Prologue
tell what the winds that blow over Venice and become entangled in the bell tower of the square, and onto the master of a ship?
Every gust brings with it a fragment of life that mixes with the other to weave a narrative, the history of the city.
that the story is true, this is not true, because just to form a reel somewhere and the whole story takes a different direction, totally different to the original.
Each direction is a different point of view. The same city, endless ways to live it and watch it. Eventually, though, all modes must return a (more or less).
the commingling of the winds, also the different time points are brought together to imitate the nodes that the skilled fingers of the sailors are magically appear and disappear on the rope that holds the mainsail.
On the other hand, those who go in search of another time if it does not find things and states of affairs. And nothing is more difficult than finding a black cat in a dark room - especially if the cat is not there.
The risk is therefore that, says a British author of the theater, listen to a story told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. But it is a little risk because most of the stories they tell are so.
Perhaps it was a gust of wind, or maybe it was a voleur convinced we can get the gains, the fact is that a confidential note disappeared on dall'incartamento Venetians in the interrogation of Giordano Bruno - the dossier that would have accompanied his last mortal journey from Venice to Rome - to appear somewhere, but certainly a place where confidentiality is provided at a level significantly lower than that proverbially belongs to the Tribunal of the Inquisition.
And that is why, in that note, many were aware of the contents, he said, translated from legal and ecclesiastical Latin, more or less like this:
"Where are the last papers of Giordano Bruno? Where the manuscript that has long accompanied the pilgrimage of the philosopher from Nola around Europe? "
Yeah, Where are those papers?
"And why - still the precious ticket - the accused was carrying a replica in miniature of the map of Venice, designed as the crow flies, and the horoscope of the city?"
Yeah, why?
"Of course - concluded the statement - will be essential to know the contents of the charts."
Yeah, what did they speak?
Chapter One
Scene
The North-West wind, the Mistral, is down from the mountain ridges, crosses the Venetian plain and, before arriving in town, stop to give a shrug at the poor figure of the hanged man, which makes guard in the middle of the lagoon along the Strait of San Secondo, the waterway that connects the mainland in Mestre Venice. It 's a disturbing figure - and is put there on purpose, to remember that the justice of the Serenissima, as the merciful, it's no joke - but at the same time grotesque and incongruous: black black, dry, dry and lanky. ;
The wind rattling the bones of the hangman, making them resonate, and is bringing forth a wail that recalls the verses of Hanging of François Villon:
The rain has washed and rinsed,
and the sun were degraded blacks and dry
magpies and crows eyes we have excavated,
eyelashes and beards and torn with beaks.
peace We do not have a single moment:
here, there, as it shifts, the wind
tirelessly at his pleasure turns us,
more birds perforated thimbles.
