Holding down the huge lump welling up in his throat, he replied, “Si, certamente, capisco, signora.”
As they walked down the street, Antonietta slipped her hand around his arm and said, “I hope you don’t mind, it’s customary here,” and it was apparent that she was referring to walking arm in arm.
Feeling it a perfect dénouement to her mother’s parting words, he volunteered, “Not at all, it’s a lovely custom, if you ask me.”
“I heard you exchanging goodbyes from the other room. What did she say to you, Paulo?”
“Oh, nothing special. She just said to drive carefully,” he responded evasively.
“That was nice of her,” Antonietta replied, apparently satisfied by his deception.
“Yes. SHE is nice. You are very fortunate, Antonietta.”
“In what way, Paulo?”
“You still have her, that’s how. My parents died years ago. I still talk to my mom, and she’s been dead for six years.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “Not only do you still have her, she is just perfect.”
“Thank you,” Antonietta responded with evident pride. “I suppose you’re right.” She gazed wistfully off into the fading sunlight of the Tuscan landscape and said, “It wasn’t always that way, but that’s a story for another day. I am fortunate indeed. On the other hand, you, professore, seem to have endured some hardships.”
Staring back at her in confusion, he replied simply, “Well, perhaps. Perhaps you are right. But I’ve never looked at it that way. To me, I’m just trying to get through life as cleanly as possible.”
“That’s ridiculous!” she responded, breaking into a foolish looking grin.
“What? What did I say?” he exclaimed, still perplexed.
“Oh, nothing,” she responded, her ludicrous grin fading, “Let’s just say, you’re due for some good times, Professore.”
“Oh?” he responded, a hint of a smile now crossing his features. “Who says?”
“I do!” she exclaimed emphatically, “And I’m in charge while we are in my country!”
At this, the pair broke down in genial twitters, Paul responding with an amiable military salute, “Yes, SIR! Order understood! Good times to be carried out forthwith!”
They dined at the Ristorante Leonardo within the village, and afterwards they headed back to Arcetri.
“Thank you,” Paul said as they drove down the darkened roadway towards Firenze, but before she could respond, he added, “I had never been to Leonardo Da Vinci’s birthplace, so my hopes were high. But nothing could have prepared me for the last few hours. You’ve given me a lifetime memory. Thank you, Antonietta.”
“You’re welcome,” she replied, and she drove the remainder of the way in silence, each absorbed in reminiscence.
Arcetri – The Following Morning
Paul arose late the following morning. Even tardier, Antonietta found him in the kitchen fumbling with the espresso machine.
Sensing that he was not up to it this morning, she volunteered, “Here, let me do that.”
“Thank you,” he replied, his despondence apparent. He abruptly collapsed languidly at the table and, propping his elbows on the table, he looked the very image of deep depression.
Antonietta started the espresso machine and then turned towards him, she encouraged, “And good morning to you, too, Professore!”
Smiling forlornly at her, he expressed, “Sorry, Antonietta. Where there is manic, there is inevitably depression as well.”
“No matter,” she replied empathetically, “We can simply sit here and overdose ourselves on espresso until the somber mood is lifted, non?”
“That – my dear Contessa – sounds perfetto. I’m not sure I’m up to anything at all today. Admittedly, we made great strides yesterday in Pisa, but I confess, I spent the night tossing and turning, haunted by the realization that we have really only solved a couple of stanzas in the poem, and they were most assuredly the easiest of the lot. Frankly, I must confess I’m worried.”
“Worried? About what, Professore?”
“You must promise not to tell anyone, okay?” And at her nod he continued, whispering as if this were a clandestine meeting, “It is just possible that our Galileo is over my head.”
Just the sound of him saying it made her burst into laughter, but as he immediately responded with a wounded look, she said with renewed formality, “I’m sorry, it’s so absurd. You are a brilliant man, Dr. Woodbridge. Trust me, you will solve the puzzle!”
