they believed a Sicilan noble gentleman may have fled to, had he intended to lay low and escape the bounty hunters.
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| Tesoro del Mondo, 1598-1600 f. 7v Ars Preparatio Lapidum by Antonio Neri |
Instead, after vanishing from Madrid, Valguarnera travelled a circuitous route starting out in France, where he met up with the jewel thief Carapeto in March 1630 in the fortified city of Bayonne, in the Basque Country region of southwest France. From there the two travelled as a pair heading south, with stops in Toulouse, Lyon, Orange and Toulon.
By June 1630 Carapeto and Valguarnera had made it to Genova, though they remained in the city only briefly. Continuing farther south to Livorno, before pushing on to Naples, Fabrizio would later testify that his friend squandered the diamonds alla gagliarda or rapidly.
Upon reaching Naples in October of that year, Valguarnera sold nine diamonds to the second Principe di Conca, Giulio Cesare II di Capua, for eleven hundred scudi
and purchased two paintings worth two hundred and sixty scudi using another two diamonds worth three hundred scudi, accepting a medallion and vase for the change.
Unfortunately, historical records don't confirm when, or why, the two accomplices parted ways. After his later arrest, Valguarnera told the investigators that he sent Carapeto back to Spain with thirteen pouches of diamonds stored in a small trunk so that he could return them to the brokers, something that seems highly unlikely given the penalty for thievery in Spain during the period for a theft of this scale ranged from imprisonment, forced labor, branding, amputation or even death.
In any event, Valguarnera claimed that he lost contact with his cohort after receiving a final letter from him, sent from Genova. Tales of the period claim that as Carapeto's frivolous purchases, using the diamonds on "clothing and whores" caused friction between the accomplices, his partner in crime considered eliminating him through nefarious means in order to keep what remained of the stolen gems for himself. Urban lore goes so far as to claim that the religious Sicilian was ultimately decided against murdering his companion, when the Virgin Mary herself spoke to him during a dream and warning him that such a dastardly deed would damn his mortal soul.
What can be surmised is that at some point it simply made sense for the two men to distance themselves from one other. Being of higher standing, Fabrizio's noble background afforded him some cover allowing his spending to go less noticed, likewise, working as an art dealer, he could more easily convert the cache of larger diamonds into artistic currency. What we do know, from one of the last written documents recorded in this case, is that the pair likely remained at least tangentially on good terms, as Valguarnera's will and testament, written while he lay dying in prison, discussed sending funds to Careptos wife.
While on the lam, Valguarnera assumed the persona of Antonio Siciliano, buying and commissioning artworks using this not-so-original pseudonym. When settling on purchases with those of higher standing, as well as when commissioning original artworks or copies of preexisting paintings from established artists, he paid for his purchases using the cache of stolen diamonds, or a combination of diamonds and local currency.
Harder to convince, were several of the up and coming artists he approached for commissions. Leading more spartan lifestyles, the painters had little interest in being paid in gemstones they would find difficult and time consuming to convert. Or perhaps they simply saw through "Antonio's" too simple ruse and simply wanted to avoid being asked awkward questions about how they came to possess valuable gemstones from far away mines.
Eight or nine months after the fateful diamond heist, Valguarnera arrived to Rome and is reported to have settled down in the city sometime between November and December 1630. There, in 1631, he continued to close deals with artists and dealers and even went so far as to brazenly loan some of his new aquisitions to Don Matteo Catalano, the regent of the Roman church of Catalan Sicilians, for his June exhibition at Santa Maria di Costantinopoli.
But while Valguarnera was laundering the diamonds into painting purchases, playing man about town, the diamond merchants had lodged a formal theft complaint with the Governor of Madrid a month into his disappearance. This resulted in an arrest warrant being issued by the courts in Madrid. And despite having brokered his purchases and commissions using his assumed name, Valguarnera's shopping sprees and his payment method using precious stones had people talking.
Traced to a residence in Rome, on 12 July 1631 a complaint was registered with the Governor of Rome, filed in the names of: Balthasare and Ferdinando de Groote and one of the merchant investors, Paulo Sonnio, which outlining the theft of the gemstones and alleged that Valguarnera's international travels and artistic buying spree had been funded through the sale of the stolen diamonds.
The international merchant's request for arrest is intriguing as its execution in Rome prefigured a sort of informal letter rogatory, not unlike the international arrest warrants used between police agencies today. In their deposition, the merchant representatives offered a reward, and listed the shipment of diamonds stolen in detail stating they were pietre straordinarie.
Their complaint listed a total of 6,979 diamonds stolen from the consortium.
