librarian.”
Giancarlo laughed. “We have no argument with libraries!”
“But they should be open for the people,” Rafael added, solemnly. “Even at the Vatican.”
“Especially there,” Giancarlo retorted. He glanced at Birgit but she was smiling out the window.
“Mary and Joseph!” Father Doherty cried. “But you touch me on the raw, my dear fellows! I’m all for the people, love them and bless them. But”—he wagged a finger—“but it’s not to say I want a library at the very mercy of all the dust, dirt, and sneezes of Christendom! My dear fellows, just consider the mayhem and the destruction that would ensue, should all the world’s scholars and wasters descend in a body on those priceless documents and books! I speak as a scholar, not as a politician, of course.” He half-turned to Palewski. “The ambassador has the old disease, as well as me. Bibliomania!”
“Incurably,” Palewski murmured.
“There’s manuscripts in the Vatican that would fall apart if you so much as breathed on ’em! It’s not a library—it’s a record of civilization itself!”
“A part of one civilization,” Rafael corrected him, holding up a finger.
“Oh, my darlin’ boy—you’d find stuff from all your other civilizations in there, too. To whom, might I ask, did the Great Cham write, when he wanted to speak to Christendom? To whom did the sultan here in Istanbul address himself—or the Great Mogul, or the Khans of Bulgaria? There’s letters in that Vatican Library, let me tell you, written in scripts that are dead and forgotten everywhere else—written on bark and in blood, dear men, letters from vanished civilizations, testaments to worlds and lands that are buried beneath the desert sands, or deluged beneath the waves for their iniquities, no doubt. How—how did the great Charlemagne sign his name, do you know?”
Giancarlo shrugged. Palewski bent forward: “With an X .”
“That’s right! With an X . It’s on the deeds, preserved in that great library! Not a library at all, but a hidden world, a preserved testament to the history of mankind in Europe—and beyond! I’ll have another glass, yes, why not. I’m enjoying myself.” Father Doherty twinkled as the wine flowed, and even Rafael, dark and solemn, could not resist a smile. He was not quite ready to give up the fight, though.
“What about the Index? The books His Holiness thinks are too dangerous, that we are too weak to read?”
Father Doherty gave one of his cheerful winks. “Oooh, now, the Index. I’ll tell you something about it, if you like. There’s books in there that would make your flesh creep, and books that would make you laugh, and nine out of ten aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, God’s honest truth. Drivel, flattery of princes, praise of the Seven Sins, the production of weak and disordered minds.”
“Galileo Galilei? Dante? Savonarola?”
But Doherty wasn’t having that. “And who’s to stop you reading them, if you’ve a mind to do it? There, you’re an educated man, and you’ve read these books, no doubt…”
Palewski’s eyes wandered toward the window, where Birgit sat and gazed pensively at the wisteria that drifted up the wall. He joined her, leaving the others still talking around the fireplace. She turned her head toward him, smiling her slow Danish smile.
“I thought Istanbul would be—different,” she said. “But really, it’s the same. A priest, the boys talking, champagne. The ambassador.”
“The ambassador’s not different?”
Her eyes flickered. “Maybe. Unusual.”
“Istanbul has become more unusual since you came,” Palewski said.
“How do—oh!” She took his meaning, and blushed. “I wear a headscarf in the street.”
Palewski shook his head. “If it were only your hair…”
Birgit gave a low laugh. “That I am traveling with these boys? Is that what you mean?”
It was Palewski’s turn to blush. “I didn’t mean—that is, it’s something
Giancarlo laughed. “We have no argument with libraries!”
“But they should be open for the people,” Rafael added, solemnly. “Even at the Vatican.”
“Especially there,” Giancarlo retorted. He glanced at Birgit but she was smiling out the window.
“Mary and Joseph!” Father Doherty cried. “But you touch me on the raw, my dear fellows! I’m all for the people, love them and bless them. But”—he wagged a finger—“but it’s not to say I want a library at the very mercy of all the dust, dirt, and sneezes of Christendom! My dear fellows, just consider the mayhem and the destruction that would ensue, should all the world’s scholars and wasters descend in a body on those priceless documents and books! I speak as a scholar, not as a politician, of course.” He half-turned to Palewski. “The ambassador has the old disease, as well as me. Bibliomania!”
“Incurably,” Palewski murmured.
“There’s manuscripts in the Vatican that would fall apart if you so much as breathed on ’em! It’s not a library—it’s a record of civilization itself!”
“A part of one civilization,” Rafael corrected him, holding up a finger.
“Oh, my darlin’ boy—you’d find stuff from all your other civilizations in there, too. To whom, might I ask, did the Great Cham write, when he wanted to speak to Christendom? To whom did the sultan here in Istanbul address himself—or the Great Mogul, or the Khans of Bulgaria? There’s letters in that Vatican Library, let me tell you, written in scripts that are dead and forgotten everywhere else—written on bark and in blood, dear men, letters from vanished civilizations, testaments to worlds and lands that are buried beneath the desert sands, or deluged beneath the waves for their iniquities, no doubt. How—how did the great Charlemagne sign his name, do you know?”
Giancarlo shrugged. Palewski bent forward: “With an X .”
“That’s right! With an X . It’s on the deeds, preserved in that great library! Not a library at all, but a hidden world, a preserved testament to the history of mankind in Europe—and beyond! I’ll have another glass, yes, why not. I’m enjoying myself.” Father Doherty twinkled as the wine flowed, and even Rafael, dark and solemn, could not resist a smile. He was not quite ready to give up the fight, though.
“What about the Index? The books His Holiness thinks are too dangerous, that we are too weak to read?”
Father Doherty gave one of his cheerful winks. “Oooh, now, the Index. I’ll tell you something about it, if you like. There’s books in there that would make your flesh creep, and books that would make you laugh, and nine out of ten aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on, God’s honest truth. Drivel, flattery of princes, praise of the Seven Sins, the production of weak and disordered minds.”
“Galileo Galilei? Dante? Savonarola?”
But Doherty wasn’t having that. “And who’s to stop you reading them, if you’ve a mind to do it? There, you’re an educated man, and you’ve read these books, no doubt…”
Palewski’s eyes wandered toward the window, where Birgit sat and gazed pensively at the wisteria that drifted up the wall. He joined her, leaving the others still talking around the fireplace. She turned her head toward him, smiling her slow Danish smile.
“I thought Istanbul would be—different,” she said. “But really, it’s the same. A priest, the boys talking, champagne. The ambassador.”
“The ambassador’s not different?”
Her eyes flickered. “Maybe. Unusual.”
“Istanbul has become more unusual since you came,” Palewski said.
“How do—oh!” She took his meaning, and blushed. “I wear a headscarf in the street.”
Palewski shook his head. “If it were only your hair…”
Birgit gave a low laugh. “That I am traveling with these boys? Is that what you mean?”
It was Palewski’s turn to blush. “I didn’t mean—that is, it’s something
Similar Books
