Free The Lost Painting by Jonathan Harr Page A

covered every surface. The smoke from Correale’s cigars already hung thickly in the air. Both the art historian Rosalia Varoli and Paola Sannucci, the restorer, awaited the report from Recanati.
    Correale wanted to know all the details about the archive and the Marchesa. Francesca and Laura took turns telling him, and he laughed and clapped his hands and swore delightedly. Rosalia Varoli understood immediately the importance of the payments and the dates. These findings, she said, would create a huge stir in the art world. For years scholars had been debating and disagreeing about the precise dates of Caravaggio’s early paintings, and now they had indisputable evidence for at least two of them,
The Taking of Christ
and
The Supper at Emmaus.
    Correale, however, grew a little perturbed. “So, then,” he said, “there was no specific payment for the
St. John
?”
    “We couldn’t find anything in Ciriaco’s account book,” said Laura.
    “Are you certain?” asked Correale. “Could you have missed it?”
    “Well, it’s possible, but I don’t think we did. We looked carefully.”
    “But in this basement with such terrible lighting! And you were there for such a short time!”
    “We need to go back. There are many other things to look at, but we wanted to show you what we’d found as soon as possible.”
    “Of course, of course!” exclaimed Correale. “You did an excellent job, but we have to check again to make certain.”
    They discussed the two payments of sixty and twenty-five scudi that Ciriaco had made to Caravaggio without specifying the reason. Rosalia Varoli speculated that one of the sums—the twenty-five scudi—might have been for the
St. John,
and the sixty scudi for another unknown painting, perhaps
The Incredulity of St. Thomas,
which Baglione claimed that Ciriaco had owned. Correale acknowledged this possibility. A pity that history could not be more precise. He would have preferred to have an explicit citation for the
St. John.
    But he was only mildly disappointed, and he quickly got over it. The discoveries in the Recanati archive, he understood, had become the most important aspect of his
St. John
project. “Che colpo tremendo!” he exclaimed at the end of the evening, beaming at the two young women. “I didn’t expect that you would find something this important.”
    And then Correale said, “Of course, we must keep this absolutely secret. No one else must know about it until the exhibition. It will come as a revelation!”
    Both Francesca and Laura thought at that instant about Professor Calvesi. They hadn’t yet spoken to Calvesi, and neither was about to mention just then their efforts to contact the professor.
    After they left Correale’s apartment that night, they discussed the dilemma.
    “I still think we ought to tell Calvesi,” said Francesca.
    “Correale will be furious if he finds out,” replied Laura.
    “But Calvesi is our professor; we owe it to him. And he’s writing his book about Caravaggio—he should have this information. Correale will see that we had an obligation.” Francesca paused for a moment, and then added: “I don’t think Correale will be that angry.”
    “I think he will.”
    11
    F RANCESCA MADE ANOTHER ATTEMPT TO GET IN TOUCH WITH Calvesi. She called his house, and this time the message machine worked. She spoke to the machine, trying to keep her message brief. The moment she uttered Caravaggio’s name in connection with the Recanati payments, she heard the phone at the other end being picked up and Calvesi’s voice.
    “Payments to Caravaggio?” Calvesi said.
    “Yes,” replied Francesca. “I thought you’d want to know.”
    “Who is this, please?” Calvesi asked her.
    Francesca explained: one of his graduate students.
    “Ah, yes, Francesca! Of course,” said Calvesi. “Certainly I want to know about this. You must come over as soon as possible. This afternoon?”
    Francesca and Laura met in the Campo dei Fiori half an hour before