Sarah Freethy

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I started writing The Seeker of Lost Paintings in 2023, on the heels of finishing my debut, The Porcelain Maker. I felt absurdly pleased to have completed one novel but daunted by the prospect of starting another. I knew my story would be set in fascist Italy and I wanted it to be about ordinary citizens. I started my research and soon realised what a daunting task I’d set myself - almost all the history books focus on the poilitcs or battlefield, far less has been written about the common man. It was only through discovering the published diaries of four extraordinary women that I found a way in. Were it not for them, I don’t think the story would exist in this form.

Iris Origo was an Anglo-American living in the Italian countryside, between Rome and Florence in the run up to the second world war. She had friends in high places, but that wasn’t what made her diaries so vital; it was the way she described the minutiae of her life and how the conflict closed in on her family and community over time. Her journals offer the clear-eyed view of an outsider who loves her adopted country, watching as it gets crushed beneath the heel of an authoritarian regime.

Whether she’s describing the splendours of the Italian countryside or the realities of rationing and propaganda, Origo’s writing is precise and beautiful but unsentimental. Iris led me to the selpolti vivi – the boys and men who went into hiding out of desperation. Both her pre-war diary ‘A Chill in the Air’ and ‘War in Val d’Orcia’, written during occupation, revealed the bravery of ordinary Italians in the face of exceptional cruelty. These stories inspired Tito’s incarceration and death, both all-too-common tragedies those days. 

I kept Victor Failmezger’s thorough history, ‘Rome – City in Terror: The Nazi occupation 1943 - 1944’ by my side throughout. He explored these events in forensic detail, including many stories of ordinary people who were witnesses to history. He led me to the diary of ‘Jane Scrivener’, the pseudonym of Sister Luke, an American Nun who lived in Rome and worked in the Vatican throughout the occupation. Her journal, published as ‘Inside Rome with the Germans’ (Macmillan, 1945), included meticulous notes which helped me understand the regime of rationing and restrictions which ordinary Romans endured.

Both these books showed how the people of Rome fought back against the occupying forces. On 10 September 1943, Porta San Paolo was a scene of devastation as the Italian army took a desperate last stand against the German occupation of Rome. Dozens of ordinary citizens turned out to fight alongside them. Though the Wehrmacht forces eventually prevailed, they held back 49,000 troops for a full day. Almost 600 Italian men and women died in defence of their beloved city and their homes.

Researching the Italian resistance led to some extraordinary stories, including that of K Syndrome and the Fatebenefratelli Hospital. Within weeks of the occupation, Heinrich Himmler gave orders for the Jewish citizens of Rome to be rounded up and sent to Auschwitz. Herbert Kappler, the head of the German police and security forces in Rome, demanded that community leaders’ hand over 50 kilos of gold to secure their safety. Though the ransom was finally secured (with help from the Vatican), it was all a ruse. Early on the morning of October 16, German forces sealed off the Ghetto. 1,022 people, including 274 children, were loaded onto trucks, then train cars at Tiburtina Station and sent to their final destination: Auschwitz-Berkenau. Of their number, only 16 survived.

Those that managed to escape the round up went into hiding. For every person sent to the death camps, 11 remained behind, desperate for sanctuary. It’s estimated there were 200,000 to 300,000 people hiding from the Germans in Rome at this time and more than 10,000 of them were Jews. The Catholic Fatebenefratelli Hospital on Tiber Island, opposite the Ghetto was already known as a haven, but with large numbers of refugees suddenly requiring help, they needed to be bold. So was born ‘Il Morbo di K’ or K Syndrome, purporting to be a highly contagious and deadly disease. Incredibly, the scheme worked: Nazi soldiers did not dare to enter the ward, allowing doctors to protect the courageous refugees. Maddalena’s friend Vincenzo Sciori is a fictional stand in for the brave staff of the Fatebenefratelli who risked so much.

The part that women played in these efforts is often overlooked. Caroline Moorhead has written extensively about Italian women in the war, from ‘A House in the Mountains: The Women Who Liberated Italy from Fascism’ (Vintage, 2020) to ‘Edda Mussolini: The Most Dangerous Woman in Europe’ (Penguin, 2023). Caroline’s incredibly crafted histories brought the time into focus, and it was through her, I learned about the incredible courage of the ‘staffette’: the women and girls who faced unimaginable danger to resist. Ada Gobetti was one such fighter and her ‘Partisan Diary’ (Oxford University Press, 2010) informed Benadetta and Maddalena’s fictional forays into fighting back.

James Holland’s books and podcasts helped my understanding of the events of 1943, particularly ‘The Savage Storm: The Battle for Italy 1943’ (Penguin Books, 2024) He even inspired the name Dolorosa, which proved to be so fitting for Velare’s tragic cook. The villa’s kitchen is at the heart of the story, from high days and holidays through to their response to rationing, Maddalena’s passion for cooking even helped her conceal the Caravaggio.

I’ve always loved Anna del Conte’s writing about food. Her choice of words feeds the imagination, even as they make you ravenously hungry. ‘Risotto with Nettles’ (Vintage, 2010) is a wonderful memoir which combines vivid recollections of her early life in Italy, alongside the recipes they inspired. Her descriptions of a wartime kitchen, the food and flavours she remembers, all proved to be a stimulus for me and therefore Maddalena. 

Like so many, I was captivated by Andrew Graham-Dixon’s seminal work, ‘Caravaggio, a life sacred and profane’ (Penguin, 2010). Of course, he is not responsible for the liberties I took with the life of Caravaggio and his final, fateful journey, or the paintings I imagine were lost along the way. Although the lascivious re-working of St John Youth with a Ram is entirely my invention, it is known that Caravaggio died enroute to Rome, trying to buy his way back after being exiled for murder. Those paintings have never been definitively identified, so perhaps we have license to imagine. As for the concept of Damnatio Memoriae, it’s real enough and existed in different forms for centuries. I will leave it to the more conspiratorial amongst us to decide whether the Vatican might have one or two such treasures tucked away.

With Thanks…

So many people have helped to bring this book to life. I am especially grateful to Jevon Thistlewood ACR, Conservator of Paintings at the Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, who was so generous in teaching the art of conservation and suggesting ways in which my imaginary Caravaggio might be made to seem authentic.

I am indebted to friends and family for the personal stories they shared. Special mention must go to Marilyn Marchetti, whose beloved husband Wally was the inspiration for Santino, Velare’s stoic mechanic. I know Wally is much missed by all who loved him.

Also, to my dear Walter Iuzzolino, without whom this book would simply not exist. I have him to thank for Maddalena’s method of escape. During the second world war, his grandmother, Nella Superina, fled to Italy from Croatia, having smuggled coins concealed inside a basket of bread rolls.

Writing is, by necessity, a rather solitary existence, so I feel very lucky to have the company of some fantastic women. Huge thanks to Leila Alabaster, Rebecca Fletcher, Claire Fuller, Judith Heneghan, Amanda Oosthuizen and Louise Taylor. Thanks also to Barbara Serra whose story of discovering a fascist in her own family was a catalyst for me.

And to my own coven – my mother Denise Mallender and sister Andrea Marchetti, who read every draft, corrected my appalling grammar and supported me through thick and thin. 143, now and forever.

Finally, to Phil and Esme, who are everything. Thank you for cheering me on, despite the long hours and all the piles of research on the kitchen table. Love you (and the dogs).