The Glassblower of Murano (20 page)

`Ah yes, Veneziani gran signori, Padovani gran dottori ..

'Vicentini mangiagatti, Veronesi tutti matti.'Leonora finished.
`I always wondered why theVicenzans ate cats in the rhyme.
But I suppose it's better than being mad, like the
Veronese.!

'Ah yes, but the best thing to be of all is a great lord,
like the Venetians.' Alessandro interjected proudly.

`Anyway, Professore Padovani still sends Christmas cards
to my mother. But I don't know if he's still at Ca'
Foscari '

She could hear him stretching on the other end of the
line. He was clearly tired, but his voice was alert and she
was encouraged that he was treating her enquiry in earnest.
`Then I think the thing to do is to talk to this man, if he
is still there. He will certainly know something of your
father, which seems a good place to start. Go tomorrow,'
he said with his customary dispatch, `because on Sunday
I'm back for the day and we'll do something, if you're
free.'

She clutched the receiver with joy, feeling like a teenager. But with a desperate effort for detachment, she
stayed with her theme. `D'you really think I can find out
about him, after all these years?' And it was Corradino
she meant.

`Sure. He only died in, what was it? 1972? And, you
know, if you want to find something out, you should really
have a Detective on your team.' She could hear him grinning down the phone as he signed off with promises to
see her on Sunday.

Leonora felt a sudden resolve to unravel the mystery of
Corradino, and felt that the Professore would be a good
start. She couldn't wait for tomorrow. She couldn't explain
to herself why she had not been entirely honest with
Alessandro, had let him think that she wished to find out
principally about her father.

She slept badly, and in the morning was sick again. Nerves,
she thought.

But I know it isn't nerves.

Leonora entered the modest side gate leading into the
University precincts from the Calle della Foscari. Once
inside, Leonora was deafened by the antics going on around
her. Though it was Saturday morning, a study day for most
students, there seemed to be some sort of Rag taking place
- Leonora recognized the same misrule, the same anarchic
spirit, which had moved her to dress as a nurse and help push a hospital bed down the Charing Cross Road during
Rag week at St Martin's.

Eggs and flour were flying everywhere, and she had to
duck more than once as she crossed the desecrated lawn.

They must be graduating. I read somewhere that Italian students
think that making cakes of themselves is a fitting way to mark
their transition to Dottore. Soon they'll all be gone, like the
tourists.

She perused the faculty lists on a noticeboard cloistered
behind glass, with fading hope, but at last Leonora spotted;
`Professore Ermanno Padovani.'

He's head of the faculty for `Storia del Rinascimento'. Renaissance
History. I might just be in luck. `Padovani gran dottori'
indeed.

She mounted the ancient stairs and trawled the empty
corridors reading the names on the history department
doors. From here the screams and merriment from outside
were muffled. It felt like there was no one in these upper
floors at all, so when she reached the Professore's door at
last, Leonora felt little hope of him being inside. But when
she knocked and heard a faint `Entrate,' muffled by the oak,
her insides fluttered with the knowledge that the man
inside this room may have some of the answers that she
sought. As Leonora entered the sight she beheld almost made her forget why she had come. Ahead was a wide,
ornate window, made up of a quartet of the most perfect,
intricate, Moorish frames of which Venice was so proud.
And beyond - the most incredible vista of the San Marco
bank of the Canal Grande, water shimmering at the foot
of the splendid palaces, as if in supplication to their grandeur. Leonora was so lost in the view that the voice that
addressed her was an audible shock.

`One of the privileges of having taught here for thirty
years is that I get the best room in the faculty. One of the
drawbacks is, sometimes I find it very hard to get any work
done. You must have come in the back way, through the
gate? A pity. It is not the best aspect of the place!

Leonora turned to the old man, who had emerged from
behind his book and desk with the aid of a stick. Kindly,
white-bearded, beautifully dressed and with penetrating
eyes, he looked faintly amused. She apologized. `But it's so
beautiful, for a ...'

'You were going to say for a University? But it has not
always been one. Ca' Foscari was formerly a palace built
for the Bishops ofVenice, and you know how prelates like
their creature comforts. And surely, Signorina, you have
beautiful seats of learning in your own country do you
not? Oxford and Cambridge?'

Leonora started. She had flattered herself that her English
accent was gone. But she was not chastened - it seemed
that this was a man with a formidable intelligence, from
whom nothing could be hidden. It seemed all the more likely that he could help her. She took a deep breath.
`Professore, I apologize for disturbing you. I'd like to ask you
a few ... historical questions, if you have a moment'

The old man smiled, his bright eyes crinkling at the
corners. `Of course,' he said. `I can spare more than that
for the daughter of my old friend Elinor Manin. How are
you, my dear Nora? Or,' the old eyes twinkled immoderately, `is it Leonora now that you have become ... assimilated.'

Leonora marvelled at the quickness of the Professore's
mind. Not only had he remembered her instantly, but he
had divined, in a few short seconds, that she had changed
her life and her name. She smiled.

`You're right. I am Leonora. And I'm amazed you
remember me. I must have been ... what ... five years
old?'

`Six,' countered Padovani. `It was at a University drinks
party in London.You proudly showed me your brand new
shoes. They were nicer than the ones you have on today.'
His eyes travelled to Leonora's battered converse trainers,
which she shifted sheepishly on the wooden floor. `And,
you know, you mustn't give me too much credit for my
perspicacity. You have become somewhat ... notorious ...
since you arrived here, have you not?'

Il Gazzettino. Of course. The paper was taken by just about
every household in Venice.

