This is the revised edition of Giorni di un sognatore.
If you haven't read that story yet, kindly visit my profile and check it out. On second thought, don't.
It was horrible and after going through Literature classes, I finally had the chance to rewrite it.
As always, please review and I hope you love this my little dreamers! Mwah!
Canto I
Repubblica di Firenze, Anno 1463
It had been a hot summer evening on the tenth day of Giugno. The air does not move. Some of the citizens yearned for a refreshing glass of water or a cool cloth to press against their sweating face. But for Alba, the summer nights put her into a trance, sets her gazing into the night from her window of the bordello. It is not the same for everyone else. The heat had irritated most of her friends and often slowed down the flow of patrons. She had already seen two of the girls bicker for the other's hand-held fan. Yet some had smoldering temperatures that can be set on fire any hour of the day. Alba Vescovi was quiet, shy, a woman that shouldn't be a courtesan at all! Her long auburn hair had always been in a tangled mess and she hardly had any time to brush it. Nevertheless, she was lovely, born with immaculate features and a gentle personality. In the brothel, she sings and dances for amusement and in turn, brings upon the smiles on everyone's faces. However, on this midsummer night, her own smile graces her face. Alba was with child.
She had never thought that a courtesan could live a happily ever after. She always thought she would marry her grave instead, kissing death and his yellowish, cracked skull. The man who had loved her with all his heart was a French courtier, Louis Arnaud Saint-Jeanne. He was a man of adventure; a very great contrast to Alba's reserved character. Alba even recalled how they first met. It had been on the night of the Carnevale, all of the major cities wished to enjoy the celebration of the Venetian festival. Everyone had grins, laughter, and satisfaction. Lovers abided in the darkest alleys, hiding their love from plain sight. Alba, along with a group of friends, had worn masks to feel the carnival air. Her mask was bright pink and winged, like a bird. She waved her wand in the air as the firework on its tip cracked and popped. Drinks were served on the streets, everyone was truly happy. When the night almost ended, and the sun slowly creeping to bring new light, the whole city began to retire.
Alba was just about to leave herself. She spotted a man standing by an empty stall, his mask was white and simple, it brought out the color of his eyes which were gray. He came up to her then bowed graciously. Alba in turn, curtsied and placed her hand on his gloved one. They danced to no music, but to the beat of their own hearts. He had watched her all night. He had seen how much she loved the happiness surrounding her. Alba smiled at this.
"Pray, do tell me your name good sir. I cannot leave without knowing who you might be," said Alba quite softly. The man smiles, it beautifies his gruff features, and kisses her lips. "My name is Louis Arnaud from the house of Saint-Jeanne and my lady?"
She stood there transfixed, her cheeks blushed, and her body stiffened. She had managed to speak a few words to him. "Alba, and sadly, I am from the inexistent house of Vescovi, a once noble family here in Firenze." Arnaud touched her face with the back of his fingers. The leather was smooth against her skin. Alba sighed profoundly and leaned against his sincere hand. "Prosperous or poor, it matters not when you are in love." Alba almost steps back. "You speak of love as if it were a flower that you can crush effortlessly in between your fingers sir," she said. Arnaud laughs, "I prefer love to be the sky, it is never ending, and it follows you wherever you go." He follows her, like two children playing chase. Alba stepped back around a striped maypole, but Arnaud followed.
"But sir, if love were the sky, does it not have its darkest nights and brightest days?" she said. Arnaud leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers, "You are right, and if love had its darkest hours, I will be here to hold you and protect you from harm. In its brightest days, you will be happiest of all maidens." Alba felt his hand over hers, she parted her fingers without thinking, and their fingers threaded together. He smiled and so did she.
From that day onward, the two have settled their clandestine meetings in the city. They desired the other, they loved each other. It was not lust in their eyes, it was unfathomable longing to touch, feel, kiss, and embrace one another. Before long, Alba was pregnant and Arnaud immediately wedded her to seal their love forever. Once married, she could not stand to see her new husband return to France to relay the message of his matrimony. Arnaud laughed and called her a worried peacock. What could possibly go wrong? They were married now. He reassured her and Alba gradually let him go. He promised to return before their child was even born. He promised.
The memories came into an abrupt halt when Alba felt a surging pain shoot upwards on her spine. She clutched her large womb and can feel something trickle down her legs. Blood, it was blood. She shuddered at the thought of something awful has happened to her baby. Alba lifted herself up from her chair and shouted for Calvina, her dear friend. Imagine the excited and anxious looks of the courtesans when they heard their friend was in labor. Calvina hurried to get a bowl of hot water, some fresh clean linens, and a thread and needle. The Madam of the brothel, Paola, overheard the news and went upstairs to succor her courtesans. Alba was on her bed now, the sheets were soaked in perspiration, water, and her blood. She breathed hard and gripped Enrica's hand tighter. The fretful courtesan glanced up at her madam, "She is losing so much blood Madonna," she said. Paola nodded and placed a hand on Alba's sweaty forehead.
