We'll enter a church and see
Baptisms, marriages, mass.
A minute later, we'll leave…
Why is everything different with us?
Akhmatova.
The Mozart echoed in Ingelside.
Rilla was sitting close to Virginie attentively as was her usual habit, in the last few days, and watched silently as Virginies fingers caressed ivories, touch light and precise. From the very first meeting, I had experienced a strong sense of kinship, dispite years of correspondance between us, when I faced Walter's bright, clear, and slightly veiled gaze, and we smiled at each other in secret, as others gathered around Walter in a tight circle, asking for affiliations. The dinner was marvelous – the table had been almost squeaky from Susan's gorgeous cooking, roasted chicken and potatoes, peas and carrots, different salads, and soups, and the desserts, silver and gold cake, queens pudding, rhubarb pie, and all the gleaming silver and starched linen.
When the evening mist had fallen to the ground Walter took me to the Rainbow Valley, the dell was magical in the soft glow of the stars. Full of apple trees, a heady scent of flowers and wild herbs and a quietly fluttering creek. There, we walked calmly around the perimeter, on the soft grass, after a long silence Walter spoke, he recitated first Pushkin then quickly Kuzmin, the verses dripping like starbursts.
I touched his hand and looked at him, and he smiled calmly and a little mischievously and then uttered his own verses, their jambs, and troches pure, and the subjects as clear, and radiant as the nature created by God.
Content we walked back towards Ingelside where Virginie was waiting for me. Walter looked at me quickly and questioningly as I smiled at Virginie when I noticed she was trying to teach Rilla, who had suddenly wanted to learn to play better over the last couple of days, and she had progressed relatively well, I did not know if this improvement was because of Rillas earlier knownlegde or if Di the only one besides Rilla who played at all, had given her litte sister some tips.
A homely evening of peace had taken over Ingelside, the twins were together, Nan was writing and Di reading. Jem was somewhere outside, and Shirley was helping Susan in the kitchen, Anne knitted. I looked at Virgnie and nodded, came up to her and I asserted the assembled Blythes "well, because you have received us so beautifully, I want to sing to you a little, Virginie accompanies, me if there is any requests, I will do my best to fullfill them after this one."Anne's eyes were shining and she nodded regally to us, and Walter smiled to us gently, Di and Nan looked curious, as did Rilla, Gilbert had twined his arm around Anne, Susan was sitting with a kintting in her lap, all calm practicality and strenght.
I straightened my posture and started, my voice sparkled, it gleamed, with a creamy central register, velvety soft lower register, high trills in a pure bel canto style, this aria really tested my own vocal limits, but it was so appropriate for the atmosphere of tonight, and all the gratitude I felt for Anne and the Blythes before me. Bright Rossini melodies glimmered, softly, floatingly, as Angelinas aria reflected the joy of found love after turbulent times, full of forgiveness and acceptance in La Cenerentolas final rondo. After the shimmering airy tones were over, everyone applauded furiously. In the following silence Walter asked me his deep grey eyes burning bright, little shyly if I could sing Pamina as it is one his favorites. I noticed the confused expressions of his siblings, and Anne glanced at Walter quickly, but I met his eyes and smiled at him. After hearing his request,Virginie, who smiled, too began scrolling through the notes, shaking her hands.
I took few deep breaths and started singing. The aria of Pamina is extremely difficult, the emotional register of the lyrics is extensive, and the notes are demanding, my voice shone bright, sweet, precise, and quiet, volume of it never rose to drown the accompaniment, Virginies playing teased out the melodic wistfullness, and despair in the composition. I captured the silky, unforgettable longing, full of love, and pain, as the aria of Pamina wrapped in its slow and tender conculsion, as Mozarts final notes lingered in the air of the room.
Suddenly Jem's voice was heard in the room, as he pondered who the composer happened to be, as he could not place the music. Jems question broke the fragile silence, that had fallen between the Blythes, it was Mozart, replied Anne, who was still looking at Walter, who had froze looking somewhere in middle distance where Mozart's music had taken him. "Mozart, hmm, so german then, that request was probably Walts then, all the fairykings, and magicflutes, brids and rats, and charmers, all." Jem pondered in offhand manner, coming towards his younger brother, with a smile Walter nodded, little stiffly and ducked away, from him, smoothly turning in his heels, and bowing down to me from the waist, fully and correctly as if he were Onegin and I Tatjana, meeting again after many years and went away.
