Allegra

by C. De Melo

  Or the Holy Church. “Naturally, this matter will remain between us,” Vittorio assured, tossing a glance in his daughter’s direction.

  Stefania added, “Our servants are discreet, so you need not worry.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Signora.” Turning to Allegra, he added, “I expect you to be ready to begin our lessons immediately.”

  Vittorio was surprised. “So soon?”

  “If your daughter can set to paper what she sees in her head, I’m eager to discover what her hands are capable of doing.”

  “Yes, Signore Domenico.”

  “You will call me Maestro,” he corrected.

  “Yes, Maestro.”

  Domenico was shown into the spacious workshop where he and Allegra worked together for hours. At the end of the day, the goldsmith was duly impressed.

  “I would like to leave you with a small gift before I go,” Domenico said as he extracted a tiny bronze statue from the inside pocket of his surcoat. “Each of my apprentices has received one from me. I urge them to keep it close to their person at all times.”

  She examined the miniature figure. “Who is this?”

  “Why, it’s Saint Eligius, patron saint of goldsmiths.”

  “Thank you, Maestro.”

  ***

  Allegra’s hands worked tirelessly throughout the summer of 1561, curling strips of copper and silver to create pieces flaunting filigree and granulation. She learned about these styles from one of the books in the library. The classical tomes portrayed Hellenistic ladies wearing earrings and chokers mimicking the appearance of ornate lace. Inspired by the delicacy and elegance of this ancient jewelry, she set out to master the techniques.

  Domenico was often astonished by Allegra’s eye for detail and her ability to perform the most painstaking task with precision. His young pupil never complained, listened carefully to his instructions, and knew how to handle criticism. What’s more, she used the latter to her advantage, improving upon her skills.

  One day, Allegra casually inquired of Domenico, “Is your son like you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he a Maestro?”

  “Bruno is quite skilled, but he has yet to achieve the level of master.” The old man paused. “He lacks patience, you see.”

  “Will I ever meet him?”

  “You’ll meet him at the wedding.”

  “Does he know you’re tutoring me?”

  “No one knows, not even him.” Then, as an afterthought, the old man inquired, “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  “No, Maestro.”

  “Good girl.”

  There was a long pause as Allegra stared down at her lap.

  His brow creased. “What ails you, child?”

  “Sometimes I ask God to turn me into a boy.” The old man was taken aback by the unexpected comment. Regretting her confession, she hastily added, “Please don’t repeat my words to my father.”

  Domenico searched his mind for something suitable to say; kind words to comfort his pupil. “Well, I’m glad you’re not a boy.”

  “Do you honestly mean that?”

  “Yes, I do. You’re the only girl I’ve ever tutored, and I’m willing to wager that you’re the only female apprentice in Florence. That makes you special on two counts.”

  Vittorio, who was walking along the corridor, paused in the doorway.

  Allegra inquired, “Why must I remain a secret if I’m so special?”

  The old man sighed. “The role of women is to wed, bear children, and give glory to God through their submissive and chaste behavior. Your indulgent parents have risked much on your behalf. Arranging a secret apprenticeship is no small thing. Remember that many girls your age are already betrothed, some are even mothers.”

  “I’m aware of my good fortune, Maestro, but I also believe the world is an unfair place. I possess more talent than many of the city’s goldsmiths—my father even said so.”

  “The world is quite unfair, I agree. And your father is correct, but perhaps he shouldn’t tell you such things.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “Arrogance is most unbecoming, especially in women.”

  “Do you think I could someday be like you?”

  “You possess extraordinary skill for your age, but only time will tell. Never forget that we live in an age where specialization is considered a virtue; it’s the trademark of a master.”

  Allegra pondered his words with a serious expression.

  Vittorio cleared his throat and walked into the workshop. “What have you accomplished today, Allegra?” he inquired while inspecting his daughter’s current project—a bracelet of braided copper.

