A Masterpiece of Revenge by J.J. Fiechter Read Free Book Online

masterpieces transport you inside their world. Not this one. There were, moreover, some suspicious-looking cracks.
    The instant I can tell something is a copy I am repelled, forced by a deep feeling of revulsion to turn away from the work. I detest fakery in all of its forms. If I am sure of my opinion, I will not withhold it. I am one of the few in my field to be so blunt, I believe. It is a matter of integrity. I find it extraordinary that others can be so casual about the truth.
    I remember a conversation I had with a historian, a renowned academic, who, among other things, was extremely tolerant.
    â€œReally, Charles,” he said to me once. “Think about it for a moment. Where does creation start? Picasso himself said that the light of a painting always gives rise to another painting. And Pascal teased Montaigne years after Montaigne’s death about how much he borrowed from Plutarch. Aren’t we all plagiarists in some sense?”
    I asked him if all those wonderful turns of phrase I’d read in his last book were really his, or if he had “borrowed” them from some other source.
    The curator at the Young Museum was nearly in tears by the time I had finished rendering my judgment. I spent a good deal of time consoling him, then left for the airport. I was flying to Los Angeles to visit the celebrated Griffith Institute, which works closely with the Getty Conservation Institute in Marina del Rey and the Getty Museum in Malibu. Griffith was one of the few laboratories I was not familiar with that was devoted to pictorial study.
    The visit was very edifying. What remarkable progress has been made in the study of painting since Wilhelm Conrad Röntgen first X-rayed a canvas in 1895! Like all art historians, I am deeply appreciative of the gifts scientific analysis has given us. Machines see things the human eye cannot. By bringing invisible images to the surface, and revealing the stages of artistic creation — sketches, paint-overs, second thinking — photographic techniques, radiography, and microchemical analysis, to name a few, have been of indispensable help. I am the first to pay them homage.
    The Griffith was at the cutting edge of this kind of technology. The director, bursting with pride, showed me all his marvelous equipment. I told him how impressed I was by everything, which elated him.
    My words inspired him to take me into his confidence.
    â€œI have something remarkable to tell you. We are at this very moment in the process of analyzing a large work attributed to Claude Lorrain. You of all people must realize what this means. An unknown masterpiece!”
    This was stunning news indeed.
    â€œWhere is the painting from?” I managed.
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t say. All that I can tell you is that the first results were very, very positive. They came from the Oxford Institute.”
    Ah, yes. The Oxford Institute. I remembered meeting Jane Caldwell at a symposium a year earlier. A striking woman, though very emotional. The fame of her laboratory was growing. One of these days, I thought, I am going to have to go and pay it a visit.
    I told the Griffith director I was intrigued by the news, and would await further developments.

3
    M y trip to California had set the world to rights. On the plane taking me home to Paris, I relived each moment with Jean-Louis, who — to my delight — had told me he would be coming back to France at Christmas. That was a mere three months off. I would find the tree ornaments, I would shop for gifts. And I would work in peace — and with peace of mind.
    I took advantage of everything Air France’s first class had to offer — champagne, caviar, foie gras, Bordeaux. I had refound my taste for life, and the appetite followed.
    Relief reconnected me to my surroundings. Before, everything had left me feeling distracted or bored. Daily news seemed irrelevant. Now I could read the newspaper with gusto. It was all so