"You assumed that I was long expired,
And you brought a meager little wreath.
O, how painfully I'm wounded with each smile,
Full of affection, playfulness, and grief ".

Akhmatova.

As Autumn turned to a biting winter and the trees lost their leaf cover, the north wind in the streets flew hats off the pedestrians, I watched Virginie wither next to me. One day I called the doctor, after listening to Virginies restless turning for weeks, beside me. The doctor came, he glanced at our cozy home, the flowers on the window sill, all the furniture shiny and dust-free, and the air fresh, and fragrant, the bookcases, the harpiscord and the piles of notes and sheetmusic that littered our table. He examined the Virginie, she was pale and drooping like a cut lilyflower, and asked me to leave in strict tone of voice.

I walked nervously down the hall, and prayed, eyes closed, that it would be just a little flu, as it was circling the Conservatory, like a cat in the alleys. The doctor came out of the apartment and turned to the direction towards front door. Numb I followed the dark figure out towards Fontanka. After a while, he stopped and said, "Mademoiselle, did you not know that your friend had been ill for years, it is tuberculosis, the episodes come occasionally, this newest one apparently been coming for some time. I recommend that if you can afford to go somewhere warm, get treatment, even to Europe, Switzerland, or the Pyrenees. She said having been to Paris, it would also be a good option. She's seems remarkably tenacious, I can make a probable estimate, up to a few years, but no more. You have to remember that there is no cure. It is the Gods eternal will and grace, to take us in his heavely kingdom, all of us, in our destined time, and soon the time is upon your friend. My bill will come to this address, in a couple of days", the doctor said and pressed the hat on his head, nodded and left. Dark figure, against the darkening sky of the evening.

I had listened to doctors words in a state of silent despair, all the little clues that had remained in my subconscious were all rushing in front of me now. Virginies silent submission, her unwillingness to make plans for the future, beyond a few months, at the time, the occasional feverish scenes, that little red tint, that always seemed to be on her face, at times, coming and going. I leaned against the iron fence, clenched my fingers around the sharp bars, and vowed to do my best for Virginie, my hearts darling. I would abstain from the Conservatory, and travel with her immediately to France and the Pyrenees. A sudden glimmer of hope startled me, I would take her to Canada, to Gilbert, as a doctor he would be oath bound to help, and Anne, too, for of course Ingelside, and Glen St. Mary's fresh, maritime climate would suit Virginie better than any sanatorium. Above all I would be by her side, at every possible moment.

At home, Virginie had lit the lamps and candles, the apartment glowed in a soft rippling light. Addio echoed from the harpischord, the Verdi she had forbidden me to practice about few months ago. Verdi's longing tones were lured out from under her fingers like some thread of the inevitable future. Before she had time to start again I said quickly, to that stillness,"why haven't you told me, I could have done something, in the past few years? We will be traveling immediately to the Pyrenees, and I will take a temporary leave of absence from the Conservatory. I will soon write a letter to management emphasizing a family emergency that requires absolute travel immediately."

Virginie turned and looked at me seriously, and said in that same soft steel tone in her

voice,"dearest, now you know, and that's enough. Thank you for your offer, but I don't want to leave yet, I feel like I still have time, we have time, to be together. I do not want to be travelling around in Europe, or anywhere, and to be alone and miserable in different sanatoriums, to be poked and prodded, in the mountains, or some such. Can you sing for me?."

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and started singing Violettas Addio, I suddenly understood only too well the pain conveyed by the words of the aria, all the hope, faith, and fatalism. My voice suddenly broke, but I forced myself to continue as the lyrics spoke of roses, and the cross, as well as the grave. I felt a sudden tinge of sureness, mixed in with pain, that I had never sung anything as well as I did at that one flowing, seeminly endless moment. There were no false accents in my voice, and the lower register was solid, the upper register high and sure, and the feeling glowed all around us, as I weaved all my love for Virginie into my voice..

When I had finished, she smiled through tears, and said a little ironically." I would not have wanted this to be our song, for there are better ones in the world of opera and classical music, but promise me that you will sing this at my funeral after all the services, maybe it's a little macabre, but I'll write some official document to confirm my request."

I looked into her dark, large eyes, which still seemed to radiate that same joy of existence and love of music as they did, at our first meeting, and I promised.

I didn't know at all when, or where I would have to keep my promise, but it had been given and with a hevy heart I settled down, next to her, as the streetlamps outside glittered in their gentel glow, as snowflakes, slowly fell down, on the streets of Mohovaya, the first snow of this winter, I prayed it would be light, and not harsh, and bitingly cold.

In the darkness of the morning, I slipped past her into the snowy frosty morning and hurried to Gostnyi Dvor, to a certain store, to pick up an order I had placed weeks ago, I picked up the package, secreted it, in my pocket, and after buying a bouquet of roses, walked back home to make breakfast for Virginie, and then to my studies in the Conservatory.

The next few weeks were heavy and hectic, full of different rehearsals, controversy between singers, in Mariinsky, I was so busy that I didn't have time to go home, and wandered forward from one run to another like a swallow, and at times I hoped to own wings. We students watched in silence as the great ones fought, and demanded constant repetitions. Egos and arrogance collided, and everyone's nerves were tense due to changes and the will of the director. I was endlessly grateful after a busy training period, when I finally got home and Virginie was waiting, and still here. With a smile, I approached her and handed the package from my pocket.

She opened it, cracking. There in the soft night blue velvet, was a ring, gleaming softly in the light. Silvery, light, clear, art-deco style, with a purple-colored amethyst embedded in the middle. Virginie looked at me, eyes wide, and filled with tears, her hands shaking, one finger, barely touching the surface of the stone. The ring is from Faberge's workshop, I whispered to her. After hearing the well-known name, Virginie turned pale and fainted, gracefully on our bed. Anxious, I bowed down to her, but her pulse was steady, though a little fast, and soon her eyes opened, and she said in a slightly reproachful tone, " darling, I'm extremely flattered that you did bought a ring for me, but would it have been more sensible to get it, from someone less expensive? You are not a Romanov, they're buying from the store, all the time, well, mostly eggs, but still, so saying Virginie, laughed quietly and said in a pondering tone, you weren't you, if you weren't inclined to make occasional extravagances. Did you get anything for yourself, from there, and if you did then I want to see right away."

In response, I held out my other hand with a similar package, opened it, and showed a ring, that was identical except its stone was pink tourmaline.

Virginie glanced at the ring and then quickly said in a wondering tone. "I personally couldn't have chosen a better shade for you, if I had thought about it two weeks, or more, but how did you know to choose my stone?

Certainly there was an infinite number of choices, I have heard that there are several different qualities on display."I smiled at her, slowly, gently, and lingeringly, and I looked significantly at the scarf folded over the bench of the harpiscord, it was dark purple in color.

A light red colour rose on Virginies face, and she laughed, then light gentle, hands were wrapped around me. Soon her head pressed my shoulder, and a quiet whisper, was heard, in the dark, stillness of our home,"the answer to a question you have not asked is yes."

A/N:

Verdi's La Traviata(1853)is one of the most popular Italian operas ever, and it still pulls houses full, everywhere. The aria Addio del Passato is one of the highlights of the opera, from the third act.