Choruses, soloists, orchestre!"
"We'll all go, shall we?" said Sam, and he shelled out thousands of lire. Mary quickly paid the Kellys' share, then scrabbled in her bag for more thousands to pay her way into the Accademia.
Sam hurried her up the stairs. "You can see all this later," he said, rushing her down a corridor.
"Oh, all right," said Mary, glancing left and right, catching tantalizing glimpses of famous works of art.
He slowed down at last. "Here we are."
The room was devoted to eight huge paintings of the miracles performed by a relic of the True Cross belonging to the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista. It was the very same relic that was about to be entrusted to Sam Bell.
Mary was entranced. "Sam, what's this one all about? Why are they all swimming in the water?"
"It was a religious procession," explained Sam. "The brothers were carrying the cross over the bridge when it fell in the water. Of course they all jumped in to save it, and one of them managed to grab it." He glanced at Mary. "They seemed to think it was a miracle."
"Mmm," said Mary. "I see." They moved on, and at once she was excited. "Oh, Sam, how wonderful! It's the Square of Saint Mark. It looks just the same right now."
"Well, perhaps not quite," murmured Sam. He pointed. "Do you see the reliquary, there under the canopy?"
"Oh, yes, all gold, how beautiful. Where's the miracle?"
"The kneeling man, there on the right. He's praying for the healing of his injured son back home. Afterward, guess what? His son was okay. How's that for a miracle?"
Mary laughed. "Well, they must have thought it was a miracle. I mean, just look at all the trouble and expense they went to. I'm glad they did. It's a magnificent painting. Okay, what's next?"
"This one's a sort of anti-miracle." Sam looked up at the painting, which was crowded with active figures and gondolas and people looking out of windows and tall men in red and black robes standing solemnly in the foreground. "It's a funeral procession. They were carrying the reliquary into a church for the funeral of one of the brothers, when it suddenly became so heavy they could hardly carry it."
"Why? What sort of miracle was that? "
"I think it was a case of disrespect. The dead man had not been sufficiently devoted to the relic, so it refused to take part in his funeral." Sam shook his head in cynical wonder. "Queer sort of miracle, if you ask me." He hurried Mary to the other end of the room. "This one's my favorite."
"Well, no wonder." Mary gazed with delight at the wooden bridge, the crowds of people, the palaces crowned with chimney pots, the gondolas with their elegant gondoliers. "And, oh, Sam, look at the laundry up there against the sky on long poles! What delicious detail! But where's the miracle?"
"It doesn't seem very important, does it? It's up there on the loggia. The man in black is possessed. He's being cured by the relic of the cross." Sam turned to Mary. "Look, cara mia , I've got to get back. You stay as long as you like."
"Oh, thank you, Sam. I'm greedy to see all the rest."
Sam found his way back to the grand staircase and walked out of the Accademia. His cynicism about the relic was stronger than ever. The brothers of the confraternity had claimed that their relic alone, unlike other pieces of the True Cross, was miracolosa , but on the evidence of these paintings all its wondrous prodigies were a poor lot. Of course it was good that they had inspired these glorious works of art, but as miracles, they were pitiful.
And one of them distressed him, the miracle condemning one member of the brotherhood, the man whose lack of reverence had angered the relic. Sam felt a twinge of personal connection. He too was about to be irreverent. In presuming to touch the golden reliquary with doubting hands would he be showing his own contempt? Would the cross fight back?
Vaporetto number 1 scraped against the floating dock. "Attenzione," cried the girl as she unwound the rope. "Un
"We'll all go, shall we?" said Sam, and he shelled out thousands of lire. Mary quickly paid the Kellys' share, then scrabbled in her bag for more thousands to pay her way into the Accademia.
Sam hurried her up the stairs. "You can see all this later," he said, rushing her down a corridor.
"Oh, all right," said Mary, glancing left and right, catching tantalizing glimpses of famous works of art.
He slowed down at last. "Here we are."
The room was devoted to eight huge paintings of the miracles performed by a relic of the True Cross belonging to the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista. It was the very same relic that was about to be entrusted to Sam Bell.
Mary was entranced. "Sam, what's this one all about? Why are they all swimming in the water?"
"It was a religious procession," explained Sam. "The brothers were carrying the cross over the bridge when it fell in the water. Of course they all jumped in to save it, and one of them managed to grab it." He glanced at Mary. "They seemed to think it was a miracle."
"Mmm," said Mary. "I see." They moved on, and at once she was excited. "Oh, Sam, how wonderful! It's the Square of Saint Mark. It looks just the same right now."
"Well, perhaps not quite," murmured Sam. He pointed. "Do you see the reliquary, there under the canopy?"
"Oh, yes, all gold, how beautiful. Where's the miracle?"
"The kneeling man, there on the right. He's praying for the healing of his injured son back home. Afterward, guess what? His son was okay. How's that for a miracle?"
Mary laughed. "Well, they must have thought it was a miracle. I mean, just look at all the trouble and expense they went to. I'm glad they did. It's a magnificent painting. Okay, what's next?"
"This one's a sort of anti-miracle." Sam looked up at the painting, which was crowded with active figures and gondolas and people looking out of windows and tall men in red and black robes standing solemnly in the foreground. "It's a funeral procession. They were carrying the reliquary into a church for the funeral of one of the brothers, when it suddenly became so heavy they could hardly carry it."
"Why? What sort of miracle was that? "
"I think it was a case of disrespect. The dead man had not been sufficiently devoted to the relic, so it refused to take part in his funeral." Sam shook his head in cynical wonder. "Queer sort of miracle, if you ask me." He hurried Mary to the other end of the room. "This one's my favorite."
"Well, no wonder." Mary gazed with delight at the wooden bridge, the crowds of people, the palaces crowned with chimney pots, the gondolas with their elegant gondoliers. "And, oh, Sam, look at the laundry up there against the sky on long poles! What delicious detail! But where's the miracle?"
"It doesn't seem very important, does it? It's up there on the loggia. The man in black is possessed. He's being cured by the relic of the cross." Sam turned to Mary. "Look, cara mia , I've got to get back. You stay as long as you like."
"Oh, thank you, Sam. I'm greedy to see all the rest."
Sam found his way back to the grand staircase and walked out of the Accademia. His cynicism about the relic was stronger than ever. The brothers of the confraternity had claimed that their relic alone, unlike other pieces of the True Cross, was miracolosa , but on the evidence of these paintings all its wondrous prodigies were a poor lot. Of course it was good that they had inspired these glorious works of art, but as miracles, they were pitiful.
And one of them distressed him, the miracle condemning one member of the brotherhood, the man whose lack of reverence had angered the relic. Sam felt a twinge of personal connection. He too was about to be irreverent. In presuming to touch the golden reliquary with doubting hands would he be showing his own contempt? Would the cross fight back?
Vaporetto number 1 scraped against the floating dock. "Attenzione," cried the girl as she unwound the rope. "Un
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