LOVE AND OTHER DREAMS
Love Story
Italian ambassador, 40 years old Count Giovanni Di Castellano breaks all rules of his world when in New York in the 1930s he meets falls in love with Sofiana Assenova, an opera-star at La Scala, divorced and of Bulgarian origin. She gives up her brilliant career and is converted to Roman Catholic religion to obtain permission for marriage with him from Italian King Victor Emanuel the Third and from Vatican.
Count Di Castellano has to resign after years of high profile work in Rome, Paris, Moscow, London, Morocco, and New York and comes back to Sicily. After his death, Sofiana finds herself in Sicilian mental home and tries to understand what has happened with her husband, with her and why.
Questions, mystery, puzzles and some answers in a unique love story. In it lives great passion, adventures, soul-traveling and secrets.
Seven years later she is saved with great difficulties and being treated in a catholic monastery before finding the path back to her grown-up son, the new heir of Di Castellano family.
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CHAPTER FIRST
1991, Italy
Michelangelo walked to the entrance hall and stood there, staring at the car that drove off on the main alley of the estate. Enwrapped in his thoughts, he raised his warm eyes towards the family portraits in the gallery and started ascending the stairs.
The serious man in his late forties set the door slightly ajar just like his mother had done once upon a time. Then bravely, he pushed the door and came to a halt on the garret, and saw the forgotten, dusty chest.
The key! He could not remember any word about the key. But why, for God's sake, did he need the key to the past of his own mother? Who should have the right to know her but him? And who would give a damn for a broken chest in his own home?
A slog and the rusty the padlock, unused for years, fell on the floor. He lifted the lid, it creaked, and he jerked back to avoid the thick cloud of dust, which filled the air. The brilliance of the clothes inside had faded away. The newspapers and photographs were yellow with the ages. By the paled light of the window, he took in his hands each object in succession. His eyes moved from her personal diary with the tarnished covers to the photographs. For a long time, he stood staring at an article in an old magazine with glossy pictures of the star Sofiana Assenova, the best opera singer of Bulgarian origin, a soloist at the Italian "La Scala", the greatest opera theatre.
1937, Milan, a home close to “La Scala”
The last moment, in which Sofiana Assenova could say farewell to that part of her life, had arrived. She was always certain she would be proud of her achievement to be the brightest star on the stage. Yet confusion occupied her loving lodgings, before she left them lonely and abandoned by stealth like a thief. She could never learn to relieve easily sorrow from her spirit. Therefore her heart urged on escape as soon as possible and to remember them brimming with bright feelings, which she would like to experience again in one more life. They were a big gift of fortune.
The attractive woman touched her beautiful stage costumes, photographs, and articles and placed them very carefully inside a large chest. For the last time Sofiana cherished her artistic world, in which her heart had found its refuge in the past. At only thirty-four years old and despite anguish and sadness she left her pursuit of success, of fame and the constant struggle to win the love of public at every single performance because their adoration replaced her need of love in her private life. A beloved singer and a lonely woman she welcomed the moment she trusted her second marriage with the seventeenth Count Giovanni De Castellano from Sicily would fulfil the emptiness somehow.
Thereafter her brilliant career was over. She closed the lid and locked it with a small padlock. The key remained locked in her cupped hand for some time.
Some days later, in her new bedroom, in the palace of the distinguished De Castellano family in a Sicilian town, Sofiana was secretly writing in her diary:
“Acquaintance with the whole of Gianni’s life is the only pleasant time to me now. He has known my past and I have been searching for his here. Many people tell me my husband was tenacious since his earliest years and his leadership qualities were indisputable since childhood. How could he understand that living in Sicily is a challenge for me? I was born an ordinary girl in all aspects and now I need tenacity more than those who were blessed with it at birth, the strength that lasts for a lifetime."
She was startled by footsteps entering the room. Her husband, the diplomat Giovanni De Castellano, looked at the open lid of the full chest and kissed her tenderly:
"Are you tired? Shall I call your maid to finish the work?"
"No! I am used to coping with everything by myself." She grew sombre and swallowed with difficulty: "This chest holds all things to which I could say goodbye but could not discard them.”
"I see." Count Giovanni nodded with understanding. "I will order the servants to move it to the attic. You would feel better if you do not see it every single day.” Her opened notebook also attracted his attention.