  Turning his attention to Domenico, he said, “The last time I delivered gemstones to your bottega, Bruno asked me to do some repairs. I have them here in my pocket.”

  Domenico stood. “I was about to take my leave. I would be happy to deliver them for you.”

  “We can walk to your bottega together. I could use some air.”

  Allegra also stood. “May I go, too? I would very much like to see the Maestro’s bottega and meet his son.”

  The men regarded one another before Vittorio inquired, “Do you have any objection, Domenico?”

  “None at all,” the old man replied.

  Walking hand in hand with her father, Allegra absorbed the city’s many sights. She noted the various styles of architecture and the gracefulness of outdoor religious shrines. When they entered the Mercato Nuovo, she was delighted by the sight of rich velvets and shimmering silks. The patterns and colors served as inspiration for future designs.

  They stopped before a small shop with a single window. The shutters were thrown back to reveal a wooden counter where a beautiful woman stood beside a set of scales. Glossy black hair framed a heart-shaped face that broke into a smile as they entered the bottega. Domenico patted her arm and mumbled a greeting before ducking into the back room to check on his apprentices.

  “Buona sera, Signorina Anabella,” Vittorio said cheerfully.

  Allegra looked to her father in surprise. How did he know this woman?

  “Buona sera, Signore Vittorio,” Anabella replied in a melodic voice, her eyes focused on the girl at his side. “Is this your daughter?”

  “Yes. Allegra, this is Signore Domenico’s future daughter-in-law.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Allegra said with a curtsy. She could not stop staring at the woman’s pretty face and neither could her father.

  Anabella smiled. “The pleasure is mine, Signorina. You’re such a lovely and well-mannered girl. How old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “I’m sure many boys will want to dance with you on my wedding day.”

  Before Allegra could reply, a plump young man with a jovial face appeared in the doorway. His mischievous eyes were a combination of green and gold. “Everyone will be dancing at our wedding, my love.”

  “Bruno,” Vittorio said. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you.”

  Domenico reappeared and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Vittorio has come to deliver your repairs.”

  “Good. My clients are eager for their jewelry.” Bruno’s eyes fell upon Allegra and he inquired, “Signore Vittorio, who is this beauty at your side?”

  “My daughter, Allegra.”

  Bruno made an elaborate bow before kissing her hand. The gesture drew laughter from the adults, prompting Allegra to edge closer to her father. Surprised by the suspicion and distrust in the girl’s eyes, Bruno paused for a moment. Intent on lightening her mood, he held up a finger, went into the back room, and emerged with both hands balled into tight fists.

  “Pick a hand,” he said.

  Allegra did not move.

  “Bruno, you and your silly games,” Anabella chided.

  Ignoring her comment, he prompted, “Go on, try and guess which hand conceals the treasure.”

  Allegra gazed deeply into Bruno’s
eyes and saw no malice or mockery in them. She pointed to his left hand and, when it came up empty, he made a comical sad face.

  “I suggest you pick the other one,” he whispered.

  A reluctant smile tugged at her lips as she pointed to the right hand.

  “Are you certain?” When she nodded, Bruno opened his hand to reveal a blue glass bead. Placing it in the palm of Allegra’s hand, he said, “A pretty trinket for a pretty girl. Oh, look! It matches the color of your eyes.”

  “Thank you, Signore Bruno.”

  “You are most welcome, Signorina Allegra.”

  Later that day, Allegra soldered a gold loop to the bead and slipped it onto a gold chain.

  ***

  Dressed in her finest gown of periwinkle silk, Allegra accompanied her parents to the church where Bruno and Anabella would exchange marriage vows before God. Throughout the ceremony, the happy groom stared at his bride in the same manner a puppy stared at its master.

  Several other men stared at the bride, too.

  A lively celebration followed at the Spinelli household. Diluted wine mixed with spices poured freely to refresh the thirst of merry guests as servants carried platters piled high with roasted meats.

  Vittorio allowed his daughter to drink a bit more wine than usual, earning him a reproving look from his wife.

