The Inspired Tailor

Folded piles of cashmere lined the shelves of Nino's workshop, absorbing the sounds of his humming as he sewed buttons onto a green raw silk baby booty. He enjoyed this detailed handwork almost as much as negotiating a good price for his exquisite fabrics.
"I hope I'm not bothering you, Sir?"
"No, no, come in." It was a young lady holding some linen in her arms. Her dark hair was in two braids wrapped around her head.
"I need to have nightshirts made for my sons."
Nino wasn't accustomed to commissions from peasants. They all knew the basics of fabric construction, no matter how grotesque the results. He didn't know if she noticed his tariffs posted on the door and that he served a mostly privileged clientele.
"My boys are just growing so fast and I don't have time to make them myself. Just something basic, it shouldn't take too long on your part." she added.
"Good lady, I have a going rate of (and here he explained his rate plus commission on the final pieces.) He expected her to walk away but instead she set the linen on the low wooden table.
"Yes, fine."
"Have your boys come by for measurements."
She left with a small wave.
He set down the baby booty and touched the linen. It had been a while since he'd worked with something so coarse and he found himself looking forward to using it to create something so basic.
So the three boys came in the next afternoon, bringing in with them the smell of hay. The stitching on their leather shoes was frayed and their hair was mousy. When taking measurements around their torsos, "lift your arms," he smelled acrid perspiration. They carried on in free-spirited, bordering on witty conversation and he liked them. He pinned the scrawled measurements to the linen and put it into a compartment on a shelving unit, the last in a row of fifteen other folded fabrics, each with pinned dimensions on them.
"Angora petticoat,lime green satin brocade, velor piping: Donna Stolfino 120/90/130" he read on the fabric next in line.
He thought back to his visit to her villa where she stood proudly on an overstuffed ottoman as he measured her. The women he worked for were cloistered, neglected by their husbands, and called on him for something new to wear, to ask his advice and more than that, just to be looked at and listened to by a handsome man with good taste. He gave them what they needed, it was just good business sense. Donna Stolfino had a huge blubbery blob on her neck from goiter and horrendously bad breathe from what she believed was an interior tumor. She had never married although she inherited a fortune and put all of her love onto 'Pipsi' her black dog. She would fan herself when Nino arrived, always saying, "Oh, if you wanted to get this close to me, you should have just asked!" as he measured her.
He couldn't seem to muster the enthusiasm needed to begin her petticoat. What he did feel like doing, however, was making those boxy boyish nightshirts even though they were at the back of the line. He unfolded the linen, made some lines and realized that there would only be enough fabric for two.
He sent for a messenger to deliver a note to the mother of the three boys, asking her for more fabric, or suggesting they use white silk he had on hand for sleeves and hems, for an extra fee. The following evening, he got the return note:
"I have an old linen bed sheet that I will have Romano, my youngest, bring to you on his way home from helping with the hops harvest."
And the following day, an ironed bed sheet was brought by Romano who slinked in and out without a word, looking affected by an afternoon of inhaling hops odors. Nino opened the sheet on his work table and noticed some stains, all of which he could work around. Catching his eye also were some small embroidered letters in red in one corner. He put on his glasses to read the initials "F de'M.'
"de' Medici!" he said to himself. "The de' Medici family!"
He ran out into the street to see if Romano was still in sight and there he was, just exiting the bakery across the square. He waved to him, "Romano! Come!"
He sauntered over holding a honey bun.
"Are you a de' Medici?" he asked.
"No, sir, I'm a Lupino."
"But, there is is an initial on the sheet, 'F de' M', who is this?"
"Oh, that's my mother Flavia, who was a de' Medici, but then she married my father Lupino, a pirate turned peasant farmer."
Even though Nino understood that Flavia had fallen out of favor with her powerful relations by marrying a simple pirate-cum-peasant, he still saw his chance to open the doors to this admirable and influential family of Florence.
He threw the sheet away (after putting the initials clipping into his pocket) and got out his bolts of finest satin and set out to make the three boys the most beautiful and luxurious night shirts he could imagine.
He worked almost all night long in a wave of focused energy and he hung them up each on a wooden hanger after steaming them straight. All three were light blue satin, trimmed with ermine with embroidered egrets in flight around the ruffled necklines, tied around the waists with white velvet sashes.
He sent a messenger to the Lupino farm with a declaration that the commission had been fulfilled.
Two days later Flavia came in removing a coin purse from a beige crocheted shawl and put her hands to her open mouth when she saw a tired Nino standing proudly in front of the three shirts fit for princes.
She walked away without paying a single lira for the clothes carefully wrapped and placed in paper boxes.
Things happened quickly after that. Flavia wrote a most enthusiastic letter interspersed with little sketches of the night shirts to her brother Lorenzo with whom she was still very close. He in turn wanted something made for his wife Clarice for their summer solstice celebration. Nino produced an ethereal cobalt blue and turquoise ensemble that brought tears to Clarice's eyes. He was brought into the service of this dynamic couple, replacing the former tailor, a very old uninspired man just wanting to spend his last days in peace.
Nino felt like his 54 years of life were all a crescendo to this moment when the de' Medici's opened their life to him. He already belonged to this family, it was a natural merging. They were simple people living by an extraordinary code of ethics who loved to laugh. And they desired uncomplicated yet beautiful textiles for home and for wear that he created with joy. He, in time, was cordially introduced to philosophers, artists, scientists, astrologers, and soon understood why they had that age-old Greek saying engraved in the mantle of their library doorway: "know thyself." He thought this perhaps was the key to personal utopia.