"Do you replace singing with writing? You always have a surprise that draws my interest."
"This is no book, just my personal diary for my hours of loneliness..."
"Loneliness? You have me," His warm brown eyes darkened.
"Gianni, I thank God for having you."
The two exchanged tender smiles before he left. Thoughtfully she looked at the diary in her hands. Gianni was right. As the costumes from her past on the opera-scene proved to be intolerable for her new relatives, here it would also be best for her to avoid her diary full up with sentimental thoughts. She placed the notebook on top of the chest.
Shortly thereafter, the Countess and two servants climbed the stairs between walls decorated with old icons and goblin tapestries dating back to the eighteenth century. Sofiana's eyes rested for a while on each one of them. She was searching unconsciously for something to ease her strained mind.
The servants carried the wooden chest to the attic of the palace and climbed down. Some minutes later the door creaked slightly and someone set it ajar. A streak of light poured through the thin slot. Sofiana Assenova stood there with her eyes fixed upon the chest. She did not dare to take a step further. Instead, she slowly left and closed the door. Forever! She convinced herself that she should forget. Who would ever care to remember what gave meaning to her days in times gone?
1991, Italy, Sicily, on the attic
"That is you, that were you, mother, my dear mother," the whisper was full of worship and sadness. “You were so beautiful, so popular and so much loved. Why were they and you hiding this from me?" Michelangelo began to turn the pages of the old diary at random then he approached the window of the attic. It surprised him that all of the content was written in Bulgarian. With regret, he returned to the previous articles in the Italian press.
And in those distant years nobody in his native house would experience the need to open the chest as if it was personal offence to her son. Their behavior was the reason for his expectations of discovering some guilt of hers. Fears had all been in vain. He felt proud of what he had found, and he could not forgive the foolish thoughts was assumed and throve in his mind. Why had he remained all unveiled at such later date so it was still forcibly enough to destroy the balance inside him? Rage, powerful rage shook him all over, and he clenched temperamentally his fists. Who had deserved the might of the passionate explosion of hatred inside him?
His spontaneous wrath gushed forth to the surface and Michele started a new journey to reach for the beginning of the story, which he regarded as his legacy. From this day ahead, his mind was feverishly penetrating into the vaguer memories, which were his beacon on the gloomy road of challenges. He should find out the answers, of which he used to get afraid.
He needed to find the truth!
The same need since his childhood…
CHAPTER SECOND
The 1950s, Sicily, De Castellano family
Standing on the main flight of stairs, the little Michelangelo with his cousin Donatela were enjoying their game of sliding down the railing and off the central staircase. Having escaped from the rooms on the upper floor and from the attention of the adults, the two children dedicated every stolen minute to their favourite enjoyment. At last, they jumped across the lowest step with a spring and stood in the central foyer among the family portraits. Sofiana's sweet son halted his steps there. With his eyes fixed upon his portrait that was now hanging in the place of his mother's, he moved forward. He could not stop staring at the favourite portrait of his father. Deep in concentration, he paid no attention to his cousin tugging at his hand. The warm, lively eyes of the little Count began to sink beyond that portrait, as if touched successfully the beginning of the twentieth century.
As if Giovanni De Castellano was the child sliding enthusiastically down the railing of the main staircase and landing after he had jumped across not one, but two stairs. His laugh was echoing through the hallways, while dark-haired and thin he was rushing into the open. One of the servants gave him his school bag. The little Count grabbed it and walked on in a hurry down the alley.
Passing by some streets, he uncontrolled cried out: "Marco, Marco, please, wait for me. See what I have." He showed his classmate and friend a new toy. It was a small soldier.
The two boys felt exhilaration: "We are soldiers, we are soldiers!" They entertained themselves by imitating shooting with guns. Even in the yard of the Catholic school, the two forming a separate unit.
"That must be the new one!" Marco exclaimed.
Between groups only one of the boys was standing on his own with his bag in his hand.
"He is so sad, standing aside…" Gianni was systematically taught the virtues of sympathy and goodness by Monsignor Ritelli, his confessor. And also having a very sensitive nature, the boy suggested to his best friend:
"Let's invite him with us."
"The others would not do such a thing.” Marco objected.
"That is why I am doing this, otherwise he'll remain alone."
The kids shook hands with Santonio, and the three boys headed for the classroom.
