Galileo's Lost Message

by D. Allen Henry

  “Why were they never married?” Antonietta queried pensively.

  “That’s a very good question. No one seems to know for certain. What we do know is that there seems to have been a notion at that time that the pure academic was supposed to be celibate, or at least to maintain a veneer of celibacy in order to preserve the image of the scientist, nobly and unselfishly pursuing the loftiest of human ambitions – the pursuit of knowledge.”

  “What do you think of that?” Antonietta asked with curiosity.

  “I agree, of course,” Paul replied. “The quest for knowledge is the noblest of all pursuits.”

  Antonietta laughed, and said, “That’s not what I meant, Professore.”

  Paul glanced at her in confusion, and replied, “I’m sorry, what am I missing?”

  Antonietta laughed yet again, responding, “I was just wondering what you thought of Galileo remaining a bachelor in order to preserve his image as the consummate academic.”

  “Oh, that. Well, I think it’s ridiculous. But then, I didn’t live back then, so I can’t possibly know what he was dealing with. In my view he was quite egotistical, but then it is a very common trait for the highly gifted,” he replied thoughtfully.

  “Tell me about it,” she responded knowingly, “And you?”

  “And me what?” he answered, still obviously confused by her line of questioning.

  “What is your position on academics marrying, you idiot!” she responded, more as an accusation than a question, clearly irritated by her perception that he was prevaricating.

  “Hee hee,” he chuckled in realization of her line of thought, and, seeing her obtrusive glare, he added sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Antonietta. Forgive, me, I wasn’t trying to be evasive. I just didn’t understand your question.”

  “Well?” she queried expectantly, her hands placed on her hips in obvious anticipation.

  Seeing from her pose that she demanded a more substantive answer to her inquiry, Paul pondered for a moment, then replied cautiously, “Hmmm…Well, you’re asking the wrong person, because I have failed miserably at marriage, but if you ask me, Galileo was an idiot when it came to personal relationships. He should have married Marina Gamba. Had he done so, his daughters would not have been doomed to a life within the Sisterhood.”

  As Antonietta continued to stare expectantly at him, he expounded, “Look Contessa, there is the brain, and there is the soul. Just because a person possesses a brain does not mean that they have less of a soul. In my view the soul is the more powerful of the two in our species, no matter how powerful the brain in any given person. Anyone who attempts to subjugate the soul to the mind is denying the nature of humankind. Men need women, women need men. Is there a more profound reality in all of humankind?”

  Antonietta scowled at him a moment longer, then suddenly blurted, “Hmmph,” and, turning away from him in frustration, she strutted dismissively toward the Basilica.

  ”Anyway,” Paul retorted, attempting to divert the conversation elsewhere as he hurried to keep pace, “Let's go inside and see the relics of San Marco."

  They proceeded to wait in the line, the silence engulfing both equally. Abruptly, a wistful look coming over him, Paul stammered, “Hold it…let me see the poem…”

  Clearly nonplussed, she pulled the poem from her bag and handed it to him. He surveyed it for a few moments, apparently searching for a particular passage. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, muttering, “Hmmmm, this line seems to be significant. We’ve been standing in this line, and when we were up top there, we could see in a perfectly straight line, just as Galileo would have done when he demonstrated his telescope, so the word line kept buzzing around in my head. See here,” and he pointed to the last line of the eighth stanza – ‘When naught obstruct right line the stars’. The word line sticks out to me for some reason.”

  “What does it mean, Professore?”

  “No idea, but I think it’s important. I’ll have to think further about it.” At that moment the awaiting line of people reached the entrance to the Basilica.

  After visiting the main floor Paul entreated Antonietta to follow him upstairs to a room within the second floor landing at the front of the basilica, whence he showed her four enormous bronze horses. "What the...weren't these on the outside, above the front door to the basilica a few minutes ago?"

  "Those are copies. These are the originals," Paul replied. “These horses, believe it or not, are among the most prized possessions from antiquity. The Venetians carted them off during the sack of Constantinople in 1204 and eventually placed them out front on the balcony there. But you may not know that it is speculated that they were once on the Arch of Trajan in the Forum in Roma. And to make the story even more interesting, Napoleon stole them from the Venetians and took them to France when he defeated them in 1797, placing them on top of the Arc du Carousel in front of his palace - The Louvre!"

  "I wouldn't have wanted to be one of the people charged with moving them around back then. I'll bet they weigh a ton!"

  "Right," Paul replied amicably.

  "So, these are the originals, right?" Antonietta queried.

  "Yes, absolutely."

  "Why aren't they still in France?" she asked.

  "The Venetians asked for them back after Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, and the French were in no position to decline at that point. So here they are, and here they will stay until the next great conflagration takes them on another journey. You see, my dear, these bronze horses are immortal. There is really only one way to destroy a bronze statue, and that is to melt it down. Nobody in their right mind would do such a thing."

  "Why?"

  "Because they are priceless. They are beyond priceless."

  "This is all very exciting, but what does it have to do with Galileo?" she asked.

  "Good question," replied Paul. "Actually, I brought you up here to show you The Clock Tower. There is a really good view of it from the balcony. So follow me, please."