"You will be alright Alba, trust me. Just relax and breathe." Calvina returned with the required items and prayed to God everything would turn out fine. Alba could not remember how long it took to push her baby out, she recalled Calvina shouting at her to keep holding on. Paola loomed over her, telling her to stay strong for her child and Arnaud. Arnaud, she whispered, he promised to come back. But he never did. A small faint cry was heard. It was a girl, they said. A beautiful baby girl with the eyes of her father. Alba smiled and saw death before her eyes. His bony hand pressed upon her breast and he leaned down to kiss her dry lips.
"Alba? Alba dear, wake up…Alba?" Enrica almost stepped back in shock. Alba is dead. The infant in Calvina's arms began whimpering and she hungered for her mother's comfort and warmth. The young courtesan turned to Paola. "What should we do Madonna?" she queried. Paola leaned over and whispered to Alba quietly, "Rest in peace my cherished friend. God has put you to rest." She stood up and looked at the weeping child, "She has yet to be named, what name should you all suggest for our little girl?" she told them. A few wanted the name Maria while others wanted Susanna or Cristina. Abruptly, Calvina spoke softly at first and then impatient at the second.
Serafina, it had been a name stuck in her mind since her childhood days with Alba. They were devoted church-goers and Alba loved to stare up at the angelic statues, always hoping for a favor. The Seraphim had always been her favorite angels. Paola nodded to this, Serafina it is then. "By tomorrow we shall prepare for the funeral of Alba Vescovi. Enrica, please see to it we find a wet nurse to care for Serafina." Paola gently took the baby into her arms and softly cradled her till she fell asleep. Alba was buried in her family's ancient crypt in Santa Maria Novella the next morning. In the succeeding week, the brothel had an unexpected visitor. It was Madonna Ersilia from the house of Pazzi, her bright brown hair had been tied to a knot, leaving a tail wrapped in black ribbons, her peach gown displayed so much jewels that no one would doubt she is nobility.
But even if she were a noble, it still cannot cover up the fact that she had lived in the streets before. Calvina came up to the lady and curtsied."Calvina, my cherished friend, it is so good to see you. I had a very bad nightmare just the other night. Alba was in it and she was riding on a white horse with a skeleton flying over her head. I fear something has happened to my close friend, so this is why I have come here to see if she is in good health," said Ersilia. Calvina bit her lip and tried to find the words to respond to the lady's omen. "Alas, your dream my lady—" "Please refrain from calling me 'lady' Calvina. You, Alba, and I grew up together; there is no need for that." "Yes, Ersilia, of course." The courtesan replied. "You were speaking of my dream?" Ersilia queried once more. Calvina nodded and led her inside the civil brothel. Ersilia told her servants to wait for her outside. She heard a faint whimper somewhere and it vanished completely.
Her friend climbed up the staircase to the private rooms and opened a door quietly, the smell of burnt herbs emitted from the room were too strong. Ersilia had to take out her handkerchief and cover her nose. A plague doctor had been standing over a bed; he glanced over his shoulder to see the two women entering. They saw their shocked expressions on his rosette glasses. The doctor moved away, saying he has finished his job. Ersilia's gaze lay upon the being that was lying on white sheets. She sauntered over to the bedside and abruptly fell down on her knees. Her hands trembled as she held the cold hand of her beloved friend. "Ersilia," she blinked, she was standing in the doorway, and saw nothing on top of the bed. There was no plague doctor in the room. Although the herbal scent still lingered in the air. Calvina pulled out a chair for her to sit, Ersilia walked across the room and sat down comfortably on her seat. The courtesan then stood in front of her, her hands clasped in front of her pale, dirty green gown. She sighed then spoke.
"I am terribly sorry to relay such news to you. I know you have loved Alba as I did when we were all nothing but mere maidens gossiping in the streets. Ersilia…our dear Alba has passed away recently on the eve of the tenth of June." Ersilia parted her mouth to speak but no words came out. She looked around, she looked at Calvina's face to find any sort of deceit and there was none. "H-How could this happen? She was happy and in fine fettle when I last saw her, she had promised me to be her future child's godmother!" she shouted then quickly apologized for her discourtesy. "I understand how you feel Ersilia, I too feel depressed, angry at what has been done," said Calvina after inhaling deeply to calm herself.
"Although you must not let the rage take hold of you, there is still hope. Alba has given birth to a daughter, Serafina." The lady glanced up at her friend. "Serafina? Why, that is the name she has always wanted. Tell me, is she safe? How is my goddaughter doing?" she inquired. "She is quite healthy, as the doctor mentioned, and she is quite a glutton." Ersilia laughed softly at this. She requested to see the baby before she leaves for her house again. Calvina gladly permitted her and led the way once more.
The supposed nursery was at the very back of the brothel, it was not grand as the private rooms, and there wasn't practically any other furniture aside from the cradle. Ersilia ambled over to the sleeping child while Calvina allowed the wet nurse to rest. She touched the baby's chubby cheek and smiled tenderly. "She has Alba's hair and pale skin, what a beauty she is," she said quietly, hoping not to wake the child from its slumber. It was there that Ersilia noticed the squeaking floorboards, leaking ceilings and unwanted smells of the establishment. A brothel was not the perfect place to raise a child.