Some days later, the little Giovanni in the De Castellano family
The servant was not waiting for the little heir as usual, when he descended the stairs in low spirits. Instead, the boy saw his confessor and a smile of comfort cheered his face. Greatly surprised, Giovanni stopped in the middle of the staircase and heard the affectionate voice of his mother:
"Today you are not going to school, Gianni. Stay at home to have a rest, dear. You need to calm down. Moreover, you have a guest. Monsignor Ritelli, has come to see you."
"Good afternoon, Monsignor Ritelli!" Giovanni kissed his hand respectfully and crossed himself.
There was a shadow of tenderness in the eyes of his confessor. The thin, tall, almost thirty-five years old Ritelli caressed his cheek:
"I am glad to see you, my little friend. I search for our meeting before my departure for the Vatican. I was invited to do my service there.”
“No. You serve here”.
"Gianni, I will get back here several times within a year. By all means, I will come and see you."
"I let you take leave of each other." It was Countess Marzia’s intention to retire with tact. "I hope you will stay for dinner. Don Alessandro will be back for it especially for you."
"Thank you, with pleasure, signora Marzia. Let's have a walk in the garden my little friend."
Outside Ritelli spoke first:
"Do not grow sad Gianni, trust me, we’ll see each other soon.”
The youngster did not try to wipe the wet drops that had stuck to his eyelashes. He felt sincere affection for his confessor. The agreeable man was the only one, with whom the boy hurried to share the issues that were tormenting his heart, now stronger than ever.
"I trust in you, father.”
“And I guess you have something to share with me. Your mother mentioned about it. Gianni, let me help you.”
“I did nothing wrong, I was not an eavesdropper. I have just heard a conversation between her and daddy about my classmate Santonio. Father, you often tell me to treat everyone with respect, because we are all God’s children. Then why is my classmate Santonio different for my mother? He is a child of God, too, just like me and Enzo, and Marco. What will happen to him?”
The insistent Ritelli found himself in a difficult position. His subtlety suggested him how easily he might lose the boy's friendship with wrong words. He proceeded very carefully. "Gianni, adults have their rules. I am sad to say that even though you do not understand them you have to accept them. And it is out of my and your parents’ power to teach you everything. Some lessons you will learn directly from life.”
The boy was full of frankness and candour, especially with people most intimate to his heart:
“Father, would you speak with mom and daddy? They will listen to you.”
“I wish I could. One day you would get understand why I couldn’t, Gianni." He was such a bright child but now, immersed in thoughts, he seemed too serious for a boy of his age. Ritelli took him by the hand and they continued strolling along the pathway. He did not wish to leave the little boy bewildered.
"I am moved by your confidence in my precepts, Gianni. Keep them in spite of your confusion now!”
“I do. I would like to be as you…’
“My little, it should be our fate. At least one of each generation from our family makes a choice to dedicate his life to religion. For me, the fourth cousin of Don Alessandro it was a matter-of-course decision. For you, the first-born son and heir this should prove to be an impossible choice. So, don’t burden your little head with too big issues.”
Ritelli had lagged unnoticeably behind, and allowed himself the freedom to tear a twig, and with its leaflets, he tickled his little friend on the back of his neck. With pleasure, he heard cheerful laughter and the noise the little rushing feet of the boy raised between the bushes and branches. For the bright child, childhood should not be over here, with the first serious issue that he encountered.
1991, on the attic
His father’s memories… On the attic, in front of the old chest Michele remembered how many times he had listened to them by Ritelli. If only he could have his mother’s at his disposal, too. Those were never mentioned to him!
The pieces of the puzzle would be easily put together.
Now he would have to rely on his intuition, imagination, and life experience.
CHAPTER THIRD
After the end of World War One, Sicily
In the great alley among the gardens, Count Alessandro and Giovanni, aged almost thirty, were in a hurry. Serious and anxious the old Count did not take into account the two younger brothers, Lorenzo and Pippo, who were playing on the lawn with the carefree nature of children. He was talking to his successor:
"Gianni, always remember that I am proud of your choice, of your excellent graduation marks and your desire to become a diplomat. I have never attempted to hold you to the vineyards and farm. I am feeling absolutely right for it after you were appointed for a consul in Paris for your abilities. Not even with any influence of our family, you on your own have achieved that. Trust yourself! You are very qualified and intelligent, Giovanni."
