Stone Virgin by Barry Unsworth Page A

registers with details of titles were probably destroyed in 1797 at the time of Napoleon’s invasion of Venice. So really we have to rely mainly on the genealogical works compiled before 1797, based upon state papers that were afterwards destroyed. The best book on the subject is probably Marco Barbaro’s Origin and Descent of the Patrician Families .’
    ‘Where could I get hold of a copy?’
    ‘You could probably get one through the University here.’ Wiseman hesitated for a moment or two, then he said, ‘As a matter of fact I have a copy of the 1926 edition. You can borrow that if you like.’
    ‘That is really very good of you,’ Raikes said warmly. He had not failed to notice Wiseman’s struggle, and he was touched by this evidence of friendship. ‘I’ll take care of it,’ he promised.
    ‘Of course,’ Wiseman said, as if wishing to retract, ‘it wouldn’t be much good for the eighteenth century, you know. The Fornarini family had sadly declined by that time. There might have been twenty or thirty people with that name, very few of them possessing any money. No, they were at their peak in the fifteenth century, when your statue was carved.’
    ‘Still,’ Raikes said, ‘I’d like to have a look.’
    ‘Of course. I’ll drop round with it. Or I’ll send someone. Not where you’re working, though – it’s too messy there.’
    ‘I’m not working this afternoon. I’m making a start tomorrow, the twenty-fifth.’
    Raikes instantly regretted saying this. He did not want Wiseman to know that he had been waiting for the Feast Day of the Annunciation before beginning; it seemed to reveal too much of his own private rituals. Wiseman was kind and sensitive and sympathetic; but he looked always for quirks and oddities, he made everything into anecdote. It was why Raikes had not given the real reason for wanting to know about the Fornarini – the last thing he wanted was to see the Madonna featuring in Wiseman’s Byways . And it was why he had never talked much about personal feelings to the other man, distrusting the quality of the understanding that Wiseman would give him.
    However, he realized after a moment that Wiseman saw no significance in the date. No reason why he should, of course. I must stop attributing my own obsessions to other people, Raikes thought. ‘Shall we have some coffee?’ he said.
    ‘I suppose we’d better. I must be thinking about getting back. It’s pleasant here, isn’t it?’
    ‘Very.’
    They were on the Riva degli Schiavoni, looking across to the marvellously fabricated shape of San Giorgio with its line of little boats along the front, like beading. Earlier, when he had been on his way to meet Wiseman, there had been a powdering of mist in the air, thicker on the broader water where the Giudecca Canal opened into the basin of San Marco, obscuring the lines of the church, softening the outline of dome and campanile. Now, something like two hours later, the light was clear and sparkling on the water, every detail of Palladio’s design was radiantly distinct, the whole thing, church and island together, seemed like a single artefact, resting improbably on its bed of mud and sand.
    There were a number of small boats out on the water. A motor launch went past at speed, its prow rising and dipping like the upper blade of scissors cutting horizontally. The surface seemed hardly disturbed by this, resuming its calm almost at once, cancelling the passage. However, just below them, under the planks of the landing platform, among the mooring posts of the gondola station, Raikes saw that the water was wild demonic green in the shadow of the timbers, swirling with a sort of secretive violence against the poles. He was struck by this clandestine, treacherous behaviour of the water, and was about to draw Wiseman’s attention to it, when the latter said, ‘As a matter of fact I know someone here in Venice called Fornarini.’
    ‘Do you really?’
    Wiseman was again looking