"Les lys fanés, ne sont qu'un symbole menteur
Dans une aube d'avril qui vient avec lenteur,
Elle refleurira, violette mystique".

Vivien.

I was standing in the middle of a smaller guest room upstairs in Nathalie's apartment. I had initially imagined that everything was in the apartment the same as in 1907, but that was not the case. Some of the furniture had been sold and the decor was a little simpler than before, but still strongly French.

As I had just returned from Russia, ravaged by scarcity and civil war, the apartment all around me felt extremely luxurious. Admittedly, during yesterday's dinner, Nathalie had lamented the regulations that were still in place. I asked about the servants, and Nathalie replied to me that they all had been replaced several times, only now there was only one, in residence, but tonight was her night off.

Breakfast had been busy as Dolly had planned to travel to England for a visit, some family matter, and Nathalie had gone to a painting session at Romaine´ s place.

It had been very strange experience to be reading french fresh uncreased newspaper to gain knownledge, instead of warmth. Throughout breakfast, I fought a strong dissociative feeling, that said everything was somehow wrong. The company was friendly, there was food, and laughter. The everyday life of post war and the social reforms were seen very clearly on the streets of Paris. Women were no longer content just wait at home, they worked, in various positions, more than ever before, according to Nathalie.

So I was alone, but I did not mind that, the orange trees in the garden were still in place, vivid greenery in endless profusion, as I walked among them, for a time drowned in memories of earlier, happier times, as it was in this house that my life had begun.

I went to the piano and looked at the nearby bookshelf to see if there were any notes left. There were and I chose Chopin, light music echoed in the house as I played endlessly on. At some point Nathalie had came back and observed silently as I played the piano with devotion, I had moved on to Rimsky-Korsakov. After a moment of silence, she looked at me seriously and sincerely and suggested. "Come on out, there's one place I think thee need to see now".

So I followed Nathalies narrow, but abundant shadow, through the city. Paris bathed in evening light, the electric lights twinkling, and the Seine flowed. We turned from one promenad then in front of us was the Palais Garnier, shining like a dream.

The style of the building was Napoleon III, an extremely decorative and mixed mess that combined baroque, Palladium classicism and Renaissance influences into a startling whole. Abundant columns and themed statues of the ancient period peeked out in the middle of the it like cherries in a cake. Nathalie looked at me quickly and as if almost passing said. "Now is May, they have the opening of the season in September, so rest for a couple of days, and then get dressed to thee best and the most wonderful dress, and ask for a audition. Thee needs now new challenges. I don't want thee to mope in my home for a single day anymore, like some spirit from a second rate play."

Katherine had advised me to wait, but I felt I needed a new purpose and artistic challenges, and Nathalies suggestion had merit. On a way over Europe, I had heard that there were summer courses in Salzburg held by world-famous German soprano Lili Lehman, as I had heard few girls chattering about it excitedly, like some colorful plumaged birds.

Suddenly we, Nathalie and I were surrounded by the Art Nouveau architecture of La Muette, and I noticed that we had walked into the heart of Passy, and soon we were in front of a house. Nathalie looked at the third floor windows with an extremely sad look on her expressive face and said: "Renee left her apartment for me. I did nothing there except take care of it because Renee had a separate message in her last letter, that had certain instructions in it."

So saying Nathalie took well kept, but now yellowed letter from her pocket and gave it to me. With my hands shaking I received it, and in the glow of the stars I opened the fragile seal and I looked at Renee's clear, beautiful, and slightly careless italics one last time.

15.11.1909 Passy, Paris.

" Cherie!

My time is running out.

I will leave my apartment in Passy to Nathalie, on the condition that you get it when / if you return from Russia back to mother France. Why not for Katherine, you are probably wondering, because Katherine is a travelling soul, as am I, and the property would only slow her down. You, dear Elizabeth, have been created to bend the various Opera Houses to your will, and this is how you can do it effortlessly. I am extremely grateful that you performed my poems with Virginie, the performance and composition are one of the brightest moments in my life, that has not always been simple or easy.

With love,

Renee.

PS. You get my permission to recite my poems as much as you want on every possible occasion.

