And Thereby Hangs a Tale (13 page)

Grebenar visited the artist in prison where he
languished while awaiting trial. He informed an incredulous Bloch that he was willing
to defend him against the charge of attempted murder, but should he get him
off, he would require a rather unusual recompense. Bloch, having gone through
all his money, agreed to the lawyer's terms without question.

On the morning of the trial Herr Grebenar was
inspired; he had rarely experienced a better day in court. He argued that as at
least twelve men had been involved in the drunken brawl, how could the
constable, who had arrived some time after the victim had been stabbed,
possibly know which one of them had been responsible for the crime?

The jury agreed, and Bloch was acquitted on the
charge of attempted murder, although he was found guilty of the lesser offence
of drunken affray and sentenced to six months in prison.

When Bloch was released, Herr Grebenar was
waiting for him in his carriage outside the prison gates. Grebenar outlined his
terms during the journey to the artist's home and Bloch listened intently,
nodding from time to time. He made only one request of his patron. Grebenar
readily agreed to supply him with a large canvas, several new brushes and any
pigments and powders he required. He also paid Bloch a weekly stipend to ensure
that he could live comfortably, but not excessively, while carrying out his
commission.

It took Bloch almost a year to complete the work
and Grebenar accepted it was the weekly stipend that had caused him to take his
time. However, when the lawyer saw the oil painting Christ's Sermon on the
Mount he did not begrudge the artist one mark, as even an untutored eye would
have been left in no doubt of its genius.

Grebenar was so moved by the work that he immediately
offered the young maestro a further commission, even though he realized it
might take him several years to execute. 'I want you to paint twelve
full-length portraits of Our Lord's disciples,' he told the artist with a
collector's enthusiasm.

Bloch happily agreed, as the commission would
ensure a regular supply of money for years to come.

He began his commission with a portrait of St
Peter standing at the gates of Jerusalem holding crossed keys. The sadness in
the eyes of the saint revealed how ashamed he was for betraying Our Lord.

Grebenar visited the artist's home from time
to time, not to study any unfininished canvases, but to
check that Bloch was in his studio, working. If he discovered the artist was
not at his easel, the weekly stipend was suspended until the lawyer was
convinced Bloch had returned to work.

The portrait of St Peter was presented to Herr
Grebenar a year later, and the prosecutor made no complaint about its cost, or
the amount of time it had taken. He simply re-joiced in his good fortune.

St Peter was followed by Matthew sitting at the
seat of Custom, extracting Roman coins from the Jews; another year. John
followed, a painting that some critics consider Bloch's finest work: indeed,
three centuries later Sir Kenneth Clark has compared the brushwork to Luini's.
However, no scholar at the time was able to offer an opinion, as Bloch's works
were only seen by one man, so the artist grew neither in fame nor
reputation -- a problem Matisse was to face two hundred years later.

This lack of recognition didn't seem to
worry Bloch so long as he continued to receive a weekly income, which allowed
him to spend his evenings in the ale house surrounded by his friends. In turn,
Grebenar never complained about Bloch's nocturnal activities, as long as the
artist was sober enough to work the next day.

Ten months later, James followed his brother
John, and Grebenar thanked God that he had been chosen to be the artist's
patron.

Doubting Thomas staring in disbelief as he placed
a finger in Christ's wound took the maestro only seven months. Grebenar was puzzled
by the artist's sudden industry, until he discovered that Bloch had fallen for
a ste-atopygous barmaid from a local tavern and had asked her to marry him.

James the son of Alphaeus appeared just weeks
before their first child was born, and Andrew, the fisher of men, followed soon
after their second.

After Bloch, his wife and their two children
moved into a small house on the outskirts of Hertzendorf, Philip of Galilee and
Simon the Zealot followed within months, as the rent collector needed to be
paid. What pleased Grebenar most was that the quality of each new canvas
remained consistent, whatever travails or joys its creator was going through at
the time.

There was then an interval of nearly two years
when no work was forthcoming. Then, without warning, Thaddaeus and Bartholomew
followed in quick succession. Some critics have suggested that each new canvas coincided
with the appearance of the latest mistress in Bloch's life, although there is little
or no historical evidence to back up their claims.

Herr Grebenar was well aware that Bloch had
deserted his wife, returned to his old lodgings and was once again frequenting
the ale houses at night. He feared that the next time he came across his
protégé, it would be in court.

Grebenar only needed one more disciple to complete
the twelve, but when no new canvas had appeared for over a year and Bloch was
never to be found in his studio during the day, the lawyer decided the time had
come to withhold his weekly allowance. But it was not until every ale house in
Hertzendorf had refused to serve him before his slate had been cleared that
Bloch reluctantly returned to work.

Five months later, he produced a dark, forbidding
image of Judas Iscariot, thirty pieces of silver scattered on the floor around
his feet. Historians have suggested the portrait mirrored the artist's own mood
at the time, as the face is thought to be in the image of his patron.

Grebenar was amused by Bloch's final effort,
and bequeathed the twelve portraits of Christ's disciples to the town's
recently built museum, so that they could be enjoyed by the local citizens long
after both the artist and his patron had departed this world.

It was over a game of chess with his friend Dr
Müller that Grebenar learned his protege had contracted syphilis and had only
months to live -- a year at the most.

'Such a waste of a truly remarkable talent,'
said Dr Müller.

'Not if I have anything to do with it,'
retorted Grebenar, as he removed the doctor's queen from the board.

The following morning Herr Grebenar visited
Bloch in his rooms and was horrified to discover the state the artist was in.
He was lying flat on his back, fully clothed, stinking of ale, his arms and
legs covered in raw, pus-tulous scabs.

