Chapter 2.
Authors Note; I am surprised, and happy and flattered by such a favorable reception here amog many kindred spirits.
I am heartily moved, and grateful, Lavinia Maxwell, Alinyalehtia and others as well, lurking or not.
Best Wishes to all and sundry.
"I've written down the words
That I've not dared to speak.
My body's strangely dumb.
Dully my head beats.
The horn cries have died.
The heart's still confused.
On the croquet lawn, light
Autumn snowflakes fused.
Let the last leaves rustle!
Let last thoughts torment!
I don't wish to trouble
Those used to happiness.
I forgive those lips, eyes
Of yours, their cruel jest...
Oh, tomorrow we'll ride
That first wintry sledge.
Drawing-room candles will glow
More tenderly in the day.
Of conservatory roses,
I'll bring a whole bouquet."
August,1910.
Akhmatova.
Several years ago when the world was still old, and every war was a distant shadow, or dimly remembered year in dusty historybook. Summerside High School had a rather exceptional principal. A woman who saw magic and literary fairies everywhere. Anne Shirley made friendships wherever she went and brought a little bit of happiness even to occasional or non-occasional passers-by. This young woman, only 25 years old then totally changed my life, she gave me the opportunity, and the faith in life, as well as the opportunity to find true happiness by freeing me from a gloomy and pessimistic point of view.
The child's perspective is always limited, and most things are overshadowed by anonymous horrors and fears. My grandmother was cold and insensitive and stiff. I never got praise for anything and my whole existence was living in the shadows - in that big house where the garden, and roses brought only a little light. Anne Shirley changed this, I soon learned to see that there are colors in the world and that singing and imagination are appropriate, not sin. Together we made maps, and dreamed of Tennyson's verse.
It's unbelievable that Anne was in Summerside for only three years, and before she left, she wrote a letter. That letter allowed me to be everything I am now. That was the first step to towards Tomorrow. Every lonely and abandoned child has imaginary worlds, but for the first and last time I got an adult with me who understood it all. Anne had not abandoned the keys to the imagination, for her the flowers had colored souls and the surrounding reality appeared in thousands of different colors.
The letter was to my father, who was somewhere abroad. He had only visited me once, that's how I had understood it. I hadn't seen him because my grandmother hadn't told me about his visit. I was about four at the time. Thick letters that smelled of exotic spices they came semi-annually. I still don't know how Anne got the courage to write or even an address that was current.
On a clear spring day, in appleblossom time, a slender silver haired man arrived to Summerside.
Almost before I had time to turn around and make my farewells, I was on my way to Europe with him, in the same way as many trunks and assorted bags. Apparently my previous education was perceived as inferior, even though Summerside was a local elite, but it had nothing on European elegance.
Europe, the fog and coal of London, the splendor of Paris and the varied boarding houses, ink and spices, and the local food culture, were a shock. The masses of people who moved, lived and loved railway workers, ascending bourgeoisie, side streets and kitty-houses, the whole strong spectrum of life spread in front of me in the background. I did not gather any of it only vague impressions.
I had been enrolled in a Parisian girls school where I spent about six years studying painting, singing, and playing the piano, but also science subjects.
I didn't know what I was supposed to become, but I had to have more content in my life other than cross-stitch or menu design, or marriage to some suitable man.
Father often traveled for work, Paris was one of his hometowns, there were other metropolises, as the years went by I saw them all. Cities and Continents changed and years flowed smoothly, like liquid mercury.
I studied on a scholarship, music and singing, on the recommendation of my teacher, Madame Vronsky, unrelated to the characters in Tolstoy's novel, a fact that evoked quite a bit of fun in my year. Tolstoy's novels, some of them, and his polemic writings were considered immoral, full of strange thoughts, about a vegan diet, and encouraged adultery, but still they and other Russians were read eagerly, as were short stories by Hugo, Voltaire, Diderot, and Henry James, Warthon, and Wollonstonecraft too.
Because I had completed my studies so well, Father asked me what I would want as a reward.
There was no need for me to even think about the answer.
La Scala. La Scala the center of the opera world, a sanctuary of classical music and opera, whose miracles I could experience now in first hand.