I looked at Nathalie's shadowy and calm face and asked, "You've known about this for years, why haven't you written to me about this at all.?" With a sad smile, Nathalie replied: "Cherie, when I read her letter right after the funeral my first impulse was to write to thee and ask thee both to come here and start living in Passy's house, but over time I understood Rene's intention, it's a choice. Thee chose to come here from Petrograd, for thee own reasons, so now is the time to know this. Now thee are more experienced. Thee have truly lived with lifes joys as well as it´s sorrows and sufferings, and it is reflected in thee art.

Now thee also have thee own home that is not dependent on thee friends - of course thee can visit me as much as thee want. Also, I think Renee would like thee to keep some of her belongings, she might have left thee with more letters somewhere in the apartment, but thee have now all the time of the world to find out every little secret of that apartment."

Few weeks had passed and full summer had arrived. It was a bright summer afternoon and I was going to an audition at the Palais Garnier, that same operahouse that had inspired the scenes of one of my favorite novels.

I was wearing a new pale violet dress, its pleats dripped soft and straight, and left my ankles exposed. I had combed my hair on Nathalie's advice to a very low crown and I had a large light straw hat that was only slightly darker in color than my hair. Nervously, I pulled the thin lace gloves into my hands, and I picked up a folder with the necessary documents from my desk in my bag.

So I had moved into Reene's former apartment, and the decor was very elect, but extremely sensual. The predominant colors were dark strong purple and pale green, in curtains, and the furniture was almost entirely under the influence of either Egypt or ancient Greece. The neoclassical style was almost nowhere, except the desk was the only exception. I had picked up fresh lilacs in a vase, soflty I removed one flower and put it in front of a photo. In it both Nathalie and Renee were posing in it gorgeous outfits. Renee faithful to her style in her black, and Nathalie in a radiant and glowing loose-fitting light dress designed by Eva, lingering on a gorgeous divan very sensual and smoldering style. I sprayed perfume lightly on me, its scent hovering in Passy's house, like a hazy breath. With a slight smile and a kiss to the photo I closed door and left to find out another path of my Tomorrow.

Fortunately, during my years in Petrograd, I was used to the glorious buildings both outside and inside, but I was still almost dazzeld when I entered the Palais Garnier. The reason for it became soon apparent. The main hall was absolutely glorious, and simply everything glittered. The pedestal statue-chandeliers were at the bottom of the massive staircase, they seemed to be female torchbearers. The wide sweeping staircase of white and red marble, imperial elegance, in abudance, white ivory and goldpaint, and delicate scroll work. Roman pillars, and the paintings in the hall ceiling was absolutely wonderful. Swiftly I was led up into the manager's room. I knocked on the door and a quiet voice told me to come inside.

I stepped in with a flexible and light dancing step and lightly looked at the man who would decide my fate in the next few minutes. He was slender and pale, and had dark eyes and copious curly black hair, and a benign dark suit, and a dark gray tie with a gold needle glistened in it with an ice-blue sapphire. This very romantic-looking man, just over middle age, held out his hand and glanced at my folder. Suddenly an expressionless mask came over his face as he glanced between the folder and my face. Feeling anxious I pondered had I forgotten to translate some important document from Russian to French, or maybe it was the photo included in my portfolio, in it my features were shadowed by enourmous hat, with flowers in the brim.

There was a very long silence.

Finally, the director said: " Mademoiselle, you will bring great honor to the Palais Garnier as you seek an audition here, these recommendations from management of Mariinsky do speak for themselves. But I would still like to hear your audition if you can sing it to me, even in next room, if you've prepared something."

Swiftly I nodded and followed the director from a small door into the hallway, which was covered with dark paneling, he opened a door and it opened into a beautiful rehearsal room with large windows and a beautiful grand piano and pianist at ready.

The director handed the notes I gave to the pianist, and he glanced at them, warmed his hands, and began.

The room was filled with Gounods vibrant tones as I walked in the middle of the floor straightened my back and began to sing Juliettes fast and dazzling declaration of life and love Je veux vivre dans le reve. My upper register was subtle and extremely incisive, in all its smooth grace the central register caressingly soft, and the high coloratura notes were glimmering.

As the last tunes of the piano floated from the room the director, nodded and said: "Mademoiselle, for a moment you really were Juliette, wonderfully to Palais Garnier."

I followed the director, away from the audition room, along winding corridors as he regaled me with stories of different productions of Operas history. The director had stopped at one door and was looking in. Curious, but a little tired — the adrealine of my audition was fading — I too, glanced into the room and froze in place as I heard soft music.