I noticed that his siblings looked after him a little worriedly, escpecially Rilla, the only exception was Di, who laughed and said that Walter was on slavic full on melodrama again, as he has been re-reading Pushkin again, at those words the atmosphere of the room relaxed and everyone dispersed in their various pursuits.
Afterwards, I thought about Walter's sudden departure, it was a performance in itself, and a declaration, too but the relationship between the siblings were diverse, there was some silent competition between Jem and Walter, but as to why, that I did not know, and it was not my place to ponder, only listen Walter if he wanted to confine in me about anything. I had noticed that Anne was a little worried about Walter, had been for some time now, but Walter had at least Di in his corner, siblings seemed close, like two halfs of a whole.
Since I had always been alone, I hadn't thought about how exhausting it was to be constantly surrounded by others, as there had been only me and Virginie, or at Paris Nathalie, and Renee. So solitary nature walks around Glen and Four Winds were essential, sometimes Virginie came too, and we happened to pass few wonderful hours, in the peace of old lighthouse, and having tea with Leslie at the House of Dreams, she talked about her travels, especially her remembrances of Japan. The Blythes were lovely, but sometimes rather a lot to take in. Weeks of our visit flowed past serenly days of sunshine and gentle companionship full of talks, debates, and games.
One day Rosemary and Una arrived inviting us, Virginie and I to spend that afternoon at the Manse. Walter drank his tea looking like he was brooding and got up at the same time with us, and said softly that he would stop at the Manse, too as he had some books to borrow from John Meredith, as his door and library was always open to visitors. The day was bright, sky was cloudless, and the walk to the Manse was walked alongside me, twining a flowercrown, Una and Walter walked a little behind us, conversation if there was any, it did not carry to our ears.
The Presbyterian Manse of Glen St Mary was an impressive, grayish building, one wall covered with a wide ivy. The windows were tall, and the partly colored lead glass depicting the scenes of the Old and New Testaments, it was a place of strong Victorian spirit. The old cemetery was charming and grassy with beautiful willows, and a few birches scattered among the tombstones. The Manses frontdoor popped open and a slender girl slipped out. She looked a little familiar. She had long toffee-colored curls, golden brown happy shining eyes, red cheeks, and there was something energetic and brilliantly shining in her form and manner. She wore a raspberry-colored dress with pink ribbons at her waist and a rose behind one ear. "Faith, Rosemary stated in a questioning style are you going to Carter Flagg, or why you are wearing that dress, as I remember leaving you to bend german verbs in living room as I went to pick up our guests"the girl looked at us quickly, made soft and graceful curtsy, and a charming mischievous smile flew over her blossoming face, "oh Mother R, I already did those tasks, and the dishes too, as I did not want to bother Una, as she was with you at Ingelside. I thought I'd go get some caramelsticks for little Bruce, because I promised them to him last, but I forgot." Hearing this reply that was made in a sweetly natural tone, Rosemary smiled gently and urged Faith, "well go now, but don't do straight through the creek, or Rainbow Valley and if you run into Jem don't go fishing, as I don't want to repair that dress a third time in a month. I probably need to make you a simpler one of the same fabric that color is made for you, in it you look like a high summer rose."Rosemary laughed, and let the girl, Faith go, she started running smoothly and lightly towards road.
I noticed Walter watching the girl leave, a little wistfully and suddenly I realized that her was the inspiration for the sonnet outline, at least in partly, but who was the other half? His sisters perhaps, that did not fit at all, but there had to be someone, as light was all Faith Meredith, but the innerlying darkness, smooth and velvety, silver in places, like gleaming moon in high heaven, remote and utterly distant, who was that, if anyone.
The interor of Manse was beautiful, vast, and homely. The library as space was devoted to knowledge and thoughts, and it was clear that there were frequent ones, as teacups, papers, and a few white priestly collars, on top of stacks of books, and different volumes were everywhere. Sitting at table in front of the large windows, there was a slender ethereal man with black hair, dark eyes, and an ascetic, aristocratic looking frown, he seemed very distracted, as he read some tome.
Una slipped calmly towards him and said gently"Father, the Blythes guests have arrived here for tea, they are from Russia, and at least partially Orthodox."
