Cities are weird, frightening things. Rotten to the very core, stinking, overcrowded, they are proudly reigning over their surroundings, and over the minor, insignificant beings within them, such as worms, insects, rats, cats, dogs, humans. And their reign is utter indeed: they steal the heart, the mind, the soul of these little parasites, giving nothing in exchange but some questionable protection, guaranteed company, and innumerable false beliefs about the world. Rats and cats, for example, usually believe that the city exists only for the greater good of theirs. Humans firmly believe in the same, and they are just as wrong. Humans also claim that the city is the subject of their will: this is a comforting belief the cities let them keep. For the cities care only about holding the real power, which they are destined to have anyway.
Cities are monsters. They are cruel and sanguinary beasts: for they are utterly indifferent toward their constituent parts, their inhabitants. Only when in danger, they are caring, nursing. But that’s usually too late.
Cities are like frightened, trembling maidens, for they are utterly unprotected from any kind of attack. They can rely only on their inhabitants, and rats, cats, dogs, humans usually tend to be faithless and coward.
Monsters and maidens, devils and angels; strong and weak, invincible and helpless living beings, the cities are.
Cities are living creatures indeed. They have their brith, their life, their death, and all the rest in between. They can emerge from, and sink back into the oblivion, they win and lose the battles they never cease fighting which each other. Cities are living creatures: they are breathing and their heart is visibly beating, and they do have their thoughts and plans, even though they are usually concentrating on too many matters at the same time, making their thoughts scattered, making them acting against themselves. Seemingly, they don’t really know about emotions: as if their life, their cold, lifeless life consisted only of politics, powerplays, a desperate struggle for surviving. But they do feel some kind of filial affection toward their parent-city, even though these emotions usually fade after some decades – frankly, though, are humans any different? And they are also able to fell in love, even though this city-love may be easily mistaken for mutual dependence – frankly, though, is the love of humans any different? Cities are very similar to humans, they are just far beyond them, for the cities know everything humans know, but they are much more effective in every ways. Obviously, God made the cities on the eighth day of the creation.
The Sleeping City
She was called Turin by the Frenchmen, Torino by the Italians, the Romans had known her as Augusta Taurinorum, she was smelling from dye and rotten onions, there was a bull on her coat-of-arms, and she was sleeping.
She was sleeping, while jealously guarding the memories of her glorious past, when the joint Marquissate of Torino and Ivrea had ruled over Lombardy, when she had been the very centre of political and economical power in Northern-Italy, when she had been well-noted for her beauty, her strength, her wealth…
And now she was but slumbering, sleeping, dreaming, slowly, gradually sinking toward death.
Her long slumber had begun centuries ago, when the younger Chambéry charmed away the double-faced dukes of Savoy. The Savoyards had charmed her, they had
seduced her, and eventually managed to wed her. They had promised her love, harmony, joy… But in fact they had stripped her naked of everything, she had been left with nothing when the Savoyards chose the comfortable path, when they left her for Chambéry.
Then she, Turin, fell asleep… No, no, it was only daydreaming then, the daydreaming of the neglected wife, who is just sitting by the window all day, waiting, just waiting her faithless husbad to come back home from his whore. It was only daydreaming then, that was only the time of stagnation, the decay was still ahead.
And then it came, the slow, quiet decay; the decline had begun. No more new houses were built, only the old ones were repaired, her walls weakened, her citizens left her for the so bright Chambéry… Only the poor remained with her, the miserable ones, who were working all day and night, just dying, just dying the cloth. The foul gases of the dying substances heavily covered the city, and the last few remaining nobles fled because of the smell. The poor, old Turin, the ever-loyal Turin was utterly overshadowed by the more and more beautiful Chambéry.
Years passed.
Nothing had changed. The construction of a cathedral started, but it was abandoned after three years of lazy work.
Years passed
Still no change. The old citadel tumbled down because of the lack of renovations.
Years passed.
Steps were taken forward, then she sleepwalked back into the decay again.
Decades passed.
Savoy let Montferrat capture her – violate her –, then Savoy took her back, only to be disgusted at her sight, for she was no longer innocent.
Decades passed.
Every hope was lost.
And centuries passed.
And then, one day, the faithless husband came back. He was in despair, he had made many enemies during his absence, and Chambéry, the whore, had choosen the stronger one, the mighty and victorious Lotharingia… And Turin re-admitted the House of Savoy, which had been neglecting her so badly for more than four centuries. But the decay didn’t end here, civil wars and in-warrings ravaged her – raped her –, her walls were torn down two times during the times of troubles, she was burnt four times… But she managed to survive – only to continue her slumber. This time the slumber was not caused by negligence, but by helplessness: Piedmonte was small and poor. The husband had no money to buy new clothes and fine jewelry for his aging wife.
