Pushkin

Abraham Bradius was nobody's fool.

He was the world's leading scholar of Dutch painters and particularly of Johannes Vermeer,

one of the most admired and most mysterious figures in European art.

When Bradius was younger as an art critic and collector,

it made his name by spotting works wrongly attributed to Vermeer.

Now, at the age of 82, he was enjoying a retirement swan song in Monaco,

he had just published a highly respected book in which he had identified 200 fake or misattributed Dutch masters,

his opinions were viewed as so authoritative that he'd been dubbed the Pope.

It was at this moment in Bradius' life in 1937 that Gerard Bohn paid a visit to his Monaco villa.

Bohn was also a pillar of the Dutch establishment, a member of Parliament who had spoken out earlier than most against fascism and anti-Semitism in Europe.

Bohn had come to Abraham Bradius on a mission of mercy.

He told Bradius that a Dutch family of anti-fascists were living in Mussolini's Italy,

and they needed to raise money to emigrate to the safety of the United States,

but they had something to sell that might be a value, possibly.

Only Bradius had the expertise to judge,

and so Bohn unpacked the crate he had brought out of Italy.

Inside it was a large canvas still on its ancient wooden stretcher.

The picture depicted Christ at a Mayus, and in the top left hand corner was the magical signature,

I.V. Mayor.

Your harness for meer himself.

But Bohn was eager to know what did Bradius think? He was the expert.

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