Read Online Rembrandt's Ghost by Paul Christopher - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Christopher
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Thrillers, Espionage, Inheritance and succession, Adventure stories, Archaeologists, Women archaeologists
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the world was about to end.” He flipped the painting over and, using a small, stainless steel tool like a stiff putty knife, he popped the painting easily out of the frame. “Very odd,” he muttered, his white eyebrows rising. “Canvas over a wood panel. I would say that the canvas is from the correct period, perhaps 1660 or so, but the tacks are much newer, definitely twentieth century.”
“Contemporary with the Goudstikker Gallery label?” Finn asked.
“Undoubtedly. And also the Nazi one. That label is from the
Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg
, the ERR.”
“What are you saying?” Billy asked.
“Look,” Shneegarten said, pointing with one bony finger. “The tacks are brass, but in between you can see the small holes and stains from the original nails. You can also still see the marks where the original stretchers were placed. What it means is that this painting of the ship was probably painted sometime in the mid-seventeenth century, contemporary with Rembrandt certainly, but was taken out of its own frame in modern times and used to cover the wood panel beneath, which bears the ERR label and the Goudstikker label. You can even see that the original painting was larger. This section has been cut to fit and the Rembrandt signature applied.”
“Who would do a thing like that?” asked Billy.
“Presumably it is as Finn suggested—to cover that which lies beneath from prying eyes.”
“Can you remove the canvas?” Finn asked.
“Certainly,” said Shneegarten. “The canvas wasn’t glued. It was simply tacked onto the panel. Give me a moment.” He picked up another tool, shaped like a flat-nosed pair of small pliers, and began easing out the tacks. When he was done he gently pulled back the canvas.
As Finn had expected there was another image on the board beneath the canvas. It showed a man in his middle years dressed as a Dutch burgher wearing a red velvet blouse and a plumed hat. He was standing beside a draped area that had a table set out in front of it covered with various exotic-looking seashells and several equally exotic brass nautical instruments including something that looked like an early version of a sextant. In one gloved hand he held a pale, calfskin-covered book and in the other an ornate, basket-hilt rapier. Light came in strongly through a very narrow stained-glass window on the far left. The image on the stained glass was a heraldic shield. The coat of arms showed a complex plumed helmet seated on a shield divided into a checked field of opposing black and yellow stripes on one set of opposed squares with Turkish crescents and French fleurs-de-lis on the other set.
“That’s the Boegart crest,” said Billy, excited.
There was a signature in the lower right-hand corner, done lightly in black. It was entirely different from the one on the canvas.
“The real signature of Rembrandt Van Rjin,” announced the old man with a theatrical flourish of his hand.
“Is the painting genuine?” asked Finn.
“Let me check,” said Shneegarten. He shuffled across the room to a computer terminal on a very cluttered desk and began hitting keys. He talked while he tapped.
“Back in 1968 I was part of the Rembrandt ResearchProject, which was established through the Dutch government to assess the number of actual Rembrandts in existence. We were a team of experts from all over the world. As well as establishing the authenticity of the pictures we also, by definition, assembled a database of the paintings themselves.” He hit a few more keys. “When you cross-index that data with the information in the Courtauld’s own Provenance Research department of Holocaust-related works, you wind up with an exceptional fund of information.” He paused, squinted, and tapped a final key. “Ah,” he said finally, pleased with himself.
“Ah what?” Finn asked.
“The painting, very mysterious I think,” murmured the old man, staring at his computer screen. “According to this, it is a
“Contemporary with the Goudstikker Gallery label?” Finn asked.
“Undoubtedly. And also the Nazi one. That label is from the
Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg
, the ERR.”
“What are you saying?” Billy asked.
“Look,” Shneegarten said, pointing with one bony finger. “The tacks are brass, but in between you can see the small holes and stains from the original nails. You can also still see the marks where the original stretchers were placed. What it means is that this painting of the ship was probably painted sometime in the mid-seventeenth century, contemporary with Rembrandt certainly, but was taken out of its own frame in modern times and used to cover the wood panel beneath, which bears the ERR label and the Goudstikker label. You can even see that the original painting was larger. This section has been cut to fit and the Rembrandt signature applied.”
“Who would do a thing like that?” asked Billy.
“Presumably it is as Finn suggested—to cover that which lies beneath from prying eyes.”
“Can you remove the canvas?” Finn asked.
“Certainly,” said Shneegarten. “The canvas wasn’t glued. It was simply tacked onto the panel. Give me a moment.” He picked up another tool, shaped like a flat-nosed pair of small pliers, and began easing out the tacks. When he was done he gently pulled back the canvas.
As Finn had expected there was another image on the board beneath the canvas. It showed a man in his middle years dressed as a Dutch burgher wearing a red velvet blouse and a plumed hat. He was standing beside a draped area that had a table set out in front of it covered with various exotic-looking seashells and several equally exotic brass nautical instruments including something that looked like an early version of a sextant. In one gloved hand he held a pale, calfskin-covered book and in the other an ornate, basket-hilt rapier. Light came in strongly through a very narrow stained-glass window on the far left. The image on the stained glass was a heraldic shield. The coat of arms showed a complex plumed helmet seated on a shield divided into a checked field of opposing black and yellow stripes on one set of opposed squares with Turkish crescents and French fleurs-de-lis on the other set.
“That’s the Boegart crest,” said Billy, excited.
There was a signature in the lower right-hand corner, done lightly in black. It was entirely different from the one on the canvas.
“The real signature of Rembrandt Van Rjin,” announced the old man with a theatrical flourish of his hand.
“Is the painting genuine?” asked Finn.
“Let me check,” said Shneegarten. He shuffled across the room to a computer terminal on a very cluttered desk and began hitting keys. He talked while he tapped.
“Back in 1968 I was part of the Rembrandt ResearchProject, which was established through the Dutch government to assess the number of actual Rembrandts in existence. We were a team of experts from all over the world. As well as establishing the authenticity of the pictures we also, by definition, assembled a database of the paintings themselves.” He hit a few more keys. “When you cross-index that data with the information in the Courtauld’s own Provenance Research department of Holocaust-related works, you wind up with an exceptional fund of information.” He paused, squinted, and tapped a final key. “Ah,” he said finally, pleased with himself.
“Ah what?” Finn asked.
“The painting, very mysterious I think,” murmured the old man, staring at his computer screen. “According to this, it is a
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