"I want to demonstrate my own abilities instead of enjoying privileges of the family on the field of winegrowing. Therefore I embarked on a different career. Do not help to my professional ambitions, father!"
"Do not worry. I am sure you will prove yourself.”
Giovanni's countenance assumed sour expression of his father’s words. There seemed to be distrust in him as he gave a bitter smile. Getting closer to Lorenzo and Filippo, who were still playing in the yard, his smile became sincere.
"Enzo and Pippo are already men! They cannot spare a minute to write me."
"They are attracted neither in writing, nor in books or science." Count Alessandro hoped to excuse the young brothers. "Ground and fields attracted them. Don't be angry, Gianni! They are like many members of our family."
Giovanni shared with him the thought he had been hiding for a long time now:
"This is good. I feel at ease because you have them to rely on for our property. In my stead they are going to take your place in the best possible way. I believe in them!"
Count Alessandro patted his shoulder, while he was trying to find the best way of telling him:
"Now think about yourself and write to us often, you know, no one can take your place in your mother's heart. Write short letters and carefully, there will be always somebody, who has an eye on your post."
"I should not miss your messages as it was during my study in Rome." The young man was silent for a moment, while his eyes were straying in the distance. He at last suppressed his pain, "And now I am also going to miss Italy!"
In front of their gazes, Lorenzo rushed down the main alley towards the entrance of the garden and ran back. Still panting, he proudly told Giovanni he had done him a favour:
"Marco is here to see you."
As if there was some burden in Giovanni's heart:
"Today is really not my day. I can't stand goodbyes and I started hating sensations as result of it."
Marco was heading for him, getting the words:
"Good afternoon! Come on, Gianni, to spend the evening as in our good old times! We will simulate that you are not leaving tomorrow because leave-taking is not the best experience in world for me, too."
That same evening Giovanni and Marco were sitting in their favourite local pub. Marco seemed pleased for having spent the time with him and often lifted his glass:
"A toast for your graduation! And another for your first appointment, Gianni, my old friend!"
"Thank you." Giovanni swallowed the drink at a gulp. "How far has your dream of studying in America gone?"
"Do I look to you like an American college boy?" Marco laughed with a touch of irony: "Do you wait to see me one day with sticky sleek hair, wearing a dark suit and polished shoes walking around with the king or the ministers assisting their work? Is it your notion of success? I am not allured to such a career. I love my way of life and the grain of freedom I have earned."
The young diplomat smiled at him with affection and made a simple remark:
"After all, you have remained the same person… I drink to you, Marco. "
"Yes, cheers friend. Nice Chianti! You should take some bottles with you, so you won’t miss our wine. From all drinks the red wine is the most similar to us."
Giovanni took a sip and nodded with approval:
"Yes, God must give sunny weather for good vintage. Our land is fertile and it is useful unfortunately for the weeds, too. They find good soil as well as the good roots. Let's drink for the salvation from the weeds!"
"Cheers, Gianni!" Marco had fixed his stare on the glasses. He was obviously drunk: "Fine. And remember, don't be too diligent in your work as always. You are not the person, who will put this insane world in order! Live your life, man lives his youth only once."
As if there was a stone weighing on Giovanni's heart:
"Who would not want to take the best from the youthful years? Giovanni clenched his fists on the table involuntarily: “Only these years are given to me, to you in the most unseasonable times. See, what happens in all Europe."
"Oh, stop fretting about it!" Marco replied with an awry smile of a drunken man: "Tell me, how you spent your days in Rome? Did you meet your Countess?"
"I didn't make my search for her successfully nor did she find me first. Don't look at me in that way! The time of that Juliet, who has to break my Romeo's heart, has not come yet. There is no one left waiting for me in Italy, indeed. It is also some kind of worry unknown for you because you always have any woman to love."
His childhood friend was trying hard to speak up clearly and it cost him quite an effort for his heavy tongue:
"You know, Gianni, I like refined and prosperous ladies of your world. But… I am not free of financial restrictions. It is a pity that you have not a sister. I could come in love with her."
The words made Giovanni yearning to stay on his own rather than to remain in Marco’s company. When in silence De Castellano was paying the bill, he felt sorry he could not pay to return his lost illusions in all, including in friendships.