“Thank you…” he replied and, brightening a bit, he rejoined, “I suppose I needed that, even if I confess to sort of soliciting it from you,” and at this admission he suppressed a giggle. He continued with, “But frankly, a man who has been dead for more than three hundred and fifty years has me cornered. It’s deflating, to say the least. One does not become a highly educated professor on the strength of humility; it takes chutzpah, and I have my share. So when a long deceased person defeats your best efforts, it’s demoralizing.”
“What’s chutzpah?” She replied tangentially.
“Aw, heck, Antonietta. Sometimes you make me furious. How in heaven’s name can you expect me to wallow in self-pity, even for a few well-earned moments, when you are standing there making light of my every attempt to evoke sympathy?”
Chin held high, she responded with solemn dignity, “My house, my rules,” and at this they both laughed, thereby breaking the stifling air of solemnity. She now turned to get him his coffee, suggesting, “Shall we get down to it, Professore? Today we have another stanza to solve!”
“Might as well, you’re certainly not going to allow me to spend the day wallowing in self-pity,” he replied with feigned desolation, “Where were we anyway?”
Plopping down beside him, she answered decisively, “We still seem to be stuck on the long stanza.”
Surrendering to her staunch resolve, he murmured, “Right. Okay, let’s read it again,” and, taking up the poem, beside each of the last eight lines within the long stanza he now inscribed a single word.
First pilgrims shouldst ye be in turn
Each ending in a tomb of fame
Commence ye with the Dome inventor Firenze
Thence on to unseen Abbey founder Vallombrosa???
Next back to whence journey commenced Arcetri
Thence see she called back the pope…Ravenna Siena
Thereafter to the tomb of numbers…Pisa
Then overhead the utmost next…Roma
Followed by The Wolf’s admirer…Padova???
Endeth with the Lion to The Great…Venezia???
Thrusting the page toward her, he inquired disconsolately, “What do you think?”
“Well, hmmm….” She replied with furrowed brow and, studying his insertions intently, she commented, “Vallombrosa…actually, I think that sounds pretty good. As good as anything I can think of. After all, there’s a famous abbey there.”
“Right,” he replied bluntly, “Go on, M,” taking another sip of coffee.
“M? Who’s that?” she responded blankly.
“Just a small joke,” he replied, “James Bond’s muse…er, actually, his boss.”
“Whatever,” she replied distractedly.
Seeing her stern rebuttal, he nodded reluctant acquiescence and coaxed, “Go on.”
Visibly perplexed, she replied, “Uhhmm…, I don’t get the last two.”
“Yeah, I confess - that’s admittedly a significant part of my morose mood today.”
“So, tell me,” she responded, by now well aware that he would be forthcoming if pressed a bit.
Taking her well-aimed bait, he proffered, “Yes, well, this is weak, I admit, but so much so far has been, hasn’t it. We agree that these are the places that Galileo lived, but the order of the places in this stanza somehow seems to be significant. And we know that they match the letters on the circular map.”
“Yes, yes, that makes sense,” she replied thoughtfully, “Go on.”
“Well
, last night I was thinking about the fourth line. If these are indeed references to places he knew, then line four almost certainly refers to Vallombrosa.”
Scanning down the page, she agreed, “Yes, he was there as a child. His father came and took him away when he found out that he wanted to become a monk. I think you’re onto something, Professore. Ha…we were way off the track on Ravenna, weren’t we!”
“Yes, but I think that it helped in a strange sort of way. Remember, it got me thinking about Dante. And that in turn got me to thinking about the seven levels of Hell, which must be a clue to the solution of the ‘Hell’ map.”
“Ha! I like that,” she replied. “The Hell map. It fits nicely, doesn’t it.”
“I thought you’d like that touch,” he responded proudly.
“Okay, so the last two lines…if your theory is correct, the first would certainly be Padova. But he never lived in Venezia did he, Paulo?”
“Well, he spent so much time there, I suspect he may even have had a small apartment there. He loved Venezia, you know.”
