“It’s what we were told when the original was presented to the Newberry, and since then we have studied it extensively—from the handwriting to the paper and the ink. All the results indicate that it is authentic.”
He reached into the valise and started to show her the lab reports, but she waved them away. “I will take your word for it, for the time being.” She put it back on the desk, her hands idly twirling the ends of the Hermès scarf knotted around her neck. In Paris, David noted, even the museum curators were chic.
“Was it an early sketch for the Perseus in Florence?” she wondered aloud.
“No,” David said, pointing out the view of its reverse and the annotations. “It appears to have been the design for a small hand mirror. Silver, with a niello finish.”
Mme. Solange frowned and said, “I know of nothing like this from Cellini, or anyone in his workshop.”
“Neither do we,” Olivia interjected, “but that’s why we’re here.”
“We found documents in the Medici archives that indicate the piece was given to the Queen of France in the mid-1500s,” David explained. “We need to know if it might be part of the Louvre’s collection.”
Mme. Solange looked highly dubious but swiveled toward her computer screen and said, “We have such an extensive collection here that only a fraction can ever be properly displayed, but let’s check.” With rapid-fire strokes, she logged into what she explained was the Atlas database. “If there’s anything fitting this description, Atlas will tell us.”
With David hovering behind her chair, and Olivia perched on the edge of hers, she first entered Cellini himself, but apart from all the references to his most famous statue, there was nothing to match. Then she entered “Medusa” as a key word, and while several hundred objects showed up, everything from urns to coins to ewers, none was a mirror, or a piece of lady’s jewelry. Switching to another database, with the improbable name of LORIS/DORIS, she entered the information again, in several different configurations, without coming up with a hit.
Leaning back, her fingers leaving the keyboard, she said, “I can’t be the first one to suggest this, but the piece might be lost to the ages. Even if the monarchy still possessed it, it might have been stolen in 1792, when the royal treasury was burglarized.”
“But the thieves were caught, weren’t they?” Olivia said.
“Yes, they were—and before they were beheaded, one of them, named Depeyron if memory serves, admitted that he had hidden some gold and gems in an attic in the district of Les Halles. But a piece like this,” Mme. Solange said, touching her fingers to the border of the sketch, “would probably not have been so appealing to them. You say it was only silver, and niello at that. They would have overlooked it.”
“Even with ruby eyes?” David said.
“There’s nothing about rubies in that sketch.”
“I know,” David said, “but in the records I read at the Accademia in Florence, it was mentioned.”
“Oh well, in that case, there’s always a chance it’s in the mineralogical collection at the Paris Museum of Natural History.”
“Mineralogy?”
“In 1887, when the government was afraid of an insurrection from the Bonapartists, the Finance ministry was instructed to auction off whatever crown jewels were still under its control. But if something was deemed a naturally occurring gem, it got a reprieve and was handed over to the Natural History Museum. They’ve got all kinds of things, from mesmerism crystals to some diamond and pearl pins that belonged to Marie Antoinette. For all we know, the ruby eyes might have saved this mirror. It’s not very likely, but then again, who can tell?”
David glanced over at Olivia, who shrugged as if to say, it’s worth trying.
“But let me look at their records,” the director said. After a few minutes of rapid work at the keyboard, she exhaled in disgust, and David, glancing at her computer screen, read, in bold black type, “Aucune approche disponible à ce temps.”
“They are forever experiencing … what do you call them in the States?”
“Technical difficulties?”
“Yes, that would be it. Their records are not currently accessible online. I suggest you go over there tomorrow and ask for the director, Professor Vernet.”
“It has to be today,” David said, already slipping the sketch back into the valise.
“But they’re closed today.”
“Could you call him?” he said. “It’s really very urgent.”
“Urgent?” Madame Solange said, perplexed.
“I know Dr. Armbruster would greatly appreciate it,” David said. “And so would I.”
He was afraid he’d offended her, but after a pause, she said, “All right,” and picked up her phone. “But when you get there, tell him I said that it was time he got his damn files up and running!”
Chapter 23