Some are detailed in t he complain as:
Bulse 1, one polished diamond, “una pietra grande puntaquadrata” “in rozzo” valued at more than twenty thousand ducats,
Bulse 2, nine.
Bulse 3, 4, and 5 were listed as come sopra, (as above), including one in which the diamonds are described as valued as quelati d'antique.
Bulse 6 contains 500 polished laske diamonds
the rest described as come sopra.
Their formal complaint also illustrates that a group of private businessmen, several countries away, could still hold powerful sway in another countries regardless of the fact that the person being sought was of Sicilian origin living in Rome. Documents in this case state that Valguarnera was arrested that same day the Spanish and Portuguese mens' filed their complaint in Rome, at a house he was sharing near the Monastery of S. Silvestro.
But by the time this formal complaint arrived in Rome most of the diamonds had been laundered, exchanged for paintings or sold onward to jewellers for other purchases used to buy paintings.
At Valguarnera's residence, officials found and subsequently seized an array of belongings, including a total of thirty-seven paintings, some of great value. Also seized were: a silver clock which had four faces covered with red and gold ceramic; a silver ink-pot, etched with the coat of arms of the Valguarnera family; a box containing medallions of carnelian and cameos; a small box with three rings set with diamonds; and two pawn tickets written for other items written out by Isaac Tedescho Hebreo.
Some curious items documented among Valguarnera's belongings include: "a little box, in a sack; a stone of a porcupine from India; and the bones (relics) of Saint Simeon the Prophet and Saint Andrew. The arresting party also seized Valguarnera supply of lapis lazuli which he had in both stone and powder form. Ground and washed, this rare naturally occurring pigment was as expensive as gold and favoured by artists of the period to create ultramarine blue.
Due to the legal complexities of papal power, Valguarnera trial was a speedy one, expeditiously starting the very next day in Rome.
Before, during, and after his trial, the art dealer was confined to the pontifical prison, Tor di Nona, a medieval stronghold of the Orsini family, located across from Castel Sant'Angelo. A dank and dire place, where prisoners ranged from ordinary criminals and heretics of the period to famous individuals including Benevenuto Cellini (himself charged with having stolen jewels from the papal treasury), Caravaggio, and Giordano Bruno.
It was in this very court, 19 years earlier, a year after her rape, that Artemisia was brought to face her assulter, Agostino Tassi, an artist Valguarnera later had interactions with. We know by that case, that under the judge's supervision, the female artist was tortured using the sibille (cords wrapped around the fingers and pulled tight) during her testimony, so one can assume that Fabrizio's interrogation, as well as his short-lived time in the prison's dungeons, were equally unsavoury.
Appearing in court on 13 July 1631 and throughout the summer as his trial progressed, Valguarnera initially insisted that he had not laundered someone else's diamonds and that his purchases had to do with his passion for paintings, even as his surely under extreme duress confessions directly contradicted his earlier documented actions. He told his inquisitors fanciful stories including one where he said he purchased eighteen diamonds from an old Spaniard, who dressed in greenish cloth and lived on via Frattina, paying this unidentifiable man seven hundred scudi in doppie, and again on a separate occasion a sack of embroidery pearls for an additional diamond.
Valguarnera told investigators he took this group of diamonds to Alessandro Moretti, a lapidarist, returning later with another twenty-six carat diamond he claimed belonged to a prince in Naples. In another instance he claimed to have pawned one diamond, as well as rubies and an emerald that he purchased in Livorno from Antonio Piscatore, the owner of a galleon. When Moretti, the diamond cutter, appeared in court, he confirmed several of the stories as being those Valguarnera had also told him.
Witnesses at Valguarnera's trial amounted to "Who's Who" of celebrated artists in residence in Rome.
Documents from Valguarnera trial, include statements from art dealers and some of the painters he purchased works directly from, including Giovanni Lanfranco (1582 - 1647), Alessandro Turchi (1578-1649), and Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665). Each had half-finished artworks that they swiftly completed upon receiving lucrative commissions from the nobleman. Turchi, also known as Orbetto, testified that Valguarnera had visited his workshop and commissioned Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, to be painted on a copper plate supplied by the client for the sum of two hundred scudi.
The French artist Poussin reported that he too had refused the Sicilian's diamonds as payment, telling the court that he had demanded instead to be paid in scudi, as had fellow French artist Valentin de Boulogne, who touched up a painting, The Judgment of Solomon which the dealer had purchased from another collector/dealer in 1631.