  She followed him outside to the landing, where they were afforded an excellent view of the clock. Pointing toward the clock tower, Paul exclaimed, "That thing is perhaps even more fabulous than the bronze horses! It was built in something like 1498, and it's been running ever since. Of course, they've had to repair it innumerable times, and they've replaced the mechanism several times as well. The original clock used weights, and as we now know, that was a quite inaccurate means of measuring time. So they had to have a full time employee to keep it running correctly, because in those days nobody had a watch, and Venezia, being the most expensive place in the world to live, it needed timekeeping to be accurate so that the frenetic tempo of commerce could stay on pace.

  “So this clock was the center of the commercial enterprise in the Venetian Empire, and virtually all financial transactions occurred right in this square below us. They were collecting goods from the ships arriving from the east, and selling them to merchants who would transport them overland to the rest of Western Europe. And through it all, accurate time keeping was essential to the profitability of commerce.

  “Remember that Galileo thought up the concept of the pendulum clock in Pisa. Well, eventually they installed a pendulum mechanism to run this clock. So Galileo is connected to this clock, although he wouldn't have known that because the pendulum was not installed until well after his death."

  "I see," Antonietta replied, racing to keep up with his rapid-fire explanation.

  "Wait a minute. Wait one minute. Here we go," Paul murmured to himself, still staring at the face of the clock. Then, turning towards her, he announced, "This could be it, this could be the clue from the poem. I'm not sure, because it's a bit skimpy, but try this, Contessa."

  "Yes," she replied expectantly, Please, go on..."

  "Look at the face of the clock. What do the stars remind you of?" he queried.

  "Oh, my…they remind me of the stars on the ceiling of the Scrovegni Chapel."

  "Exactly!" he replied with excitement. "And what did th
e stars in the Scrovegni remind us of?"

  "Stars - a constellation - Aquarius!" She said, excitement now brimming in her voice as well.

  "Right again! Now, look carefully at the clock face. What do you see, Contessa?"

  She peered at the clock face, studying the golden figures within the numbered circle, "Those are constellations, Paulo!"

  "Right again! This is something. We're onto something. I'm not sure what it is, Antonietta, but we're onto something here."

  "Why are there constellations on the clock face, Paulo?"

  "That's the way things were in Galileo's time. The constellations were associated with the sun, and they were placed on clocks all over Europe to be commensurate with the time period that the sun was in those constellations. Despite their vehement denials, people, even highly religious ones, were deeply imbedded in a world of astrology. Thus, astrological signs were associated with time. I'm not sure what it means exactly, but this may be the clue that Galileo was sending us for Venezia. After all, he would certainly have had no way of knowing that the importance of the constellations would diminish by the time his poem was discovered."

  "What exactly are you saying, Paulo? What is the clue?"

  "Give me the poem, Contessa." She rummaged around in her bag and found the poem, handing it to him. For his part, he read, "Sixth stanza, first two lines-

  The end result – a time

  Placed squarely within his sign

  That seems to point to a time, one related to Galileo's sign - Aquarius. The clock merely points the way. And remember what I said a little while ago about the word line. It all seems to be connected in some way. Something is aligned, and it seems to be aligned both in space and time.”

  “Like what, Professore?”

  “No idea, Contessa, but I do believe that we are a step closer to solving the puzzle,” and at this he glanced towards her, his smile indicating an implied sense of success. “What do you say we have dinner in a nice ristorante and cogitate on it?” he queried in obvious satisfaction.

  “I would very much prefer not to cogitate, if it means what I think it does,” she replied with confusion.

  “It’s just a big word, for ‘think’, Contessa. What did you think that it meant?”

  “Oh. I thought it meant something like chew or gnaw…” she replied in apparent sincerity.

  At this Paul’s face lit up with humor. “My goodness. No wonder you didn’t want to ‘cogitate’!”

  That evening they ate at a fabulous restaurant near L’Accademia. True to form, Antonietta knew the owner. Accordingly, they were rewarded with a quiet tavola on the second floor, away from the boisterous crowd. Somewhere near the end of their shared bottle of wine, Paul observed a sudden and ominous change in Antonietta’s mood. “What is it? What’s wrong, Contessa?” he asked with apprehension.

  Antonietta was staring pointedly behind him, and, gesticulating in that general direction, she said, “Look behind you, Paulo.”

  Paul turned quickly, by now assured of something unwelcoming. His suspicion was rewarded by its accuracy. Not ten feet away stood that annoying interloper Professore Bulgatti, and he seemed to be awaiting an invitation to approach them.

  Sensing as much, Paul motioned with apparent resignation for him to join them. Upon his arrival, Paul said with discernible indignation, “I see that you are good for your word, Professore Bulgatti. After all, you did indicate at our last meeting that you would be around,” and, showing no intention of awaiting a reply, he continued, “Actually, I’m surprised we haven’t seen you sooner.”

  At this Bulgatti responded simply, “May I sit? I will only be a few moments.”

  Pointing noncommittally to a chair at their table, Antonietta replied, “Please.”