  “Drink it slowly,” Stefania admonished after Allegra’s chalice had been filled to the rim.

  Allegra obeyed, but the wine still went to her head, making her deliciously dizzy. Hired musicians struck up a lively tune, prompting her to tap her feet. A few girls came by the table and urged her to join them in a fast-paced jig. Forming a circle by holding hands, they turned and dipped, giggled and spun around in circles.

  Later, some of the men sang ballads of courtly love to honor the bride. One even went as far as reciting a love poem he had written specifically for Anabella. The guests hooted at the sexual insinuations throughout the verse, whereas Bruno listened with feigned amusement.

  “How inappropriate,” Stefania whispered to Vittorio as she watched the lewd poet kiss Anabella’s hand with tears in his eyes.

  Allegra heard the comment and glanced at her father to gauge his reaction. Vittorio merely shrugged, pretending to be deeply interested in the contents within his chalice.

  The musicians played for everyone’s pleasure as the night wore on. Allegra felt someone touch her hand. It was Bruno and he reeked of wine.

  “Dance with me, Signorina Allegra.”

  Before she could respond, he led her toward a cluster of dancers. Never having danced publicly with a man, she felt self-conscious.

  Sensing her discomfort, he asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “I am, thank you.”

  He spun her around. “Someday, you’ll be dancing at your own wedding.”

  “I have no plans to marry,” she said coolly while keeping pace with him.

  Grinning, he teased, “Destined for the convent, are we?”

  “No, sir.”

  His expression turned serious. “You don’t like men, do you?”

  Lucrezia’s death had destroyed the literary heroes and poetic knights that she once held in high esteem. Men killed their wives. Men scorned girls and humiliated them in public. Men ruined the reputations of good women.

  Guard your heart and keep it safe, don’t trust men.

  “No, Signore Bruno, I don’t.”

  He chuckled in the face of her immature petulance. “You’re too young to harbor such ill will towards us.” Taking a step closer, he added, “The thought of boys may repulse you now, but, when you’re older, you’ll feel differently.”

  She recoiled from him. “Never!”

  Bruno stared at her in stunned silence.

  Mortified by her outburst, she said, “Forgive me, Signore Bruno.”

  He frowned. “Not all men are rogues, Allegra.”

  She blushed to the roots of her hair and said nothing. Anabella glided past them on the arm of a handsome man, and Bruno’s eyes followed the laughing pair.

  Chapter 8

  The cold, damp winter resulted in many Florentines getting ill and Domenico was no exception. The old man fell prey to fever and chills around Christmastime, and not even the joyous news of his daughter-in-law’s pregnancy roused him from his sickbed.

  Allegra fretted over her Maestro’s condition daily. Stefania sent servants to his home with curatives, steaming broths, and healing elixirs at her daughter’s insistence. Thankfully, his health was eventually restored and their lessons resumed in mid-February.

  On the one-year anniversary of her apprenticeship, Allegra handed Domenico a simple wooden box.

  “What have we here?” he cheerfully inquired.

  “I’ve been working on this piece for a long time, Maestro. I would appreciate your honest opinion.”

  Domenico opened the box. Nestled on a square of red cloth was a filigree and granulation choker fashioned from silver. The old man walked to a sunlit window and held it up to the light for closer inspection. Each bead was perfectly executed, the size and shape identical to the naked eye. The twisted metal curlicues between the rows of beaded clusters were created with meticulous precision.

  He stood by the window for so long that Allegra grew fidgety. “Well? Is it any good?”

  Domenico’s expression was one of puzzlement. He’d never seen anything like this—and from one so young! “It’s marvelous.”

  “Marvelous enough to be displayed for sale in your bottega?”

  The question, though bold, was valid. “Yes.”

  Allegra’s grin was so wide he thought her face would split in half.

  Three days later, Domenico presented Vittorio and Stefania with a heavy coin pouch. They were astonished at how quickly Allegra’s necklace had sold, and the high price it had fetched.

