Read Online The Brotherhood of Book Hunters by Howard Curtis, Raphaël Jerusalmy - Free Book Online

June, 1464 . . . various consignments . . . provenance . . . Federico . . . Castaldi . . . in his capacity as . . . articles . . . There. First entry?”
    â€œThree manuscripts from the hand of Bishop Nicholas of Cusa, also known as Cusanum, concerning the composition of the universe. From algebraic deductions and observation of the skies, it has apparently been established that, and I quote,
terra non est centra mundi
. . . It seems there are thousands of stars and planets hovering in the ether. We are merely a grain of sand in the midst of that vastness.”
    Brother Médard gave a start, almost falling off his stool. “You can’t solve the mystery of Creation with an abacus,” he growled.
    â€œMy most Catholic lord Medici thinks the papacy has become trapped in the swamps of dogma. It persists in following Aristotle for fear of shaking beliefs that ensure it the blind submission of its flock. It even rejects zero, which both Arabs and Jews use without in any way losing faith in their God.”
    â€œZero? Neither Pythagoras nor Euclid needed that phantom number. They established the world on solid foundations, not on a fortune-teller’s symbols!”
    â€œHow can an empty, worthless number threaten the Almighty?”
    Federico took a painting from the rough cloths in which it was wrapped. He arranged the five wooden panels on the floor to reconstruct a fresco. Médard was reassured at first. He saw the pale hands of a Madonna, then the rosy-cheeked features of the child Jesus, his head duly crowned with a halo. Behind them, a stone colonnade stood out against the landscape in the background. You could see a blue river winding toward low hills. Trees, painted in astonishing detail, contrasted with a sky filled with hazy clouds. An ancient mausoleum stood on the summit of a plateau. In spite of the Madonna’s gleaming robe and the strong colors of the central scene, your eyes plunged into the distance, abandoning the holy characters to wander amid hills and valleys. You felt a kind of dizziness. The Virgin and her child seemed to be sitting quite close to you, but it was the clouds and the trees, their hues at once smooth and deep, that led you into their strange world, and you stopped seeing the mother and son. You sensed them the way you would sense a presence, but your eyes were elsewhere, flowing with the river among the hills, engrossed in little brushstrokes that perfectly echoed the grain of the wood. The division of the panels added to the artifice, leaving it to the eye to weave the very texture of the space and the light. The religious scene was merely a pretext.
    This work by the painter and architect Brunelleschi had briefly adorned the baptistery of Florence Cathedral. It had been hastily removed before its creator could suffer the wrath of his sponsors and remained for a long time hidden in the cellars of the Medicis. Only Master Verrocchio was able to see it and teach its secrets to his apprentices. At this very moment, one of his pupils, named Leonardo, had been given the task of mastering this new way of depicting the universe, this other way of seeing, known as perspective.
    â€œTrompe-l’œil, that’s all it is. Does it make the Madonna any holier?”
    Federico put away his notes and concentrated on establishing the inventory. In any case, the monk’s voice didn’t count. The final decision was taken elsewhere, by his masters. They would only affix their mysterious mark to the Medici coat of arms if they approved Cosimo’s choices. It was then up to them to decide whether they confined them to a library or disseminated the contents. Otherwise, Federico would have to take back the rejected books and paintings and sell them at the back of his shop as mere curiosities.
    The consignment went on late into the night. The merchant opened the cases, held out the manuscripts one by one, without saying