"Hmm, Reverend said, the hagiographies of the saints in the 13th century are extremely interesting, though the whole idea of the third Rome is." the end the sentence was not heard at least to us, as Reverend, got up and began to go through his bookshelf, few dust particles were falling in gentle waves in his black hair, making him seem older than he was. Rosemary nodded at us, and said with a sidelong look and a gentle girlish smile, "my dears John will rejoin the land of the living at least sometimes, music wakes him up, if we play later maybe then he too will partake at tea."
The tea was was dark rich fullbodied assam, with milk, and sugar, and finger sandwitches, cheese and cucumber. The delicate teacups, of translucent bone-china, handpainted with violets and goldleaf, were West-heirooms. There was gentle and flowing discussion about music and a little bit about Rosemarys faith, as she was episcopalian, and her earlier life with her sister, Ellen who was now married to fierce Norman Douglas, and some pupils, the former church in Lowbridge, the services and the music terein, and the suprising find of John, totally unlooked for, and Unas important part in their courtship. As Rosemary talked I observed her, she seemed to be golden sort of person, full of warmth, and serenity, and with that same stateliness of manner and carriage that I had noticed in Leslie also, like her life had not been easy somehow, there was some trace of old, burning sorrow in her eyes, still.
Rosemary got up and started playing Elgar, the piece was After. Rosemarys voice was a delicate silvery light soprano, it blended seamlessy to the beautiful lyrics of the ballad. Virginie refreshed her posture and her eyes shone, and we joined our hands together covertly between our dresses, as the music of Elgar shined and the lyrics were particulary well suited to our circumtances.
When Rosemary had finished she looked gently at Virgine, who stood up a little hesitantly, and looked at Una, who nodded gently and then Virginie took few gilding steps towards piano and looked the selection on offer. After a while, Grieg's tunes echoed in the room, quiet but powerful, as the piece ended, she nodded at me to indicate that I shoud come next to her, she had already made the selection for next piece. We smiled at each other, softly I started singing, it happened to be Micaëlas aria from Carmen. The romantic, earnest and well known notes shimmered around the room, they wrapped around the listeners, high, sweet, and clear, like a very sincere prayer of a innocent, but scared village girl that was Micaëla, but my voice colored her prayer to the heavens with a hint, of sorrow and steel. When I had finished silence descended, it was broken by a calm applause, Rosemary and Una both looked like they were dreaming awake, Reverend and Walter had crept out from their literary pursuits and had come to the room, and they both beamed at us, Reverend said gently, " Una darling, it's been a long time, since you have played for us, will you do it now, in honour of our guests from distant lands."
Una, who had been sitting in the settee doing embroidery rose and for a moment it looked like she wanted to fade into the wallpaper, but then, she nodded shortly, and shade like pale pink rose staining her cheeks, and she walked to the piano, glanced quickly, and fleetingly at us, and at Walter, who leaned carelessly against the door frame and started.
She was a vision a slight, willowy form in dark blue, Una played skillfully and delicately full of deep emotion she had chosen Mozart, it glowed in the room.
I felt strongly that she was playing with her whole soul, the notes dripping like ray of stars from under worn ivory. I looked at Virginie, and I noticed that her fingers were moving, in the folds of her dress in the same patterns as Una's fingers on the piano's ivory keyboards.
The light of the early evening was reflected greenish through the ivy into the room, it danced in small dust particles as Una played the song one after another, and then Rosemary and Virginie, sparkling music, quiet and sweet, like a surprising kiss filled the whole Manse.
A/N:
Elizabeths song selections Angelinas aria, the final rondo "Non piu, mesta" is from opera La Cenerentola(1817) Paminas aria "Ach ich fühls, es ist verschwunden" is from W.G. opera Die Zauberflöte, K. 620(1791) Pamina is perfect tragic teenager in this aria all overflowing emotion, and angst. The Edward Elgar(1857-1934) piece "After" was composed in 1891, as his Op. 31.1. the lyrics of the compostion are from a poem by Bourke Marston(1850-1887) both Elgars and Bourke Marstons ouvres are wonderful – this particular Elgar did came from Alinyaalehtia, and so heartfeldt thanks for this suggestion, I do hope that you like it. Micaëlas aria "Je dis que rien ne m´epouvante", from second act of Bizet´s Carmen(1875)