  ***

  Anabella gave birth to a healthy boy in June, and the new parents christened their son Agostino. Allegra eagerly anticipated playing with the baby as she accompanied her parents to the Spinelli household.

  Anabella received her guests in an elegant gown and carefully coiffed hair. Bruno sat in a chair beside his wife, holding their tiny son. Plump and pink, little Agostino stared longingly at his mother, who practically ignored him. After exchanging pleasantries, Stefania went over to admire the baby.

  “Such a fat little cherub,” she gushed.

  “God could not have bestowed a better gift upon us,” Bruno said before kissing the top of his son’s downy head.

  Stefania turned her attention to Anabella. “You look well.” Lowering her voice, she added, “I hope the birth wasn’t too difficult.”

  Anabella’s eyes welled with tears. “The pain was unbearable. Now, I’m fat and miserable because of having birthed a child.”

  “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” Bruno countered, his expression troubled.

  “Be patient,” Stefania advised. “I was much older than you when I delivered Allegra, and my figure returned quickly.”

  This seemed to cheer the distressed young woman. “Really?”

  Stefania nodded. “You’ll be back to your old self soon enough.”

  Allegra was about to ask if she could hold the baby when Agostino suddenly let out a piercing wail.

  Anabella covered her ears and frowned. “Ugh, that noise!”

  “He’s hungry, my love,” Bruno said, trying to soothe the baby.

  Anabella rolled her eyes. “He’s always hungry…Francesca!”

  A corpulent wet nurse with damp streaks running down the front of her bodice entered the room and carried off the fussy infant. Disappointed at not having had the chance to hold the baby, Allegra quietly sighed and sat down in a vacant chair.

  “Agostino is a fine boy,” Vittorio commented.

  “Yes,” Bruno agreed. “Hopefully, he’ll soon have a brother or sister to play with him.”

  Anabella shot her husband a hateful look that suggested otherwise. “Perhaps y
ou should deliver the next baby.”

  Bruno’s face fell in utter disappointment. “Darling, I know it must have been difficult—”

  “Difficult?” she scoffed. “You have no concept of the tremendous pain a woman must endure to bring a baby forth into this world. I never want to suffer through that ordeal again.”

  Stefania winced at the young woman’s lack of appreciation for having birthed a healthy child—on her first attempt, no less! A heavy silence filled the room after Anabella’s outburst. Bruno’s face was a mixture of shock and disillusionment.

  Sensing that she had offended her guests, Anabella offered sheepishly, “Forgive me. I am tired and still recovering from the birth.”

  Stefania said tentatively, “You will forget the pain, Signora Anabella. Every woman does. Just look at your son—he’s a miracle. God has truly blessed you both.”

  Anabella said nothing whereas Bruno gazed sadly at the floor.

  ***

  Ferdinando de’ Medici became cardinal at the age of fourteen in 1562. In October of that same year, Anabella and little Agostino fell seriously ill. Domenico and Bruno hired the best physicians that money could buy, but no cure seemed to work. Stefania sent curatives and Gianna’s potent elixirs, but those also failed. Within a few short weeks, mother and son died of consumption. Miraculously, Bruno’s robust health remained intact, but he was utterly devastated by the loss.

  At the funeral, Bruno sat grim and motionless beside his son’s tiny coffin. The mourners spoke in soothing voices, trying to offer comfort to the brokenhearted father. Domenico, who had expressed so much joy over his clever grandson, stood near Bruno with red-rimmed eyes.

  Allegra recalled the rosiness of little Agostino’s round cheeks. They had reminded her of ripe plums…Now, the baby’s face was ashen and devoid of expression. Bruno, once jovial and full of smiles, seemed as lifeless as his son. She had never seen him look so sad and hopeless. Would he ever know happiness again? Could he, after life had dealt him such a cruel blow?

  Stefania leaned sideways and put her lips to Allegra’s ear. “Do not stare.”

  Allegra immediately dropped her gaze. “I pity Signore Bruno.”