Dvorak's Rusalkas aria Měsìčku na nebi hlubokém was instantly recognizable, and the soprano voice that glowed with the light piano accompaniment was absolutely incredibly beautiful, and clear. It was bright, gorgeous and it had utterly perfect czech pronunciation, with a undertone of haunting wistfull sadness. The unknown singer reached with effortless grace into those difficult trebel clef high notes, as she pleaded with moon,

"Měsìčku, nezhansi, nezhasni!

Měsìčku, nezhansi!"

The room was large and bright, the owner of this amazing voice was a woman, she seemed to be around the same age as Annes twins Nan and Di, she too was blonde, her rose-gold hair was plaited loosely in a knot with a blue ribbon. She was dressed in a light dress, flowing delicate cut. The only decoration in it was a brooch, with a porcelain painting depicting flowers, in light a silver frame. In addition to the piano, the only piece of furniture in the room was a narrow chair there was a blue straw hat, and blue gloves. As the unknown woman had finished her aria, she looked with a little frown to the pianist, who had not started playing again, as he was stairing at the doorway. With a flowing half waltz step she, too turned towards the door, her bearing was very erect and her hands were crossed lightly in front of her, our eyes met, blue and hazel. There was severity in her expression, as she if was still in a world of her own, of some musical universe or other, but then a light charming smile, even a little mischievous, blossomed in her delicate features and she inclined her head, slightly. I found myself to be smiling broadly at her in response, and I mirrored her gesture. There was a feeling of instant knowing, that came from my soul, as if another set of kindred spirits had encountered each other.

The pianist was about to start playing the Dvorak, again, but the director stepped into the room and said in a formal tone"May I introduce you to each other. This woman in light violet, standing next to me is Elizabeth Grayzona, recently returned from Petrograd, at Mariinsky Opera, and this woman in blue is Nina, who has just returned from the Metropolitan Opera, and is here now for a time doing guest performances, before her departure to Covent Garden."

The director nodded at us, and left, with a small wave, the pianist following along, leaving the notes in a haphazard stack to the pianobench.

With a light dancing step and a quick shrug of her shoulders, a fluid fast gesture Nina walked into the middle of the room and began to sing Countess' painful aria, E Susanna non Ve that sequed into Dove Sono from Nozze di Figaro. I reclined on the chair and smiled as Nina's voice shimmered brightly, full of colour and shard of anger and wistfulness as she as the Countess contenplated what do do. Suddenly Nina looked towards me and nodded, and I joined her, singing the role of Susanna, the maid of the Countess, who was pressed to help her mistress to expose the deceptive count, by writing a letter.

As our duet continued, Nina's graceful gestures came fluid with a sudden warmth that undercutted her previous stillness, that was as heartbreaking as Mozart's shimmering music.

Our voices matched, seamlessly.

My softer creamy lower register balanced Nina's stunning overtones, and so did Nina's soft sliding trills, as they brought gentle counterpoint harmony to my high-flowing and crystal clear coloratura.

Then it ended.

I felt like had gotten glimpse of heaven and was now rudely thrown back into earth again. I was enchanted by the extraordinary mood that had fallen between me and her, and the music, the divine Mozart.

I knew that I had never experienced this wordless communication with any other singer before. There had been only Virginie, at our first meeting, and this was similar, in the sense that we were making music together, but not quite the same somehow.

Unbidden I threw fast half a glance at Nina, in the corner of my eye and I noticed that she was humming in undertone the Countess's aria, and then exchanged it for some Strauss, I pondered that it might be the Marschalins theme, as she collected her hat and gloves.

I followed Nina, out of the room and, we then walked slowly meandering thread, through the abundant corridors until an incredible view of the Grand Foyer opened up in front of us. It was absolutely stunning ball-room. Candlelabras suspended from the ceiling, gilded Greek columns, supported the arched ceiling.

Suddenly I heard Nina´s soft whisper"Elizabeth look up."I looked up at the ceiling and directly above me were large octagonal painting representing different stages in

the history of music.

Outside the Parisian summer night had fallen and various parisians walked in the glimmering boulevards, Nina and I joined them. Seine flowed softly under the bridges, and a lavender-colored twilight prevailed.

A/N:

The poetry of Viviens can be translated as

"Withered lilies are only a lying symbol.

In an April dawn that comes slowly,

It will bloom again, mystical violet".