The first drops of rain always go unnoticed. Similarly, noone did notice when the prosperity began to reappear. The reasons were also hard to understand. It was a slow process, led by the stubbornly persistent will of certain human beings --- who were, apparently, working only for their own, personal profit. Some rich men wanted to get even richer, that was all, and this intention of theirs happened to meet with adequate circumstances: the peace, the gradually growing political weight of the Duchy of Piedmonte, the formation of the Italian Trade Union, these all helped them in gaining riches…
Some new villas, palazzos were built. People filled her marketplaces again. The trade returned to Turin, and she smiled in her sleep, as her body was caressed by the gentle fingers of wealth.
Noone could notice the change, though. When a weary traveller glanced at her from distance, this traveller still saw a a backward city, and when he got closer, the foul gases made him cough. The miserable ones were still working all day and night, their hands were yellow, their eyes were red… The wretched huts if the Lower City were still standing, proudly exposing the distress of countless centuries.
She was still slumbering. The silent prosper is not any better than the slow decay.
She was still sleeping.
Some gentle touches weren’t enough to wake her up.
The City In Flames
The wind came first. It sneaked into the city right after sunset, churning up the dust of the streets, blowing away the disgusting smell of the dye. There were only a few citizens who still had not gone to bed, they sighed in relief, and took a deep breath from the cool, fresh, new air. The wind brought dead leaves and twigs, and brought the clouds too: soon after the wind had arrived, the dark, thick clouds hid the moon and the stars.
And then the first thunderbolts had fallen, still far away; lightnings were flashing constantly on the east horizon. The sound of the thunder tore the silence into thousand pieces. The children woke up in terror, crying, they ran to their parents and pressed close to them hoping for safety, even though the parents themselves were trembling in fear. And the storm was just approaching.
Fourteen-fortyfour – that was the year. A year of boredom, a year of silent decay. In March, a son was borned to the ducal family. But what difference would it have made? Just another whining baby couldn’t make any difference. Don Gioacchino di Savoia, despite his nice lineage, was just another little parasite in the city, and from the perspective of the city, he didn’t mean more than – say – the rats who ate up the deads left on the streets after the festivities over his birth.
Turin, Piedmonte – that was the place. A city of boredom, of lifes without prospects, of treacherous hopes. “
It would be a really nice city, if it was completely different,” as Anna del Grifone-Savoia wrote so well in a letter to her brother, Henryk. “
It occupies a really good spot with these rivers, the view is really fantastic with these mountains, the people are usually polite and soft-spoken, some of these new buildings are really nice, but the whole city is in fact overly depressing.”
The first drops of rain always go unnoticed. Reasons of any changes usually go just as unnoticed. But now there was some strange tension trembling in the air.
“You’re just feeling the storm,” a shamelessly naked Anna said to Antonio, whiningly. “Come back now…”
But Antonio didn’t move, for he enjoyed the tension, as he stood by the window, staring at the approaching clouds. He felt his hands trembling, his heart was beating hard, he was sweating.
“
Something is coming, everything around him whispered, “
something will change!”
For the first time since Éléanore’s last letter, he felt the blood running in his veins, he felt as if he had been living, and it was good. Overwhelmed by treacherous hopes again, now he could understand Éléanore, now more than ever, he wanted to be with her, though not to gain strength from her presene, to let her comfort him, but rather to comfort her, to provide her support. It was strange, new experience for the miserably selfish Antonio.
“Come, love me,” Anna whined, but he didn’t care at all. He smiled, despite the heartfelt sorry he felt for Éléanore, despite knowing all too well that he already lost her love. The time was right! He wanted to laugh madly in the middle of the storm! He wanted to go! He wanted to rush to her! He wanted to free her from the Wittelsbach!
The city was watching him with her window-eyes indifferently. What difference would the actions of any tiny parasites make? What difference would anything make? What change might come? Not that she, Turin, wasn’t feeling the tension: she was fidgeting in her sleep. The roofs were making cracking noises as the air got colder. Various pieces of junk were dancing nervously in the wind.
The first drops of rain always go unnoticed, and they went unnoticed this time too. In one moment, there was just the presense of the storm, and in the other, the rain was pouring down on the obsolete city of Turin. She shivered, and groaned in a sleepy, yet fearful protest when the storm began hitting her harder and harder. The wind blew away a roof, then a whole hut in the Lower City… The first drops of rain always go unnoticed. The reasons of any changes always remain unseen, even from the perspective of centuries. We will never know what caused that storm to break out – maybe it was the death-cry of a butterfly. But it can be safely declared that the city of Turin woke up from her long-long slumber on that night, on that terrible night.
Her eyes popped open in terror when a hut of the slums of the Lower City happened to be struck by a lightning, and caught fire.
She didn’t know what’s happening, but she was afraid. She felt the pain, and she felt little parasites’ frightenment, some of them were truly schocked. For despite the pouring rain, the fire was spreading fast. One hut, two huts, three huts, four… The Lower City was burning.
The bells were tolled in alarm, and now she was she was completely awake.
HELPHELPHELPHELP!
The city was screaming.
HELPHELPHELPHELP!
The bells were ringing, the people were swarming in the city, as if there had been a feast going on. Like the ants when a mischevous child steps in the anthill, the people of Turin was teeming around the fire, fighting the ever-spreading flames with buckets and cans, and without the slightest hope of winning the battle.
