hours to go through everything and look for them. But the item he wanted most, which he would take with him, was the colonel’s laptop.
He found it easily.
THIRTEEN
MADRID, SEPTEMBER 7, 9:42 A.M.
H ere, my distinguished guests, is the object we’re looking for,” José Rivera, the museum curator, continued in Spanish. “ The Pietà of Malta . Let’s take a close look at the pilfered object.”
He passed around the table a series of identical files, one for each person present. Inside each, on the top page, was a color portrait of the object recently stolen. To a casual observer, it might have appeared to be a smaller and less refined version of Michelangelo’s majestic sculpture, The Pietà , as it was known to millions of art lovers and Christians around the world. Michelangelo’s masterpiece has remained at St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City to this day.
“ The Pietà ,” Rivera began, “is not just a single sculpture in Rome, but rather a singular subject in Christian art, normally depicting the Virgin Mary cradling the slain body of Jesus. As such, it is a particular form of the devotional theme of Our Lady of Sorrows. Any pietà depicts a scene from the Passion of Christ and is the thirteenth of the Stations of the Cross. When Christ and the Virgin are surrounded by other figures from the New Testament, the subject is strictly called a lamentation , although pietà is often used for this as well. The pietà—as an expression of faith and as an enterprise of religious art—gained popularity in Italy in the sixteenth century. Many German and Polish fifteenth-century examples in wood greatly emphasize Christ’s wounds and are seen as precursors to the genre. Woodcuts from Russia in the fourteen hundreds suggest a similar fascination with the form.”
Rivera paused. A trace of a smile crossed his face. “The most famous pietà, of course, is Michelangelo’s in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Michelangelo’s last work was another pietà, a different one, featuring not the Virgin Mary holding Christ, but rather Joseph of Arimathea.” He paused, then added, “Michelangelo carved Joseph’s face as a self-portrait. A final act of piety wherein the sculptor humbly placed himself in a biblical context.”
There was laughter around the room. Alex always enjoyed listening to an expert on anything.
“But what we are here today to discuss, however, is what is believed to be the definite origin of this genre of work. The Pietà of Malta . Please look at the top photograph I’ve presented to you. Five centuries ago Michelangelo gained inspiration for his greatest work from gazing for many hours upon the very sculpture that was stolen from us. The Pietà of Malta was held by the Vatican at the time, AD 1500, and would have been accessible to him. That is the treasure that disappeared from our museum. It goes without saying that our most prized pietà must be found and returned to the government of Spain and this museum as soon as possible.”
There was a rustling of documents around the room.
“I’m just curious,” Rivera continued as those in the room perused the files, “as to who here might have ever seen The Pietà of Malta before, directly in our museum. Or how many of you are even familiar with it?”
Only one hand went up in acknowledgment, that of Rizzo, the Roman. Rivera nodded to him.
“I’ve also seen the big one at the Vatican,” Rizzo said. “Does that count?”
“ En absoluto . Not in the slightest,” Rivera said with a sly smile.
In the photographs from the files was a small piece of artwork from antiquity. It was part sculpture in stone, part carving in wood. It was well worn from the centuries, but it was easy to distinguish what it represented.
“What you see before you,” Rivera said, “is the first sculptural lamentation in recorded history.”
The carving was that of Mary comforting the body of her slain son. The faces had eroded over the centuries, but the
He found it easily.
THIRTEEN
MADRID, SEPTEMBER 7, 9:42 A.M.
H ere, my distinguished guests, is the object we’re looking for,” José Rivera, the museum curator, continued in Spanish. “ The Pietà of Malta . Let’s take a close look at the pilfered object.”
He passed around the table a series of identical files, one for each person present. Inside each, on the top page, was a color portrait of the object recently stolen. To a casual observer, it might have appeared to be a smaller and less refined version of Michelangelo’s majestic sculpture, The Pietà , as it was known to millions of art lovers and Christians around the world. Michelangelo’s masterpiece has remained at St. Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City to this day.
“ The Pietà ,” Rivera began, “is not just a single sculpture in Rome, but rather a singular subject in Christian art, normally depicting the Virgin Mary cradling the slain body of Jesus. As such, it is a particular form of the devotional theme of Our Lady of Sorrows. Any pietà depicts a scene from the Passion of Christ and is the thirteenth of the Stations of the Cross. When Christ and the Virgin are surrounded by other figures from the New Testament, the subject is strictly called a lamentation , although pietà is often used for this as well. The pietà—as an expression of faith and as an enterprise of religious art—gained popularity in Italy in the sixteenth century. Many German and Polish fifteenth-century examples in wood greatly emphasize Christ’s wounds and are seen as precursors to the genre. Woodcuts from Russia in the fourteen hundreds suggest a similar fascination with the form.”
Rivera paused. A trace of a smile crossed his face. “The most famous pietà, of course, is Michelangelo’s in St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. Michelangelo’s last work was another pietà, a different one, featuring not the Virgin Mary holding Christ, but rather Joseph of Arimathea.” He paused, then added, “Michelangelo carved Joseph’s face as a self-portrait. A final act of piety wherein the sculptor humbly placed himself in a biblical context.”
There was laughter around the room. Alex always enjoyed listening to an expert on anything.
“But what we are here today to discuss, however, is what is believed to be the definite origin of this genre of work. The Pietà of Malta . Please look at the top photograph I’ve presented to you. Five centuries ago Michelangelo gained inspiration for his greatest work from gazing for many hours upon the very sculpture that was stolen from us. The Pietà of Malta was held by the Vatican at the time, AD 1500, and would have been accessible to him. That is the treasure that disappeared from our museum. It goes without saying that our most prized pietà must be found and returned to the government of Spain and this museum as soon as possible.”
There was a rustling of documents around the room.
“I’m just curious,” Rivera continued as those in the room perused the files, “as to who here might have ever seen The Pietà of Malta before, directly in our museum. Or how many of you are even familiar with it?”
Only one hand went up in acknowledgment, that of Rizzo, the Roman. Rivera nodded to him.
“I’ve also seen the big one at the Vatican,” Rizzo said. “Does that count?”
“ En absoluto . Not in the slightest,” Rivera said with a sly smile.
In the photographs from the files was a small piece of artwork from antiquity. It was part sculpture in stone, part carving in wood. It was well worn from the centuries, but it was easy to distinguish what it represented.
“What you see before you,” Rivera said, “is the first sculptural lamentation in recorded history.”
The carving was that of Mary comforting the body of her slain son. The faces had eroded over the centuries, but the
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