“Okay, I’ll buy that, Professore, but why Padova first instead of the other way around?”
Scratching his day old beard, he agreed, “Good question. Again, it’s weak, but here goes…It seems that the order of the destinations gets farther and farther from Arcetri.” Suddenly he stopped and, shaking his head in realization, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute! I hadn’t thought of this before, but the distances might be measured from Firenze instead of Arcetri. Right, of course, that must be the case, since the fifth line brings us back here to Arcetri.”
At this he stopped for a moment, apparently sorting out this new viewpoint in his mind, and then he continued, “Okay, assuming that they are introduced so as to be in order of distance from Firenze, that would lead to the conclusion that the last two lines of the stanza refer to Padova first and Venezia second.”
“Makes sense to me,” she replied, “But if that is the case, what precisely do the last two lines refer to?”
He grinned at her and, impressed with her prompt grasp of the ramifications, he crowed, “Exactly! And that’s what I need your help with.”
Now herself excited, she exclaimed, “Va bene! What can I do?”
“Tell me about The Wolf, Antonietta.”
“The wolf? Hmmm…the wolf. Let me see…well, in Italian, tis Il Lupo.” She thought for a second, and then she said doubtfully, “Uhhmm, the only thing I can think of is ‘nel bocca di Lupo’. It means…”
“Yes, I know what it means,” he interrupted, “In the mouth of the wolf. It’s a very common saying in Italy, but what does it mean, Antonietta?”
“What does it mean? I don’t understand. You said what it means, Professore.”
“No, I don’t mean that. I mean, what is the underlying meaning, Antonietta?”
“Hmmm…well. It’s very old…” and she stopped a moment to think. “It refers to the incident with the wolf, in Gubbio. Yes, I remember now, that’s it!” and at this she glanced back his way.
Staring blankly in return, he said, “I don’t get it. What incident in Gubbio?”
“Oh, right. You wouldn’t know about that. Well, let’s see, it’s a long story, but I’ll give you the short version. It seems that when San Francesco was a young man, he was less than a saint, so to speak.”
“Yes, I recall. Let’s see, that would have been right around 1200 if I’m not mistaken. He lived in Gubbio at the time, right?”
“Yes, he did,” she replied. “So anyway, the story goes that one night he was sort of stumbling down a dark street after one of his nights of particularly unsavory debauchery, when he came face to face with the very wolf that had been terrorizing the citizens of Gubbio, killing and wantonly devouring them. So the story goes that Francesco said to the wolf something pithy like ‘if you will spare me I will sin no more’, to which the wolf agreed, or so the story goes. And to make it even more ludicrous, supposedly Francesco somehow extracted a similar oath from the wolf. And that, professore, is where we get the saying ‘Nel bocca di Lupo’. To top off the story, it is said that the wolf was never seen again, and Francesco returned to his birthplace of Assisi and founded the Francescan order, thenceforth becoming one of the most venerated saints in all of Christendom.”
Visibly enlightened, Paul was nonetheless unable to resist appending serendipitously, “And he was the first person on Earth known to have received the Stigmata.”
“Yes, the wounds of Christ,” she replied pensively.
“So, we are halfway there, Antonietta,” Paul said jovially.
“Halfway to what?” she replied, still caught up in the moment.
“Halfway to deciphering the ninth line of the long stanza,” he replied.
“Oh,” she answered and, returning to the issue at hand, she posited, “Right. What’s the other half?”
“For that I will need a map of Padova. Padova is not my strongest point. I’ve been there, but I confess I don’t know it well. So we need a map.”
“Okay, I think I may have what we need. I’ll be right back,” she replied.
Returning shortly, she found that he had made two new cups of espresso. “Eccelente!” she said, “And here is a map of Padova. I assume that you meant ‘old’ Padova, right?”
“Yes,” and at this he laid the map out on the table. After a moment he said triumphantly, “Ha! I knew it! We have it!”
Baffled by his ebulliance, she inquired, “We have what?”
