• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1626 0

a Vermeer “discovery,” Bredius sent Boon on his way without a commitment. Soon after, Kronig’s letter brought the news that Boon had an impeccable reputation. That would prove especially important because Bredius, in Monaco, did not have access to the auction files and other records that would have let him probe the painting’s history. He focused, instead, on the eminence of the messenger who had brought such intriguing news. (It is curious that Kronig, not Bredius, wrote the letter asking about Boon. Bredius wrote letters by the score, and ordinarily he wrote even the most routine notes himself rather than delegate the task to Kronig. Could it be that Kronig wrote this letter because he believed in Emmaus more than Bredius did, and he was the one pushing Bredius to take a second look?)

Bredius’s devotion to Kronig was professional as well as personal, and in this second scenario that devotion played a large role. Bredius believed ardently that the younger man had a deep understanding of art and an impeccable eye, and he had lobbied the art world (with only middling success) on Kronig’s behalf for years. Bredius gave more credence to Kronig’s views on art than to anyone else’s. Did Kronig campaign for Emmaus over the course of the summer, eventually manage to persuade Bredius to take a second look, and finally win Bredius over to his point of view?

Boon’s letter at the end of the summer, in this version, would have been a put-up job. The true purpose of the letter was not to tell Bredius about a painting called Christ at Emmaus, since he had already seen it, but to create a historical document that could withstand posterity’s gaze. Museums like to document their acquisitions (and, indeed, Bredius would later forward Boon’s letter to the museum that purchased Emmaus, with a note saying that “it belongs in your archives”), and this carefully composed letter would have looked far more presentable than a true account of Bredius’s hemming and hawing through the summer of 1937.

WE CANNOT BE sure of Bredius’s state of mind in 1937. We can only be certain that, whether he fell in love with Emmaus at first sight or wrestled with his doubts all summer, he ended his long career by destroying the reputation he had built up over a lifetime. If he was indeed a true believer, that would be poignant in its own right.

But if it is sad to think of Bredius going wrong decisively, it is far sadder to think that proud, high-strung Bredius could not make up his mind about whether he had truly found one last, great Vermeer. For in that case, Bredius would have been caught in a predicament that made candor impossible. He saw himself as a leader, a man who commanded respect. To confess that he was unsure if Emmaus was genuine would be to forfeit all credibility. A general might as well shout, “Charge! No, wait!”

Just as important, Bredius believed with all his heart that the mark of an art connoisseur was the ability to make correct judgments in the blink of an eye. To hesitate was to confess ignorance. An expert who knew Vermeer recognized him as surely and as quickly as he recognized his own spouse. So Bredius believed, and so all his peers believed.

Imagine his shock in 1932, then, when he proclaimed Lady and Gentleman at the Harpsichord an authentic Vermeer, and the art world sneered. Floundering and bewildered, Bredius found himself betrayed by the skill he prided himself on most. And then along came Boon, with Emmaus, asking Bredius what he thought.

Even if he didn’t know what he thought, he couldn’t say so. Even if the only thing he knew for sure was that his reputation would rise or plummet depending on whether he made the right call, Bredius had no choice but to present himself as overflowing with confidence.

ON SEPTEMBER 9, 1937, Bredius wrote to Hannema, the director of Rotterdam’s Boymans Museum. “I am in a state of anxiety, in ecstasy. I have before me a Vermeer…. No other connoisseur has ever seen it.”

In September, too, Bredius prepared an official “authentication” of Emmaus, a declaration to the world meant to assure