"Calvina, I know this may sound silly but are you sure this place is capable of nurturing a child?" The courtesan did not reply, instead she merely stood by the door tolerantly. "If you are having second thoughts Ersilia, I pray that whatever you decide, it is for the best. I am not trying to say this benefits us or you; Alba was like a sister to both of us and she would not hesitate to hand over Serafina to your care. This brothel is in dire need of repair and Paola has yet to retain its upkeep. Florence is not as it used to be." The two women fell silent and all they could hear were the people outside, complaining about the intense heat of the day. Calvina came up to the cradle and brushed back the soft strands of bright hair on the baby's head. "Please take care of her, if not for me, please do it for Alba."
Vieri de' Pazzi, age of 9 years, sat near the windows of the nursery, the day was bright and inviting. He had thought of so many activities to be done outside. Regrettably, his mother and father tasked him into guarding his newborn little sister, Viola. She was sleeping peacefully in her little four poster crib. The sheets have been weaved from golden threads and were adorned with pearls. Viola herself wore a light linen gown; a pearl necklace was worn loosely around the child's neck. Across the room was his older sister Fiorella, age of 10 years. She was learning how to speak Latin, a common subject taught to all daughters of nobility. She had long dark hair that several courtiers admire and her almond-shaped eyes were hauntingly beautiful to some. Fiorella smiled to herself upon completing a full sentence. She turned the page of her book and read the paragraphs aloud. Vieri heaved a sigh and returned to his trance. He then saw their mother marching towards their home.
The little boy jumped off the window seat and ran out of the nursery to greet her. He dodged the passing workers as they rebuilt a part of their home, on request of his father's uncle, Jacopo de' Pazzi. A favored architect of the family has been invited to remodel the entire home. Vieri rushed down the staircase and reached the courtyard. He saw his mother speaking to the maidservants, her back was facing towards him, she was telling them something in hushed whispers, and the women laughed quietly. Ersilia turned and saw her only son standing near the stairwell. He came up to her slowly, raising a curious brow at the object she was holding. She smiled a lovely smile and went to sit down on one of the stone benches in the courtyard.
The bundle she held moved, it peaked Vieri's curiosity. He rushed over to her side and peered into the face of a sleeping infant. "Mamma, who is this?" he asked "Her name is Serafina, she is the daughter of my dear friend, Alba," said Ersilia. "Alba?" Vieri repeated, taking the empty space beside his mother, "Isn't she the courtesan who took care of you when you had pneumonia? Papa said you were pregnant with me at that time." Ersilia chuckled and patted her son's head. "Yes Vieri, the very same woman. She and I grew up together despite being in the middle-class during my youthful days. Her family was of nobility until one evening, their drunken maid set fire to their home and killed them, leaving only Alba to survive. She and another friend became courtesans by trade while my family had managed to rise in society and eventually reached the high-class. That was also how I met your father." There was a hint of sadness in her voice while she spoke, Vieri noted, and he had to ask why. Ersilia looked at him sincerely like a saint looking down at a praying soul.
"She has passed away my sweet Vieri, a friend of mine died and I did not even know it until she appeared in my dreams. Till this day I think it was unfair of me to turn into this rich noblewoman when the person I once served under was suffering in the streets." Ersilia carefully cradled Serafina in her arms, a maidservant returned and inquired about a crib for the child. Vieri's old crib should still be available, Fiorella had hers sold to another family. Speaking of the girl, Ersilia turned to Vieri and asked for his older sister. "She is in the nursery learning Latin," he replies and stands up on the bench. His father, Francesco de' Pazzi has returned early from work. Judging by his expression, it was another bad day at the bank. He paused for a moment, seeing his wife with a bundle in her arms.
"What on earth Ersilia?" he said; Ersilia stood and showed him the little baby she adopted. "Do you remember Alba, the woman who took care of me before, my childhood friend?" she prodded. Francesco stared at her until he recalled it "Ah yes, the courtesan. It has been long has it? What has become of her? Did she find a suitable husband with deep pockets?" Ersilia shook her head negatively at her husband, only she had the patience and the will to withstand his exterior and in some way, he gives in, probably because he had been a young fool to choose a mere maiden, a daughter of a merchant, to be his eternal spouse.
She looked at him pitifully and then gazed down at the bundle. "She died whilst giving birth to her only child. Please Francesco, I beg of you. Alba saved my life; let me save the life of her daughter." The current head of the house stared and turned away from her. "Do what you wish Ersilia, it is your choice." Ersilia smiled. Vieri gazed up at her and tugged on her skirt. He asked her what had happened, his mother was smiling gratefully. "Vieri, follow me upstairs, with your new little sister, Serafina."
So? What do you guys think?
Please review because I would really like to know what you think of this new version!