CHAPTER FOURTH
1918, On the train from Bulgaria to Rome, Italy
16 years old girl risked to travel alone for first time of her life. She would prefer it to be autumn, the season of farewells. But it was the late spring when the time for her journey to Italy came. Sensitive to powerful emotions, Sofiana always feared of farewells. Her older sister Anna left kisses on her cheeks and now they were burning on, while the words of her mother Margaret were leaving scars in her memory. Their rueful eyes had been brimming with the inexpressible. She would never be able to escape from their magic warmth.
The poor girl needed so much to lean on their or on a friend’s shoulder. Only a year ago, her dark hair would tremble for a long time in the rhythm of her sobs in any corner but among many people on the train she could not allow herself to lift off her mind, even though who would take any interest in a crying stranger around?
In hope of escaping from her sadness, the young one tried to think for the examinations in the conservatoire. She had only a month to prepare for them.
Rome
It was his Rome. Giovanni adored the town of the living legends, destined to eternal life. He went out of the building of the Italian Foreign Office with the intention of spending some hours at his favourite places before he left the country.
At the same time Sofiana was taking her first steps on Italian land. Under the same sun, clouds and blue sky well known in Bulgaria, there was a very different world. The expected joy of discovery of the Eternal City and of a new, independent life was fading away under the storm of nostalgia and anxiety. The young girl realized she was not ready for the future.
The disturbance grabbed her from the very beginning. The old magnificent palaces suppressed with unachievable pomp and beauty. The passers-by Italian girls and women made her feeling poorly dressed and unprepared to deal with day-to-day duties like them. She looked at everything and everyone with undermined and devastated self-confidence and heard very surprised how timid and low her voice sounded when in the administration office of the musical college she asked: "I would like to apply for a scholarship, which is granted by Italian foundation of Duchess Stefanelli."
"Just a moment, please. Fill in the forms."
“Thank you.”
Outside her hope for luck in the rising insecurity overpowered her. Sofiana stopped in front of the twin-churches "Santa Maria dei Montesanto" and "Santa Maria dei Muracoli", where stayed for some time in each one, with different wishes. Sofiana’s heart was only and one but cherished dreams for two, dreams sufficed for several lives.
Later, in the warm evening, with exhausted feet and eyes, revelling in that new world, the young woman managed to muster up what was left of her energy and reached Trevi Fountain to throw in a coin there. She wondered how long her destiny would keep her in Rome but she felt her spirit never could leave this city. Moving there became her cure against what had happened at her paternal roof recently.
The First Few Months
Sofiana felt a little intoxication with the different way of life in Rome and she gave herself up to her passion for the new, the unexplored, and the modern. Her regular attendances at the Opera House among the public alternated with long walks along the legendary streets of the Eternal City. She fell in love with the ancient signs, invested with the corporeal presence of the artistic ideas of the past centuries. The sights that could give some power over time, the eternal traces that human spirit left in them as if in defiance of the mutable reality.
One evening, after such a long walk, she fell asleep in the modest room in the East wing, destined for scholars, of the gorgeous home of the family Stefanelli without the feeling of being a foreigner in that world anymore.
The college’s days absorbed Sofiana. During her breaks, she and her colleague Juliet Sanato, quickly had something to eat and listened for each new audition with new hope. Once Juliet took her by the hand, dashed to the door and through the crowd of people they went outside. Still in a daze the two girls heaved a deep long breath of cool air before Sofiana saw the announcement posted on the notice board: "Because of the sickness of the titular singer in Maskani's "The Honour of a Peasant", we are holding a special audition for her part." Sofiana glanced at it again and silently walked along the street. She huddled up in her old clothes to take shelter from the cold wind. Winter was coming.
1922, on the road from Paris to Sicily
The thought of Giovanni's native home brought back memories of all illusions of his naïve, early ages. The enclosed world of his childhood was really comfortable and he felt good behind its secure walls. Being teen, he became aware of limitations and routine, and he had found himself in an oppressive monotonous cycle. Therefore, he escaped. There were long travels and years before he felt such a different person to start enjoying sensations everything native to be dear and loving.
His key’s values also became different from that day when he had flown on his wings for first time in life. Now understanding them well, he wondered whether his relatives had remained the same, whether they would perceive the change within him. Or both sides should deal with raising differences between them somehow?
