Each tracing out MS abodes
It seems like our Galileo is sending us a message that the circles on the map are somehow related to the circles that we have been tracing both figuratively and physically.”
“Huh?” she replied doubtfully.
"Okay, okay, I confess - I have no idea what I'm talking about. Does that make you feel any better, Antonietta?"
"Well, er, actually, no, Professore. However, a nice drive to Ravenna might do us some good. Clear our minds, so to speak. And besides, I have friends there who own a wonderful inn. Why don’t we drive there tomorrow?"
"Great! So Ravenna it is. What time do you want to leave in the morning?"
"Not too early, please Paulo. I must have my beauty sleep," she responded entreatingly, "I have just one question."
"Yes?" he replied succinctly.
"What does fricking mean?"
Paul arched his eyebrow and replied, "Trust me, you do not want to know, Contessa."
Chapter 4
Ravenna
Follow your own star!
-Dante Alighieri (1265-1321)
Near Verona - 1593
Galileo awakened with a start. He had been dreaming of the nine circles of Hell. In his dream he himself had been relegated to the ninth circle, the realm of Satan! He was covered with sweat from the heat within the infernal regions of his dream. Was he yet alive, or was he indeed in Hell? As he could not erase the image of Lucifer from his mind, he momentarily found it exceedingly difficult to separate dream from reality.
Feeling sick to his stomach, he was disoriented and uncertain as to where he was. Slowly it came back to him - he had gone on holiday to Verona with two friends. From there they had hiked to the village of Costozza, where he had lain down by the draft of a cave. At first the cool breeze emanating from the cave had seemed soothing in the warmth of evening and, lulled by the peaceful setting, he had fallen asleep. But soon thereafter he had been beset by horrible nightmares.
Now, in the early morning light he found himself unable to stand. He was terribly ill, and his body ached from head to toe. Feeling terror rise up within him, he descended into a state of panic. Surely Satan had risen up from the cave in the middle of the night and confronted his soul.
As he lay prostrate on the ground, hoping against hope for someone to find and help him, he prayed to God, should he survive Lucifer’s attempt on his soul, he would devote the remainder of his life to the betterment of humankind.
Ravenna - 1997
Antonietta steered the Alfa Romeo onto a side street and turned towards a large wooden gate, whereupon she pulled the car to a stop and honked her horn. A door within the gate opened, a man peeking out from within. Seeing her, he promptly drew the gate open, exposing a tiny parking lot within. The pair pulled in and Paul got out, subsequently stretching his legs.
Paul and Antonietta had discussed options on their way to Ravenna from Arcetri, and it had occurred to both of them that the long stanza referred to the tombs of famous people. Since Dante was by far the most famous person buried in Ravenna, the immediate objective was to visit Dante’s tomb.
"What is this place, Antonietta?" Paul asked as they entered a hallway off the courtyard.
Appearing perplexed, she responded, "What place?"
"THIS place," he said, pointing at the building they were entering.
"Oh, I thought you didn't recognize Ravenna. I'm sorry, this is the Palazzo Galleria Arnolfo."
"Ah, so we've gone from a villa to a palace,” he announced somewhat inanely. “What gives, Antonietta? On the one hand, you seem to have convinced me that you are not wealthy, but on the other hand, here we are in a palace."
"It's not a palazzo really. It used to be a palace. Now it is a hotel. It is owned by a friend of mine, so we are their guests."
"You mean we're staying in a palace for free?" and now he was truly impressed.
"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly and, ignoring his look of amazement, she headed for the interior of the palazzo.
Hurrying to keep pace with her, he interjected, "I have always thought that I was a master at travel in Italy. I mean, I've spent quite a lot of time in Italy over the past twenty-five years, but I've never had the good fortune to stay in a palazzo for free.” He halted for a moment, thereby falling behind again, but then suddenly admitted to himself, “Actually, I can’t remember ever staying in a palazzo at all."
Overhearing his self-proclamation, she called over her shoulder, "Well, stick with me, Professore!" and at this pronouncement, she shot him a well-timed conspiratorial wink.
