A Hidden Fire
Page 34
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“Is Renaissance Italian much different from modern Italian?” Beatrice asked, wishing, as she often did, that her father were still around to see some of the treasures she came across in her work.
“Somewhat, but we don’t have to worry about that. Professor Scalia is practically chomping at the bit to take a look at them, and he’s an expert in the language. I suspect the whole of the history department, classics department, and the philosophy department will be our very eager visitors for quite some time.”
“Philosophy department?” Beatrice asked, still examining the well-preserved letters on the table. She couldn’t help but admire how clean the edges of the parchment were. They look liked they had been preserved by a professional archivist when they were first written.
“Oh yes, the letters are written from Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, a notable philosopher, to his friend, Angelo Poliziano, who was a scholar and poet in Florence. The two men had quite a correspondence and were known to be part of a close group of friends, all great thinkers and some quite controversial. Indeed, one of their circle was Savonarola himself.”
“The crazy priest that burned all the books?” Beatrice asked.
Charlotte chuckled. “There was a lot more to him than that. He was a fascinating individual, despite the bonfires.” She looked over at Dr. Christiansen. “Do the letters mention Savonarola?”
“Only briefly. Feel free to take a look at the translations. They’re mainly personal letters. Pico spends some of the first letter talking about an orphan—or an illegitimate child of some sort, either is likely—that Poliziano had found in Florence; Pico had taken the child into his house. The count had no children of his own. The first letter is mostly discussing the boy’s education, but there is some mention of Poliziano introducing Pico to Lorenzo de Medici for the first time, and that is very significant.”
Beatrice stared at the document, examining the curl of the ancient script and the old, yellowing parchment.
“Firenze, 1484
Caro Giovanni ...”
1484, she thought. Was it a coincidence? Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. She shook her head. It was ridiculous to think he would have kept the same name for over 500 years.
A faint memory of their meeting at the museum stirred in the back of her mind.
“All the men in my family are named Giovanni.”
“Well, ladies, much to do today! We’ll have to enjoy these treasures later. Charlotte, how are the preparations for the History of Physics exhibit coming?”
Charlotte and Dr. Christiansen began discussing the exhibit the department was helping curate the following month, and Beatrice packed away the recently acquired documents and wandered back to the stacks to set the Florentine letters in the spot Dr. Christiansen had mentioned to her earlier. He seemed to think that more of the historical correspondence might be given to the university in the future.
Beatrice wondered again who the generous anonymous donor could be, and why exactly he had chosen a relatively obscure state university in Texas to be the recipient of such a generous gift. Thinking about the strange turn her life had taken in the previous two months, she wondered where to draw the line between coincidence and calculation.
She went about her duties preoccupied with the mysterious letters, finally escaping to the stacks that afternoon to examine them and look over the translation of the first letter.
Most of it detailed the new addition to the Pico household, a boy of seven named Jacopo, who the Count adopted and intended to educate. It sounded like he was the illegitimate child of one of the Pico brothers, though the letter didn’t say which.
One passage seemed to leap from the page:
“Lorenzo has mentioned you several times since your visit with him. He was amused by your sometimes outrageous statements; and I believe, were you to find yourself back in Florence anytime soon, he would be most delighted to continue your acquaintance.”
Wow, she thought, Lorenzo de Medici. Lorenzo the Magnificent. Could Giovanni have met him? If he was really over five hundred years old, it was possible.
There was mention of city gossip: a strange man named Niccolo Andros, something about Lorenzo’s children, and finally, a mention of some sort of scandal Pico was involved in with a married woman.
That brought a flush to her cheeks, and she set the notes down. It was hard not to imagine a woman being attracted to Giovanni. Despite his brusque demeanor, she still couldn’t seem to help the growing attraction she had to the vampire.
She read the letter four times, making notes and jotting down names and dates. She examined the second letter, but decided to do some research on the two men before reading it. She had little background in the Italian Renaissance, and the person she knew was most knowledgeable was the one person she couldn’t ask. She snorted as she imagined how the conversation would go:
“Oh, hey, Gio. Do you happen to be a fifteenth century philosopher named Giovanni Pico? Oh, and what does all this have to do with my father, by the way?
“Please go back to searching through endlessly boring auction catalogues, Beatrice. I’m far smarter than you are and too stuck-up to answer your questions. Also, I’m very good-looking and can get away with being an asshole.”