`But the rest of you has grown up so well, I suppose we
must not be so exacting. The Primavera, yes? Botticelli is
much more you than those Titian poses they put you in.
But I suppose you have been told this many times, by
younger men than me:

Encouraged by his old-world charm, Leonora got to the
point. `I wanted to ask you some questions about my family
... if you have a little time.'

The Professore smiled. `Time is plentiful at my age.' He
motioned to the window, where four easy chairs were
placed for tutorials. `Sit down then. I'm going to, so you
might as well.'

They sat in front of the peerless view, the chairs comfortable, but not cosy enough to induce sleep in the drowsy
scholar. Settling himself, the Professore began, `At the risk
of sounding like the villain of a bad movie - they always
seem to be English, don't they, my dear? I wonder why
- I've been expecting you. I take it Elinor doesn't know
that you are here.'

Leonora shook her head. `No. I mean, she knows that
I'm in Venice, but she doesn't know that I've come to talk
to you.,

The Professore nodded, and his gnarled hands tapped the
head of his cane. `I see. Then I must tell you, first of all,
that I will not divulge anything which she has shared with
me in confidence, but other than that, I will be as helpful
as I can be.' The Professore looked frankly at Leonora, waiting.
Her fingers were twisting the glass heart she wore on its ribbon - a sign, surely, of stress. He thought the trinket
was a clue to which relative she would ask about first. And
so it proved.

`What do you know of Corradino Manin?

`Corrado Mamn was the finest glassmaker of his time, and
of any other. He escaped the murder of his family and hid
on Murano, where he was taught the ways of the glass and
became a maestro. He was particularly proficient at making
mirrors, and became famous for it. It is said that the mercury
of the mirrors finally killed him, as it killed many.'

`So he died on Murano?'

`I don't know for certain. But it seems likely.'

Leonora exhaled with relief, but persisted.

`Do you know anything about the story that he may
have gone to France?'

For the first time in the interview, the Professor looked
discomfited. `Yes, I read that expose. Your colleague seems to
be harbouring quite a grievance. I'd like to know what the
`Primary Source' is that he thinks he has. I imagine that you
would not feel comfortable approaching him yourself?'

`There's absolutely no way that Roberto would tell me
anything, least of all help me to exonerate Corradino. He's
so angry with me that I'm afraid of him. I keep expecting
him to ambush me from the shadows' She tried to laugh,
but could see the Professore was not convinced. He did not
probe further into her fears, but moved on.

`And the young lady at the paper? Might she be
approached?'

Leonora shook her head. She had put in a call to II
Gazzettino as soon as she had read Roberto's revelations.
She was eventually put through to a frosty sounding Vittoria,
who had abandoned all pretence of friendliness. She was
sorry, Signorina Manin, but the supporting documents of
her sources were strictly confidential, particularly in this
case as Signor Roberto del Piero had asked that they remain
so. There was a chance that they'd be doing a follow-up
story in which the source would be reproduced, and
Signorina Manin could look forward to that.

`Hmm.' Padovani shrugged expressively `Ah well. One
of the wonderful things about the study of history is that
there is never just one definitive source, but many. If facts
are diamonds, then our sources are the facets, each set at
a discrete angle to make up the whole gem. We can do
some detective work of our own, and find those other
facets.'

Leonora was encouraged by his use of the word `we'
while his reference to detection warmed her with the
thought of Alessandro.

`It's possible that Corrado went abroad. But highly
unlikely. It's true that French mirror-making took an
enormous leap forward in the late seventeenth century,
evidenced by the Palais de Versailles, which became the
flagship for the enlightened century. Some say they had
foreign intelligence, others say that they arrived at these
methods through convergent evolution.'

`Convergent evolution?' queried Leonora.

The Professor explained. `In Africa, from the primeval
mulch of single-celled soup, there evolved an enormous
mastodon with large ears which we now call the African
elephant. In India, there evolved, by the same method, a
creature the same in all respects save the size of its ears.
Both creatures evolved independently, separated by seas
and landmasses, by tectonics, to arrive at the same place.
Neither `copied' the other. They merely share a distant
ancestor, as all glassware shares its mother; sand.They underwent convergent evolution.'

Leonora pressed the point. `Professore, why would you say
that it was highly unlikely that Corradino went to France?'

'Because The Ten, the ruling body of the Consiglio
Maggiore, took great exception to the defection of their
artisans. They threatened their families with death if
craftsmen took their secrets to foreign powers. Murano
itself was something of a prison, although perhaps less so
for a man like Corrado, who was possessed of a prodigious
talent and was given dispensation to visit the city for his
work.'

Leonora broke in with the question that seemed obvious
to her. `But Professore, why would The Ten hold any threat
for Corradino, if all his family were dead?'

`Because, my dear young lady, not all his family were
dead. I have but a rudimentary grasp of the Biological
Sciences but I do know that, if they were all dead, there
would be no descendants such as yourself, my dear.
Corradino had a daughter.!

Leonora pressed her face into the towel, not caring how many
grubby student hands had dried there before. She felt a fool
- running out of the Professore's room like that, and skidding
into the nearest bathroom to heave into the nearest toilet
bowl. Why was this revelation such a shock to her? If she
had even thought it through logically, there must have been
someone else, some lineage, or else how was she here? How
did she have the glass heart that Corradino passed down all
the way to her? She held the heart for courage as she walked
shakily back down the hall and timidly re-entered the
Professore's room. Padovani courteously stood, with concern
in his eyes. She sat again and apologized.