On arriving in the entryway to the hotel, they were greeted with an enormous embrace by Antonietta's friend Giovanni Bazzocchi.
Giovanni was one of those nearly middle-aged people who is genetically wider than he is tall. His hair (and there was an abundance of it), was seemingly everywhere on his person, with the exception of the top of his head. Blessed with an innately garrulous nature, he was evidently one of those eternally optimistic Italians that, although they are by no means rare, they are nonetheless a revelation to the uninitiated visitor to Italy. His pale blue eyes sparkled with mirth, his accompanying smile totally disarming.
"Come-a, please-a come-a, follow-a me-a!" he demanded of Antonietta, "We-a have-a lunch-a all-a prepare-eda for-a you-a!" his English thereby demonstrating that liltingly melodic accent that Paul knew and loved so well in Italians.
Lunch was a gastronomic feast, something that is a time honored family tradition in Italy. Giovanni was joined by his wife Giovanna (really!), his two sons, Guido and Giovanni (really!) and several other people whom Paul did not know and could not hope to keep straight. Giovanna, whose girth was impossibly but somehow nonetheless in reality even ampler than Giovanni’s, was possessed of that identically infectious attitude of lusty optimism.
Once it became clear that Paul's command of Italian was tolerably good, all pretense of English conveniently disappeared. In the midst of all this cacophony Paul wondered somewhat absurdly what he would be doing if he were back in Cleveland and, certain of the answer, he murmured to himself, "Nothing half so interesting.”
As if sensing his thoughts, Antonietta piped directly into his psyche, offering to one and all, "Molto bene! Paulo e mezzo Italiano, non?"
At this Giovanni (the elder) smiled and laughed, volunteering in broken English, "Yes-a, Antonietta, I-a would-a say-a that-a he-a is-a even-a more-a than-a half-a Italiano!"
Paul simply smiled in embarrassment, all too aware that this was high praise indeed. For the first time in his life, he seemed to have penetrated to the heart of real Italia, thereby bestowing him with a warm feeling of acceptance.
Their festive luncheon having finally come to an end, Antonietta and Paul set out to see the tomb of Dante. The central part of Ravenna being quite compact, travel by foot was the preferred mode of transit. Accordingly, they arrived shortly thereafter at the tomb.
Gazing at the tomb, Antonietta observed, “I’ve always felt that it’s a bit underwhelming. The one they built for him in the Santa Croce in Firenze is much more impressive.”
“Yes, but he isn’t in that one. Instead, he is in this one!” Paul replied with certainty, “And as far as I am concerned the Florentines have no right to him.”
“Why so?” she asked.
“Did you know that Dante was exiled from Firenze and never allowed to return?”
“Yes, but that was when he was old, wasn’t it?”
“No, Antonietta, I am afraid you are in error. Dante was exiled in 1301, when he was only about thirty-six years old. He was never allowed to return to Firenze the remaining twenty years of his life. He actually lived in several places during that span, spending only the last three years of his life in Ravenna.”
“Wow. I didn’t know any of that!” she replied in amazement. “I really think that you know more about Italia than I do, Paulo.”
“That’s why you contacted me, non?” he replied in good humor.
Ignoring
his ludicrous query, she blurted, “And it’s all very interesting, but exactly why are we here, Paulo?”
“Oh, that. Good question,” he responded. “It’s really nothing more than a gut feel. I confess I picked Ravenna more on a hunch than anything else.”
“And what is the basis for your hunch, Paulo?”
“Well, some interesting coincidences. First of all, Galileo surely knew of the importance of Dante, and he regarded himself as a Florentine like Dante, despite the fact that he was born in Pisa. Secondly, Dante started out writing in Latin and changed over to Italian. Galileo did exactly the same thing, changing to Italian in the middle of his life. And just as this was a marked literary transgression in the time of Dante, it was a significant scientific impropriety in the time of Galileo.”
“Interesting,” she replied pensively, “Anything else?”