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| The Judgment of Solomon by Valentin de Boulogne |
Valguarnera visited Poussin's studio at the end of 1630 and at the his request, the Frenchman produced two original paintings, The Kingdom of Flora for ninety scudi, and a painting the artist called Il miracolo dell'Arca nel tempio di Agone, which is based on a story from the biblical Book of Samuel. An extremely macabre subject for an easel painting, and perhaps a reflection of the contemporary experience of the bubonic plague outbreak which ravaged Italy from 1629 to 1631, this second painting depicts the miracle of the ark in the temple of Agone, and is now known as The Plague of Ashdod.
This painting is based on the Old Testament account of an epidemic affecting the Philistines, as punishment for their destruction of the sacred Ark of the Covenant and for worshiping a false idol. Paid for by Valguarnera in coin after it was completed, in February or March 1631, this dramatic painting now hangs in the the Musée du Louvre.
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Perhaps slyly, while Poussin’s work was not yet complete, Valguarnera almost immediately commissioned a second, almost direct copy of the the French painter's Plague, this time from a talented Roman copiest named Angelo Caroselli. Completed with remarkable speed, just days before his arrest, Caroselli's work closely replicates Poussin’s narrative, with minor changes in the background.
It is unclear if the art dealer intended to utilise the second artwork as a forgery of the first, or if Valguarnera was simply impressed with the depiction of the suffering masses which so recently and aptly mirrored recent plague events. In either case, Caroselli's version of the painting now hangs in the National Gallery in London and carries the modified titled After Poussin.
Interesting, from a documentation standpoint, Valguarnera's confiscated art assets were meticulously recorded, showing transactions involving 37 paintings, mostly works by living artists, including Pietro da Cortona who sold him a copy of his famous Il Ratto delle Sabine which now hangs in Rome's Musei Capitolini for one hundred and forty scudi and a diamond worth forty scudi.
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| Il Ratto delle Sabine by Pietro da Cortona |
Each artwork is described by its pictorial theme and size, listed as large, medium or small and demonstrates that the Sicilian purchased some paintings directly from their artist creators and others, like those by Italian Renaissance painters Correggio and Titian and early-Baroque artists Ludovico Carracci and Giovanni Lanfranco through dealers he knew like Ferrante Carlo, a member of the Borghese family, and Giovanni Stefano Roccatagliata. When the haggling was complete, the latter were paid, sometimes in instalments, in stolen diamonds or jewellery pieces.
But despite well documented details on the paintings Valguarnera purchased, the artists who created them and the sellers of these artworks, little is known about where most of the thousands of gemstones went. Some have speculated that any evidence directly tying the Sicilian to the merchant jewel heist may have been intentionally hidden by Valguarnera while he was still on the lam, to avoid implicating himself to the theft.
Others have hypothesised that the diamonds may have simply been liquidated into currency, or if found in Valguarnera's Rome residence, were made to disappear by those who had control over the incarcerated dealer at Tor di Nona in hopes of bribing his way out of custody, or used as payment towards improved prison conditions. Possibilities documented in the records of other inmates held at the same prison.
The last entry in relation to Valguarnera's trial is dated 7 September 1631. A little less than four months later, he died in prison on 2 January 1632. An entry on his incarceration record reads: "This morning D. Fabritio Valguarnera died, who found himself prisoner in Tordinona on the charge of the theft of diamonds after having been sick with fever many days."
Little mention is made of how most of Valguarnera's valuable possessions were disbursed after his death. We do know that suffering from what may have been malarial fever, he dictated his will on Christmas day.
In this document, the money laundering art dealer left Pope Urban VIII a cross in precious wood and the stone called Indian porcupine. He also instructed his wife to build a chapel in the church of San Domenico or Maria del Carmine in Palermo, implying some wealth remained with or was sent to his widow, and lastly, he asked that 3000 scudi be sent to Manuel Alvarez Carapeto.
When Peter Paul Rubens's father in law, died in 1643 he left a considerable quantity of jewellery as well as a great many single diamonds, some polished and some rough. One has to wonder if some of these passed through our Sicilian's hands.
Leaving behind a legacy of mystery even after he died, one thing is clear, Valguarnera's exploits reveal how art, even in its golden age, could be both a canvas for human creativity and a mirror reflecting society’s darker impulses. And these same vulnerabilities—manipulated provenance, possible forgery, and laundered funds and suspect transactions —persist in the art market today.
By: Lynda Albertson
NB: For those who want to learn more about the Fabrizio Valguarnera arrest and trial, records on this incident are preserved in the Archivio di Stato, Rome ((cf. Appendix, pp. 269-84 ). Events discussed in this blogpost, including the chain of events immediately following of the crime and the events leading up to court action in Rome are taken from the initial complaint of 12 July (iii3r-iii6v) and the formal accusation of 6 August (ii97r-ii98v).
