Hannibal (Hannibal Lecter 3)

“Cavalcanti replied publicly to Dante’s first sonnet in La Vita Nuova, where Dante describes his strange dream of Beatrice Portinari,” Dr. Fell said. “Perhaps Cavalcanti commented privately as well. If he wrote to a Capponi, it would be to Andrea, he was more literary than his brothers.” Dr. Fell turned to face the group in his own time, after an interval uncomfortable to everyone but him. “Do you know Dante’s first sonnet, Professor Sogliato? Do you? It fascinated Cavalcanti and it’s worth your time. In part it says:

“The first three hours of night were almost spent

The time that every star shines down on us

When Love appeared to me so suddenly

That I still shudder at the memory.

Joyous Love seemed to me, the while he held

My heart within his hands, and in his arms

My lady lay asleep wrapped in a veil.

He woke her then and trembling and obedient

She ate that burning heart out of his hand;

Weeping I saw him then depart from me.

“Listen to the way he makes an instrument of the Italian vernacular, what he called the vulgari eloquentia of the people:

“Allegro mi sembrava Amor tenendo

Meo core in mano, e ne le braccia avea

Madonna involta in un drappo dormendo.

Poi la svegliava, e d’esto core ardendo

Lei paventosa umilmente pascea

Appreso gir lo ne vedea piangendo.”

Even the most contentious Florentines could not resist the verse of Dante ringing off these frescoed walls in Dr. Fell’s clear Tuscan. First applause, and then by wet-eyed acclamation, the memberships affirmed Dr. Fell as master of the Palazzo Capponi, leaving Sogliato to fume. If the victory pleased the doctor, Pazzi could not tell, for he turned his back again. But Sogliato was not quite through.

“If he is such an expert on Dante, let him lecture on Dante, to the Studiolo.” Sogliato hissed the name as though it were the Inquisition. “Let him face them extempore, next Friday if he can.” The Studiolo, named for an ornate private study, was a small, fierce group of scholars who had ruined a number of academic reputations and met often in the Palazzo Vecchio. Preparing for them was regarded as a considerable chore, appearing before them a peril. Sogliato’s uncle seconded his motion and Sogliato’s brother-in-law called for a vote, which his sister recorded in the minutes. It passed. The appointment stood, but Dr. Fell must satisfy the Studiolo to keep it.

The committees had a new curator for the Palazzo Capponi, they did not miss the old curator, and they gave the disgraced Pazzi’s questions about the missing man short shrift. Pazzi held up admirably.

Like any good investigator, he had sifted the circumstances for profit. Who would benefit from the old curator’s disappearance? The missing curator was a bachelor, a well-respected quiet scholar with an orderly life. He had some savings, nothing much. All he had was his job and with it the privilege of living in the attic of the Palazzo Capponi.

Here was the new appointee, confirmed by the board after close questioning on Florentine history and archaic Italian. Pazzi had examined Dr. Fell’s application forms and his National Health affidavits.

Pazzi approached him as the board members were packing their briefcases to go home.

“Dr. Fell.”

“Yes, Commendatore?”

The new curator was small and sleek. His glasses were smoked in the top half of the lenses and his dark clothing beautifully cut, even for Italy.

“I was wondering if you ever met your predecessor?” An experienced policeman’s antennae are tuned to the bandwidth of fear. Watching Dr. Fell carefully, Pazzi registered absolute calm.

“I never met him. I read several of his monographs in the Nuova Antologia.” The doctor’s conversational Tuscan was as clear as his recitation. If there was a trace of an accent, Pazzi could not place it.

“I know that the officers who first investigated checked the Palazzo Capponi for any sort of note, a farewell note, a suicide note, and found nothing. If you come upon anything in the papers, anything personal, even if it’s trivial, would you call me?”