The lawyer perched on the end of the bed.

'It's Herr Grebenar,' he said softly. 'I'm
distressed to find you in this sorry state, old friend,' he added to a man who
was only thirty-four. 'Is there anything I can do to help?'

Bloch turned to face the wall, like an
animal who knows death approaches.

'Dr Müller tells me you're unable to pay his
bills, and it's no secret you've been running up debts all over town and no one
will grant you any more credit.'

Not even the usual cursory grunt followed this
observation. Grebenar began to wonder if Bloch could hear him. The lawyer
leaned over and whispered in his ear, 'If you paint one last picture for me, I'll
clear all your debts and make sure the doctor supplies you with any drugs you
need.'

Bloch still didn't move.

Grebenar saved his trump card until last, and
when he'd played it, the artist turned over and smiled for the first time in
weeks.

It took Bloch nearly a month to recover enough
strength to pick up a paintbrush, but when he finally managed it, he was like a
man possessed. No drink, no women, no debts. Just hour after hour spent working
on the canvas that he knew would be his final work.

He completed the painting on 17 March, 1679,
a few days before he died, drunk, in a whore's bed.

When Grebenar first set eyes on The Last Supper
he recalled the final words he had spoken to the artist: 'If you achieve what
you are capable of, Friedrich, unlike me you will be guaranteed immortality.'

Grebenar couldn't take his eyes off the haunting
image. The twelve disciples were seated around a table, with Christ at the center
breaking the communion bread. Although each one of the Apostles at in different poses
and leaned at different angles, they were unmistakably the same twelve men whose
portraits Bloch had painted during the past decade. Grebenar marveled at how
Bloch had achieved such a fate since once they had left his studio, the artist had
never set eyes on them again. Grebenar decided there was only one place worthy of
such a masterpiece.
Herr Grebenar fulfilled the Maker's contract of three score years and ten. As he
approached death, he had only one interest left in life: to ensure that his
protege's works would remain on permanent display in the town museum, so that
in time everyone would acknowledge Friedrich Bloch's genius, and he himself
would at least be guaranteed a footnote in history.

Two hundred and ninety-eight years later...

It all began when a drop of rain fell on the
chief sidesman's forehead during Monsignor Grebenar's Sunday morning sermon.
Several members of the congregation looked up at the roof and one of the
choirboys pointed to a small crack.

Once Monsignor Grebenar had delivered his final
blessing and the congregation began to depart, he approached an elder of the
church to seek his advice. The master builder promised the priest he would
climb up on to the roof and inspect the timbers the following morning.

A preliminary opinion and a rough estimate as
to the costs of repair were delivered to the Grebenars' family home on the
Wednesday afternoon, along with a warning that if the church council did not
act quickly, the roof might well collapse. Monsignor Grebenar received
confirmation of the master builder's opinion from above when, during Vespers on
the following Sunday, a steady trickle of rain began to fall on the front row
of the choir as they chanted the 'Nunc Dimittis'.

Monsignor Grebenar fell on his knees in front
of the altar, looked up at Friedrich Bloch's Last Supper and prayed for
guidance.

The collection that followed raised the princely
sum of 412 euros, which wasn't going to make much of an impression on the master
builder's estimate of the 700,000 euros needed to repair the roof.

If Monsignor Grebenar had been a more worldly
man, he might not have considered what happened next to be divine intervention.
When he had finished praying, he crossed himself, rose from his knees, bowed to
the altar and turned to find someone he had never seen before seated in the
front pew.

'I understand you have a problem, Father,' the
man said, looking up at the roof. 'And I think I may be able to help you solve
it.'

Monsignor Grebenar looked more closely at the
stranger. 'What did you have in mind, my son?' he asked.

'I would be willing to pay you seven hundred
thousand euros for that painting,' he said, glancing up at The Last Supper.

'But it's been in my family for over three hundred
years,' replied Monsignor Grebenar, turning to look at the painting.

'I'll leave you to think it over,' said the stranger.
When the priest turned round, he was gone.

Monsignor Grebenar once again fell to his knees
and sought God's guidance, but his prayer had not been answered by the time he rose
to his feet an hour later. In fact, if anything, he was in even more of a dilemma.

Had the stranger really existed, or had he imagined
the whole thing?

During the following week Monsignor Grebenar
canvassed opinion among his parishioners, some of whom attended the following
Sunday's service with umbrellas.

Once the service was over, he sought advice from
a lawyer, another elder of the church.

'Your father left the painting to you in his
will, as did his father before him,' said the lawyer. 'Therefore it is yours to
dispose of as you wish. But if I may offer you one piece of advice,' he added.

'Yes, of course, my son,' said the priest hopefully.

'Whatever you decide, Father, you should place
the painting in the town's museum before it's damaged by water leaking from the
roof.'

'Do you consider seven hundred thousand a fair
price?' asked the priest.

'I have no idea, Father. I'm a lawyer, not
an art dealer. You should seek advice from an expert.'

As Monsignor Grebenar did not have an art dealer
among his flock, he phoned the leading auction house in Frankfurt the following
day. The head of the Renaissance department did not assist matters when he told
him there was no way of accurately estimating the true value of Bloch's
masterpiece, since none of his works had ever come on the market. Every known
example was hanging in one museum, with the notable exception of The Last
Supper. The priest was about to thank him and put down the phone when the man
added, 'There is, of course, one way you could find out its true value.'

'And what might that be?'

'Allow the painting to come under the hammer
in our next Renaissance sale.'