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in turn cited earlier historians and all the familiar old travel guides and early biographers of Caravaggio.
    T HE NEXT MORNING, RIDING HER MOTORINO INTO THE CITY, Francesca found herself thinking about a friend from high school named Stefano Aluffi. He was himself descended from a family of minor nobility—he could claim the title of count, although he never used it—and he had a passion for Roman history and genealogy. He was tall and blond, and carried himself, on first acquaintance, with an Old World courtliness. He kept in contact with many of the old nobility, friends of his parents, and their descendants, who were his own contemporaries. He maintained, only half jokingly, that no household was complete without the
Albo d’Oro
—the “Gold Register” of Italian nobility.
    Francesca recalled that Stefano had once introduced her, at some party or another, to a striking young woman whose name was Sabina. She and Sabina had talked, just briefly, in the way one does at parties, and Francesca had never seen her again. But she recalled now—why hadn’t she thought of this earlier?—that Stefano had said Sabina was related to the Mattei family of the famous Isola Mattei.
    Nowadays Francesca and Stefano might run into each other once a month or so, at the occasional dinners and parties of mutual friends. But a few years ago, when Stefano had arrived at the University of Rome to study art history, they’d spent a lot of time together. He had come to her for help. Like most new students, he’d gotten lost in the crowds and endless bureaucracy of the place. Francesca became his “spiritual adviser,” as he later put it. They had taken many of the same classes, they had studied together at her house, and she tutored him well enough to enable him to graduate.
    Francesca called Stefano and asked him about the Mattei family. Was Sabina in fact related to the same family that had owned the palazzi in the Ghetto? Stefano, who kept track of these things, said Sabina was the niece of the Marchesa, Annamaria Antici-Mattei.
    Francesca explained that she wanted to see the Mattei archive and Annamaria had refused permission. Could Stefano ask Sabina to intercede on her behalf? Talk to her aunt and assure the old lady that she, Francesca, was not making a frivolous request, that she was a serious scholar?
    A few days later Stefano called Francesca back. Sabina had talked to her aunt. He thought that she had convinced the old lady to let Francesca into the archive. He suggested that Francesca try calling the Marchesa again.
    This time the Marchesa sounded more welcoming. Her niece, of whom she was quite fond, had vouched for them. Why had Francesca not mentioned that she knew Sabina? But she warned Francesca again that the research would be a waste of time, and that they could stay only a day or two. The archive was kept in an old palazzo, the last of the family’s once great holdings. The Marchesa used it as a summer house. It had no heating and was empty most of the year. The Marchesa said she would go to Recanati in late April, after Easter, to open up the palazzo. They could come then, if they liked.
    “ C HE BRAVA!” C ORREALE SAID EXUBERANTLY WHEN L AURA TOLD him they had found the Mattei archive at last. He grew annoyed, though, when Laura said they couldn’t get into the archive until the end of April. That was a month away. Couldn’t they convince the Marchesa to let them see it sooner?
    Francesca refused to ask the Marchesa again. She was afraid the old lady would grow irritated and withdraw her permission. Correale got upset, but in the end he could only resign himself to the wait.
    6
    T HE B IBLIOTHECA H ERTZIANA OCCUPIED THREE BUILDINGS ON ViaGregoriana, at the top of the Spanish Steps. The oldest of the buildings dated back four hundred years. Inside the library, the rooms were connected by a network of dark passageways and staircases that twisted and turned in labyrinthine complexity. The library, privately run by