  “Thank you, Contessa,” Bulgatti replied in apparent relief. Once seated he proceeded straight to the point, “Professore Woodbridge, please tell me that what appears to have happened earlier today did not in fact occur.”

  “Meaning what?” Paul responded tersely.

  “Oh, come now, Professore. Do not play me for a fool. I know that you were accosted by the Count’s pagliacci today.”

  Paul almost laughed, but as his injured nose was still painful, he instead responded, “Clowns! They were more like goons, if you ask me.”

  Bulgatti, surveying Paul’s noticeably swollen face, put in empathetically, “It appears that you are slightly injured, Professore. I hope that you are both alright.”

  “We’re fine,” Paul replied dismissively.

  Finally coming to the point of his uninvited visit, Bulgatti queried, “And the document?”

  “Oh, they got it,” Antonietta cut in nonchalantly.

  Eyes bulging furtively, Bulgatti responded, “What! I was afraid of that. I advised you to be careful!”

  Paul glared dismissively at Bulgatti and replied, “So you did, and we appreciate it very much. However, there is no further need to protect us now that the document is no longer in our possession. So I suggest that you take your leave and go back to your lynx-eyed companions, Professore Bulgatti.”

  At this Bulgatti’s eyes flashed and he abruptly rose from his seat. He frowned for a moment, then spat out effusively, “Don’t think that this is over yet, Contessa,” and at this he turned on his heel and bolted for the stairway.

  Paul shrugged and glanced at Antonietta. Once it was clear that Bulgatti had really departed, he turned to her and said, “What was that all about do you suppose?”

  Antonietta sat for a moment in contemplation, eventually replying, “Up until his last statement I had no idea, but now I suddenly have a splitting headache. It seems that as soon as we have shaken off one band of nasty scoundrels, we become attractive to another. Up until now I have been on the fence about our Lincean buddy, but now I am concerned that he may be just another one of the villains.”

  Paul grimaced for a moment and then replied, “My thoughts exactly, I am sad to say.”

  Accordingly, they resolved to make their exit from Venezia as early as possible the following morning.

  Chapter 11

  Roma

  The Sun, with all the planets revolving around it, and depending on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as though it had nothing else in the Universe to do.

  -Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)

  On the Road to Roma - Winter 1633

  Galileo emitted an audible gasp of pain as the carriage traversed a particularly deep rut within the badly maintained roadway. The coach crept southwards, the winter wind sending blasts of freezing air through the very fabric of the litter that the elderly man lay on within the carriage. Each rut, every lurch of the carriage, inflicted stabs of pain to his aching body. He wondered if he would even survive the arduous journey to Roma. He thought absently to himself, “I should not have delayed for three months. The weather would have been much preferable in October, but who could have known how adamant the Holy See would become?”

  Now, in the dead of winter, he had been given the ultimatum that he would be brought to Roma in chains if he did not commence his journey immediately. The trip had been even worse than he could have imagined. Less than halfway to Roma a stench of death had begun to pervade the countryside. Here and there, rows of bodies had begun appearing alongside the roadway. The plague had returned to Italy, rampaging relentlessly across the countryside. Inevitably, Galileo had been quarantined for more than two weeks. The interminable wait had been agonizing, one part of him desperate for any possible delay, another fearing that he himself might become one of the victims.

  Finally, more than a month into his journey, he was about to arrive at the Villa Medici, where his arduous trip would finally come to an end. But that would only be the beginning. He dreaded the possibilities. Surely the Holy See would not try him for heresy.

  Arcetri - 1997

  Paul observed as Antonietta pulled the Alfa through the gate and parked the car in front of the villa. Antonietta emerged from the car and yanked at the front door in o
bvious irritation, disappearing hastily within without so much as a word or a glance toward Paul.

  Paul opened the trunk, grabbed their bags, and trudged up the steps disconsolately. Opening the villa door, he immediately overheard the altercation that was already underway within. “What!” he overheard Marco say loudly, and then he heard, “Don’t talk to me that way, Mama!”

  Paul caught Antonietta’s muffled voice but could not quite make out the words, but it was apparent that she was more subdued than her son. Intent on staying as far away from it as possible, he ported the bags within, but his footsteps echoed in betrayal on the travertine floor.

  Antonietta’s head momentarily thrust from the great room, at which she motioned to him, imploring, “Please, I need you here, Professore. Please, come in,” and her tone was one of supplication rather than command. Under the circumstances he felt powerless to refuse. Dropping the bags in the hallway, he reluctantly entered the room, whereupon he observed Marco standing near the windows, his hands grasped behind his back in palpable defiance. For her part, Antonietta had as yet progressed no further than a single step into the room, as if she somehow feared wading further into inevitable dispute.

  There was a pregnant moment during which each person within the immense room glanced awkwardly at one another. Paul then offered, “Are you sure you want me here for this, Contessa?”

  “Yes, please, Professore. You have been violated perhaps even more so than I.” She then turned towards Marco and accused vehemently, “We, the professore and I, were accosted most heinously by your father and his pagliacci in Padova yesterday, Marco.”