Inferno (Page 55)

“Interesting,” Sienna said in a tone that suggested she had not heard a word. “And yet I’m still not clear on why the death mask is kept here inside the palazzo?”

Marta found the young woman’s insistence both unusual and bordering on impolite. “Well,” she continued, walking again, “when Dante died, he was still forbidden to enter Florence, and his body was buried in Ravenna. But because his true love, Beatrice, was buried in Florence, and because Dante so loved Florence, bringing his death mask here seemed like a kindhearted tribute to the man.”

“I see,” Sienna said. “And the choice of this building in particular?”

“The Palazzo Vecchio is the oldest symbol of Florence and, in Dante’s time, was the heart of the city. In fact, there is a famous painting in the cathedral that shows Dante standing outside the walled city, banished, while visible in the background is his cherished palazzo tower. In many ways, by keeping his death mask here, we feel like Dante has finally been allowed to come home.”

“That’s nice,” Sienna said, finally seeming satisfied. “Thank you.”

Marta arrived at the door of the museum and rapped three times. “Sono io, Marta! Buongiorno!”

Some keys rattled inside and the door opened. An elderly guard smiled tiredly at her and checked his watch. “È un po’ presto,” he said with a smile. A little early.

By way of explanation, Marta motioned to Langdon, and the guard immediately brightened. “Signore! Bentornato!” Welcome back!

“Grazie,” Langdon replied amiably as the guard motioned them all inside.

They moved through a small foyer, where the guard disarmed a security system and then unlocked a second, heavier door. As the door swung open, he stepped aside, sweeping his arm out with a flourish. “Ecco il museo!”

Marta smiled her thanks and led her guests inside.

The space that made up this museum had originally been designed as government offices, which meant that rather than a sprawling, wide-open gallery space, it was a labyrinth of moderate-size rooms and hallways, which encircled half of the building.

“The Dante death mask is around the corner,” Marta told Sienna. “It’s displayed in a narrow space called l’andito, which is essentially just a walkway between two larger rooms. An antique cabinet against the sidewall holds the mask, which keeps it invisible until you draw even with it. For this reason, many visitors walk right past the mask without even noticing it!”

Langdon was striding faster now, eyes straight ahead, as if the mask held some kind of strange power over him. Marta nudged Sienna and whispered, “Obviously, your brother is not interested in any of our other pieces, but as long as you’re here, you shouldn’t miss our bust of Machiavelli or the Mappa Mundi globe in the Hall of Maps.”

Sienna nodded politely and kept moving, her eyes also straight ahead. Marta was barely able to keep pace. As they reached the third room, she had fallen behind a bit and finally stopped short.

“Professor?” she called out, panting. “Perhaps you … want to show your sister … some of the gallery … before we see his mask?”

Langdon turned, seeming distracted, as if returning to the present from some far-off thought. “Excuse me?”

Marta breathlessly pointed to a nearby display case. “One of the earliest … printed copies of The Divine Comedy?”

When Langdon finally saw Marta dabbing her forehead and trying to catch her breath, he looked mortified. “Marta, forgive me! Of course, yes, a quick glance at the text would be wonderful.”

Langdon hurried back, permitting Marta to guide them over to the antique case. Inside was a well-worn, leather-bound book, propped open to an ornate title page: La Divina Commedia: Dante Alighieri.

“Incredible,” Langdon said, sounding surprised. “I recognize the frontispiece. I didn’t know you had one of the original Numeister editions.”

Of course you knew, Marta thought, puzzled. I showed this to you last night!

“In the mid–fourteen hundreds,” Langdon said hurriedly to Sienna, “Johann Numeister created the first printed edition of this work. Several hundred copies were printed, but only about a dozen survived. They’re very rare.”

It now seemed to Marta that Langdon had been playing dumb so he could show off for his younger sibling. It seemed a rather unbecoming immodesty for a professor whose reputation was one of academic humility.

“This copy is on loan from the Laurentian Library,” Marta offered. “If you and Robert have not visited there, you should. They have a spectacular staircase designed by Michelangelo, which leads up to the world’s first public reading room. The books there were actually chained to the seats so nobody could take them out. Of course, many of the books were the only copies in the world.”

“Amazing,” Sienna said, glancing deeper into the museum. “And the mask is this way?”

What’s the hurry? Marta needed another minute to regain her breath. “Yes, but you might be interested to hear about this.” She pointed across an alcove toward a small staircase that disappeared into the ceiling. “That goes up to a viewing platform in the rafters where you can actually look down on Vasari’s famous hanging ceiling. I’d be happy to wait here if you’d like to—”

“Please, Marta,” Sienna interjected. “I’d love to see the mask. We’re a little short on time.”

Marta stared at the pretty, young woman, perplexed. She very much disliked the new fashion of strangers calling each other by their first names. I’m Signora Alvarez, she silently chided. And I’m doing you a favor.