“Yes, there is another thing, though it’s a bit weak, I confess. Dante was an exile, and Galileo suffered a similar fate. Surely there must have been a sense on Galileo’s part that Dante was a kindred spirit. As I’m sure you know, Galileo was a very competitive man. Actually, I would go so far as to say that he was even paranoid at times. His ego was enormous, and as a result he seems to have found it difficult to tolerate his contemporaries. Remember, Dante lived more than two centuries before Galileo. So Dante would have been to Galileo like George Washington is to us, I mean - me - someone from the distant past, so not a competitor at all, but rather more like a forebear to be admired and emulated.”
“I had no idea that you considered George Washington a rival, Professore,” Antonietta replied tongue-in-cheek, but moving on rapidly, she glanced toward the tomb and added in all sincerity, “So you think Galileo knew all about Dante?”
“Undoubtedly, Antonietta. Dante was revered like a god in all educated circles during Galileo’s time. Dante described Hell in excruciating detail in The Inferno, so much so that his description was accepted at face value by everyone at that time.” He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, and then added, “As you most likely know, Galileo used the text of The Inferno to calculate the volume of Hell.”
“You’re kidding!” she responded doubtfully.
“No, I assure you, I am deadly serious. It actually brought Galileo a measure of fame at a most opportune time in his life. He had dropped out of school in Pisa and he was relegated to tutoring math in Siena. His calculation of the volume of Hell brought him sufficient notoriety to gain him the Chair of Mathematics at Pisa less than two years later. And that is the final reason for visiting Dante – Galileo’s map of the seven levels of Hell seems to warrant this pilgrimage.”
“So exactly how big is Hell?” Antonietta asked with feigned gravity.
Responding in like measure, Paul expostulated sagely, “Well, I’m not exactly sure today, but it was pretty big back then according to Galileo’s calculation. Seeing as how world population has increased dramatically, one would tend to conclude that Hell is significantly larger now!”
Giggling at this, Antonietta volunteered surreptitiously, “All the more reason to avoid such a horrifying fate, my dear Professor. I intend to do so, but sadly, I am afraid that you shall not be able to escape the clutches of Mephistopheles!”
Startled by her accusation, Paul only muster, “Huh?”
“You sir, are a thief! My dear professore, you are a violator of one of the commandments brought down from Mount Sinai by Moses. Furthermore, if I am not mistaken, you have soundly tromped on at least three of the circles of Hell,” and she proffered this last with a perfectly serious tone. To emphasize her conjecture, she even stepped back from Paul as if he had contracted a deadly disease.
For his part, he stared at her as if she had accused him of breaking all ten of the commandments.
Seeing his horrified countenance, she threw back her head and bellowed, “Ha HA! Take that, you, you, you egotistical…professore, you!” but she was smiling playfully at him, and just to prove her obvious sense of superiority, she swirled a complete three hundred sixty degree turn, gently slapping his face with her hair as she did so. Stopping her victory spin directly in front of him, she giggled yet again as full measure of her assumed superiority.
A downcast look coming over him, he uttered in mock misery, “But this is not fair!”
“What?” she replied, and still grinning from ear to ear, she bent forward and pressed her hands between her knees to accentuate her sense of satisfaction with herself.
“Well, that’s twice you’ve scored on me,” he acknowledged, adding, “I’m pretty sure I’m still ahead, but why is it that every time you get my goat, I feel like it’s a really BIG victory, whereas my scores are all miniscule!”
At this she stood up and, raising herself to her full height, she responded with feigned superiority, “Sir, there is no beating a woman! This, I think…no - I am certain of it – you most assuredly must already know.”
His face slowly broadening into a hint of a smile, and then growing still further into a half smile of sorts, he admitted with visible alacrity, “Contessa, I can only reply that to be outdone by you would surely be the desire of multitudes.”
Clapping her hands together at this admission, she performed an ancillary half turn and crowed, “Oh, you are so deliciously FUN, Professore! I absolutely LOVE putting you in your place!”
“I knew there was a reason you contacted me, Contessa, and now I have my answer,” he replied matter-of-factly.