HELPHELPHELPHELP!
The bells were ringing, now everybody in the city was awake.
HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP!
But there was no help, and the city knew it.
Her pain was near-unendurable. The flames were eating her body with an incredible speed. The cry of the city embodied in the screams of her burning inhabitants. And not just rats, cats, dogs died in that great fire of Turin.
The city was sobbing.
The humans did much to subdue the fire. Later, it was rumoured that the Duke himself was commandeering the hopeless work – of course, not much people believed this. Anyway, the fire was finally extunguished by the rain, not by the men. As the huts were all consumed in the flames, the work of the pouring rain was easy. Only the glowing embers remained, then, hissing, they also disappeared, and then only the ashes remained.
The storm slowly passed over, leaving the weeping Turin alone.
And soon, the sun rose, painting the ruins red and gold.
And the Lower City was no more.
The Reborn City
A small group of people was stumbling through the edge of the still hissing remnants of the place which once was known as the Lower City.
“It’s not that bad as it may seem,” Angelo Correano declared without convinction. His overly fat body was sweating because of the unusual excercise of walking. “The Upper City is relatively unharmed,” he continued, breathing heavily, “the river stopped the fire… So it’s only the slums… Only the poor… the miserable ones…”
An exhausted Antonio, sinking back to his utter depression, nodded. “The miserable ones,” he echoed in a hoarse voice.
Correano forced himself to smile. “Hehe… Now they got even more miserable… hehe…”
Antonio looked up at him. “You find it funny?” he asked.
“Not really,” Correano admitted.
“Deads?” the Duke inquired.
Correano shrugged. “A hundred. Two… maybe three. And of course the homeless…”
Antonio shivered. “I see,” he sighed.
“Oh, Sire,” Correano began cautiously, “the Dyers’ Guild want monetary help for the reconstructions… Should we--”
“Of course,” Antonio interrupted him, keeping nodding.
“No!” Anna del Grifone-Savoia said virtually at the same time. “No, no, no!”
Correano blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“There will be no reconstruction,” Anna declared firmly. “There will be no more slums here. There will be no more Dyers’ Guild here. There will be no more stinking dye here,” she enumerated.
Correano blinked again. “But… milady…I can’t really unders--”
Anna clasped her hands. “I said: no!” she yelled at Correano. “The dyers should look for another place to continue their stinking work!”
Correano couldn’t stop blinking, and glanced at Antonio for help. “Antonio, this is madness!” he managed to falter out at last.
The Duke of Piedmonte opened his gray, unmarry eyes, then slowly shrugged.
Correano’s eyes widened. “But… Toto!” he cried in disbelief.
“You will adress him as Sire or my Lord!” Anna rapped out.
“But… His own motto: ‘Memento omnim famulorum tuorum’!”
“He will remember them,” Anna said with sarcasm, then she sighed. She stood with arms akimbo, staring at the Upper City silently for long moments, and then, in a calmer tone, she said, “I’m not saying that we will expel them or whatever.” She shrugged. “We will settle them in a nearby town. There, they will be allowed to work. But not in Turin,” she declared, and the city smiled upon hearing her words. “The Lower City will be rebuilt, of course,” she continued. “But not to slums. No, Piedmonte is rich, and we will give Piedmonte a proper capital!”
Correano managed to regain his cool. “I apologize, milady, but it’s not yo--”
Antonio made an annoyed gesture. “Do what she says,” he said with utter resignation. His moments of vigour were gone, now he was overwhelmed by depression again. “Do what she says.”
“Thank you, Antoni,” Anna said swiftly, without even looking at him. “Now look, Correano, when I said rebuilding, I meant complete rebuilding. Here, in the Lower City, there will be the new centre of Turin. There will be the new ducal palace,” she said, and pointed at the distance. “And it will be white. I want the whole city white. Correano, I order you to start working on the plan immediately. Call in architects from Burgundy, Germany, and Tuscany…” She broke off, and knit her eyebrows. “No, not from Tuscany. I don’t want that new Italian fashion. From Burgundy and Germany, yes.”
Correano took a deep breath. He felt he certainly deserved a better treatment. “Milady, please, the expen--”
“I don’t care about the expenses!” Anna shouted. “I want this city to reborn, and I won’t step back because of expenses,” she added scornfully.
Correano shook his head. “Milady, I think you don’t know how much this grandiose plan would cos--”
“We have the money, don’t we?” Anna inquired. “In fact our coffers are full, aren’t they? We’re just sitting idle on heaps of gold!”
“Milady,” Correano tried again in a measured tone, “we have other plans to invest those heaps of g--”
Anna stamped her feet on the ground, and turned to Antonio. “Antoni? What do you say?”
Antonio looked at her indifferently, then looked at Correano. “Why not?” he asked. “Let it be.”
She smiled. “Good!” she said. “I always felt ashamed of this city… But this is going to change,” she announced with determination. “This city will be admired throughout the world!” Anna was beaming from joy.
A cool breeze came out of nowhere, as the city of Turin, although still feeling her eyelids heavy, sighed in relief and gratitude.
