toward the worn-out old church.
“Yes,” Marlowe replied, but Giulia thought she heard a dark tone in Marlowe’s voice. Soon, however, Marlowe began to chat about the Venetians who dedicated churches to “saints” created from Old Testament figures. “ Giobbe, Job, of course, and then there’s Geremia, Jeremiah—”
“The first time I came to Venice alone,” Giulia interrupted, “I stayed in a little hotel across from Geremia. I thought it was Santa Lucia’s church.” She laughed at herself. “All the signs inside the church pointed to her lying inside her glass case.”
“I know. Little old dried-up Lucy upstaged Jeremiah when they settled her into his church after demolishing hers for the train station. At least she got her name on the station,” Marlowe said and chattered on about other churches dedicated to fabricated saints. She ticked them off on her fingers. Moses, San Moisé , Samuel, San Samuele , and San Girolamo , Jerome.”
“You’re really up on this, aren’t you?” Giulia said.
“Sometimes I get carried away with trivia. I became intrigued because of the Venetians’ habit of going their own way for centuries. They must have been arrogant bastards to face down the powers in Rome. And they managed to give several popes giant headaches.”
Giulia half listened enjoying the companionship of this open, friendly woman. She felt a kinship with Marlowe, and Lord knew she needed a woman friend here. She wanted to learn Marlowe’s story. But all in good time, knowing how reluctant she felt about sharing her own.
* * *
The elderly sacristan gave Marlowe a warm hug. He seemed fragile and creaky as he bowed slightly to Giulia. But after a few words with him, it was clear his mind was not one bit creaky. As he showed the women through the church, he explained at great length—when he understood Giulia spoke fluent Italian—about the marble carvings done by the famous Lombardi brothers. After a while, though, he slipped away.
Marlowe took Giulia’s hand and led her to a painting by Girolamo Savoldo. The label stated it had been painted in the early 1500s, and the colors were as brilliant and jewel-like as a Vivarini painting that was hanging near the sacristy. Vivarini, came from a glass-maker family on the island of Murano and was said to have had a secret formula to make his paints glow. Maybe Savoldo knew Vivarini’s secret.
It was a manger scene, and Marlowe slipped quietly onto a bench in front of it saying nothing. It seemed this painting had a special meaning for Marlowe, and Giulia let herself be drawn into the ancient story as she sat on the edge of Marlowe’s bench.
The baby Jesus lies on the floor of a rustic hut. Mary and Joseph stand over him. A foreboding sky hovers over the hills behind the hut, maybe a symbol of the agony to come for this child. At the rear, a shepherd lounges into an open window, observing the family. Another shepherd peeks around the corner. Mary wears a crimson renaissance-style dress with a sumptuous green shawl, and Joseph sports a bright red cloak—the usual renaissance anachronisms in religious paintings.
“What’s funny?” Marlowe asked in a whisper.
Giulia moved closer to Marlowe and said, “The babe reminds me of my twin brothers when they were tiny. That chubby leg kicking in the air is exactly how they kicked covers away. They were such darlings at that age before they grew up to be major pests to this older sister.”
“Sounds fun to me since I’m an only.”
“Sometimes it was,” Giulia said. “Compared to many renaissance painters, though, Savoldo knew what a real infant looked like except—”
“Except what?” Marlowe interrupted.
“That babe,” Giulia said grinning, “is not a newborn.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” Marlowe said in a bare whisper.
Again Giulia sensed Marlowe’s distress but hesitated to intrude. Then she took a chance. “Is this why you wanted to bring me here?”
“I guess so,” she sighed.
“Yes,” Marlowe replied, but Giulia thought she heard a dark tone in Marlowe’s voice. Soon, however, Marlowe began to chat about the Venetians who dedicated churches to “saints” created from Old Testament figures. “ Giobbe, Job, of course, and then there’s Geremia, Jeremiah—”
“The first time I came to Venice alone,” Giulia interrupted, “I stayed in a little hotel across from Geremia. I thought it was Santa Lucia’s church.” She laughed at herself. “All the signs inside the church pointed to her lying inside her glass case.”
“I know. Little old dried-up Lucy upstaged Jeremiah when they settled her into his church after demolishing hers for the train station. At least she got her name on the station,” Marlowe said and chattered on about other churches dedicated to fabricated saints. She ticked them off on her fingers. Moses, San Moisé , Samuel, San Samuele , and San Girolamo , Jerome.”
“You’re really up on this, aren’t you?” Giulia said.
“Sometimes I get carried away with trivia. I became intrigued because of the Venetians’ habit of going their own way for centuries. They must have been arrogant bastards to face down the powers in Rome. And they managed to give several popes giant headaches.”
Giulia half listened enjoying the companionship of this open, friendly woman. She felt a kinship with Marlowe, and Lord knew she needed a woman friend here. She wanted to learn Marlowe’s story. But all in good time, knowing how reluctant she felt about sharing her own.
* * *
The elderly sacristan gave Marlowe a warm hug. He seemed fragile and creaky as he bowed slightly to Giulia. But after a few words with him, it was clear his mind was not one bit creaky. As he showed the women through the church, he explained at great length—when he understood Giulia spoke fluent Italian—about the marble carvings done by the famous Lombardi brothers. After a while, though, he slipped away.
Marlowe took Giulia’s hand and led her to a painting by Girolamo Savoldo. The label stated it had been painted in the early 1500s, and the colors were as brilliant and jewel-like as a Vivarini painting that was hanging near the sacristy. Vivarini, came from a glass-maker family on the island of Murano and was said to have had a secret formula to make his paints glow. Maybe Savoldo knew Vivarini’s secret.
It was a manger scene, and Marlowe slipped quietly onto a bench in front of it saying nothing. It seemed this painting had a special meaning for Marlowe, and Giulia let herself be drawn into the ancient story as she sat on the edge of Marlowe’s bench.
The baby Jesus lies on the floor of a rustic hut. Mary and Joseph stand over him. A foreboding sky hovers over the hills behind the hut, maybe a symbol of the agony to come for this child. At the rear, a shepherd lounges into an open window, observing the family. Another shepherd peeks around the corner. Mary wears a crimson renaissance-style dress with a sumptuous green shawl, and Joseph sports a bright red cloak—the usual renaissance anachronisms in religious paintings.
“What’s funny?” Marlowe asked in a whisper.
Giulia moved closer to Marlowe and said, “The babe reminds me of my twin brothers when they were tiny. That chubby leg kicking in the air is exactly how they kicked covers away. They were such darlings at that age before they grew up to be major pests to this older sister.”
“Sounds fun to me since I’m an only.”
“Sometimes it was,” Giulia said. “Compared to many renaissance painters, though, Savoldo knew what a real infant looked like except—”
“Except what?” Marlowe interrupted.
“That babe,” Giulia said grinning, “is not a newborn.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” Marlowe said in a bare whisper.
Again Giulia sensed Marlowe’s distress but hesitated to intrude. Then she took a chance. “Is this why you wanted to bring me here?”
“I guess so,” she sighed.
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