Apparently unwilling to allow the moment to fade just yet, she placed her hands together and held them to her face. Approaching him, she said, “Signore, you possess that most marvelous of qualities, one that is completely lacking in the male of the Italian species,” and so saying, she grasped him in a gentle embrace and said, “I adore you!”
Taken aback, Paul hugged her gently in return, but nevertheless mumbled in confusion, “What the…what do you mean, Contessa?”
“You sir, possess humility, the ability to admit defeat when you are defeated, and as we both know - you are!”
“Ok-kay…thank you. At least, I think,” he replied doubtfully.
Suddenly returning to reality, her visage restored itself to solemnity, allowing her to inquire, “So, where were we?”
Seemingly disoriented, Paul cast about with a bewildered glance. But then, remembering his erstwhile train of thought, he arched one eyebrow, peered skyward in thought and momentarily expounded, “Ah, yes, Dante.”
And then miraculously, as if nothing at all had transpired between the pair he took up exactly where he had left off, exclaiming, “Later, Dante would fall somewhat out of favor, regaining his stature in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, but during the time of Galileo, Dante was considered to be Firenze’s, no, Italia’s most gifted literary figure. So there is my thin explanation for why we are standing here in front of Dante’s tomb.”
“Allora, Shall we go inside then?” she responded, as if nothing at all had just passed between them.
“Of course we can, but there is no reason to do so other than curiosity.”
“What? Why, Paulo?”
“Simple. In the time of Galileo Dante was not buried in this tomb. His remains were not placed here until 1780.”
At this Antonietta threw up her arms in apparent disgust and exclaimed in frustration, “This just gets flimsier by the moment, Professore,” and it was obvious that she was suddenly a bit out of sorts with him.
Paul chuckled and replied, “Yes, but isn’t the company great?” And at this admission he showed her his grandest smile as a means of driving his point home.
Instantaneously dismissing her air of solemnity, she broke into a radiant smile and replied, “Okay, Mister smart-ass professore, what the hell is this all about? Just exactly why are we here in Ravenna?”
“I wanted to see the St. Apollinare Nuovo, of course.”
“The what-inare?” she asked, leaning yet again towards exasperation.
“Oh, never mind, my dear contessa. I
t’s a cathedral, and we will see it, too, all in good time. But first, we must find Dante’s original tomb!”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Well, I’m not certain of this, but I believe that Dante was actually buried in the church directly behind us. So I propose that we visit that church and see what we can find out.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she replied doubtfully, and off they went to find a means of entrance to the church.
As it turned out, it was named the Church of San Francesco. Paul, who was immediately concerned by this for some reason, decided to enter anyway. The church was empty but for a monk standing in the choir, thus prompting Paul to saunter over to him and ask jovially, “Excuse me, I am looking for the tomb of Dante. Would you know where it might be?”
“Ah, si signore. You seem to have missed it. It is behind the church in the Via Dante Alighieri,” the monk responded gravely.
“Yes, I know, but not that one. We’re looking for the original tomb of Dante, padre.”
At this the cleric arched one eyebrow and said, “Ah, I see, you know your history, signore…?”
"Woodbridge, Paul Woodbridge. And this is the Contessa Antonietta Floridiana.”
“Ah, yes, I am Padre Pietro. You are indeed in the right place Signore Woodbridge. Dante Alighieri died prematurely at the age of 56 in Ravenna on September 14, 1321. Some say it was malaria, but I suppose we shall never know for sure. His funeral was held in this church, and he was subsequently buried here.”
Paul glanced doubtfully towards Antonietta and replied to Padre Pietro, “Hmmm, I thought that his funeral was held in the Church of Saint Peter.”
“Ah, a studied pupil, I can see,” Padre Pietro responded with apparent admiration. “You are entirely correct, Signore Woodbridge. At the time of Dante’s death, this was called the Church of San Pier Maggiore. The name was changed later, after the Franciscan order rose to fame in Italia.”
Galileo's Lost Message Page 9