Beatrice sighed and slipped the notes into her messenger bag. She would have time to go online at home after she took her grandmother to dinner with her friends that night.
“Somewhat, but we don’t have to worry about that. Professor Scalia is practically chomping at the bit to take a look at them, and he’s an expert in the language. I suspect the whole of the history department, classics department, and the philosophy department will be our very eager visitors for quite some time.”
“Philosophy department?” Beatrice asked, still examining the well-preserved letters on the table. She couldn’t help but admire how clean the edges of the parchment were. They look liked they had been preserved by a professional archivist when they were first written.
“Oh yes, the letters are written from Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola, a notable philosopher, to his friend, Angelo Poliziano, who was a scholar and poet in Florence. The two men had quite a correspondence and were known to be part of a close group of friends, all great thinkers and some quite controversial. Indeed, one of their circle was Savonarola himself.”
“The crazy priest that burned all the books?” Beatrice asked.
Charlotte chuckled. “There was a lot more to him than that. He was a fascinating individual, despite the bonfires.” She looked over at Dr. Christiansen. “Do the letters mention Savonarola?”
“Only briefly. Feel free to take a look at the translations. They’re mainly personal letters. Pico spends some of the first letter talking about an orphan—or an illegitimate child of some sort, either is likely—that Poliziano had found in Florence; Pico had taken the child into his house. The count had no children of his own. The first letter is mostly discussing the boy’s education, but there is some mention of Poliziano introducing Pico to Lorenzo de Medici for the first time, and that is very significant.”
Beatrice stared at the document, examining the curl of the ancient script and the old, yellowing parchment.
“Firenze, 1484
Caro Giovanni ...”
1484, she thought. Was it a coincidence? Count Giovanni Pico della Mirandola. She shook her head. It was ridiculous to think he would have kept the same name for over 500 years.
A faint memory of their meeting at the museum stirred in the back of her mind.
“All the men in my family are named Giovanni.”
“Well, ladies, much to do today! We’ll have to enjoy these treasures later. Charlotte, how are the preparations for the History of Physics exhibit coming?”
Charlotte and Dr. Christiansen began discussing the exhibit the department was helping curate the following month, and Beatrice packed away the recently acquired documents and wandered back to the stacks to set the Florentine letters in the spot Dr. Christiansen had mentioned to her earlier. He seemed to think that more of the historical correspondence might be given to the university in the future.
Beatrice wondered again who the generous anonymous donor could be, and why exactly he had chosen a relatively obscure state university in Texas to be the recipient of such a generous gift. Thinking about the strange turn her life had taken in the previous two months, she wondered where to draw the line between coincidence and calculation.
She went about her duties preoccupied with the mysterious letters, finally escaping to the stacks that afternoon to examine them and look over the translation of the first letter.
Most of it detailed the new addition to the Pico household, a boy of seven named Jacopo, who the Count adopted and intended to educate. It sounded like he was the illegitimate child of one of the Pico brothers, though the letter didn’t say which.
One passage seemed to leap from the page:
“Lorenzo has mentioned you several times since your visit with him. He was amused by your sometimes outrageous statements; and I believe, were you to find yourself back in Florence anytime soon, he would be most delighted to continue your acquaintance.”
Wow, she thought, Lorenzo de Medici. Lorenzo the Magnificent. Could Giovanni have met him? If he was really over five hundred years old, it was possible.
There was mention of city gossip: a strange man named Niccolo Andros, something about Lorenzo’s children, and finally, a mention of some sort of scandal Pico was involved in with a married woman.
That brought a flush to her cheeks, and she set the notes down. It was hard not to imagine a woman being attracted to Giovanni. Despite his brusque demeanor, she still couldn’t seem to help the growing attraction she had to the vampire.
She read the letter four times, making notes and jotting down names and dates. She examined the second letter, but decided to do some research on the two men before reading it. She had little background in the Italian Renaissance, and the person she knew was most knowledgeable was the one person she couldn’t ask. She snorted as she imagined how the conversation would go:
“Oh, hey, Gio. Do you happen to be a fifteenth century philosopher named Giovanni Pico? Oh, and what does all this have to do with my father, by the way?
“Please go back to searching through endlessly boring auction catalogues, Beatrice. I’m far smarter than you are and too stuck-up to answer your questions. Also, I’m very good-looking and can get away with being an asshole.”
Beatrice sighed and slipped the notes into her messenger bag. She would have time to go online at home after she took her grandmother to dinner with her friends that night.