“We have a location for the stop in Padova!”
Twisting her head doubtfully, she murmured, “Really…”
“Yes, it’s the Cathedral of San Antonio,” he responded proudly. “San Antonio was the first great follower of San Francesco of Assisi, ergo we have ‘The Wolf’s Admirer’.”
“I didn’t know that part, but I do know that he died in Padova, around 1230 or 31, only five years after San Francesco’s passing. They were both canonized shortly thereafter, if memory serves me correctly. And the last line obviously refers to San Marco, ergo Venezia.”
“Yes! So that’s it, Antonietta. We now know where our pilgrimage must take us. Because we’ve already been to Firenze, Arcetri, and Pisa, we must go in order to Vallombrosa, Siena, Roma, Padova, and Venezia.”
Frowning duplicitously, she blurted, “My, that sounds inviting. Are you sure this isn’t a vacation?” at which they both laughed so hard they cried. Somehow, their day had turned from sullen to sunny in the space of half an hour.
Having agreed to the plan, their next stop was the Abbey at Vallombrosa. Although the sky was sullen and gray, nothing could dampen their enthusiasm at having finally decoded the long stanza. On arriving at the abbey an hour later they parked and made their way up the long tree-lined walkway, arriving shortly at the entrance to the monastery. Once inside they were approached by an elfish looking cleric who offered his hand, saying affably, “Buongiorno, sono Figlio Giuseppe. Benvenuti a Vallombrosa!”
“Grazie,” Antonietta replied.
“What brings you here to our monastery, may I ask?”
“Yes, well, we are interested in Galileo,” Paul answered. “I am Professor Paul Woodbridge, from the United States.”
“My, you have come a long way, Professore,” Brother Giuseppe replied, “And I see you are a student of history. Galileo did indeed live and study here as a boy. What may I help you with, Signore?”
“We were hoping for a short tour, if that is possible, sir,” Paul replied.
“Certamente! This way, if you please. I can show you the monastery and the church and chapels. The remainder is closed to the public.”
“Yes, of course. That would be perfect. Is it possible to also see the tomb of St. Giovanni Gualberto?”
“My, you do know your history, Professore. Yes, we will also see his tomb. He is of course the founder of the Vallombrosan order. I can also show you the chamber where John Milton is said to have stayed during his visit to the Abbey.”
The tour spanned
less than a half hour, and afterwards Paul and Antonietta offered a donation to the Abbey, summarily thanking Figlio Giuseppe.
“Ah, you are most kind, Professore, and I wish you a pleasant journey in your pursuit of Galileo,” he responded with sincerity.
They turned to leave, and, once outside, Paul said to Antonietta, “Hold on a second, I think I forgot something. I’ll be right back.” At his suggestion she waited, nonetheless wondering what this was about. Sure enough, when he returned, he looked a bit ruffled.
“Did you find it?” she queried.
Appearing confused, he responded, “Find what?”
“Whatever it was you left behind,” she shot back dubiously.
“Oh, that,” he replied evasively. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps,” but it was nonetheless clear that he was upset about something.
Once in the Alfa and back on the road he began to relax noticeably, and after several minutes of telling silence, Antonietta hazarded a question, “Sooo, what was that all about, Paulo?”
Appearing ever so guilty, he queried, “What was what about?”
“Oh, come now, Professore. Let’s not start harboring secrets now, after all we’ve been through together.”
Glancing solemnly toward her, he exclaimed glumly, “You’re right. I suppose I can’t keep anything from you. Besides, you may know something that I don’t.”
Horror stricken, she responded, “Now you’re starting to scare me. What is it, Paulo?”
“Did you see that man?”
“What man?” she replied.
“That man in the abbey! Everywhere we went, he seemed to be there, not too far away.”
“Oh, yes, I did see him, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Well, I did. After all, you’re the one who said we needed to be careful. So after we came outside, I went back in, and sure enough, he was talking to Figlio Giuseppe.”
Galileo's Lost Message Page 13
