Sing a again, with thy sweet voice revealing
A tone.
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.
Shelley
From An Ariette for Music.
It was evening.
Paris glowed behind the windows, and the sweet scents of August hovered in the air. Deep purple curtains shaded the large windows and the dim light shone from lamps. A graceful, but very old-fashioned chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals reflecting light on the walls.
On violet divan, Nina reclined glancing at her latest libretto, and making corrections. She took music and her career with the same seriousness as me, as I had happily found out. The result was that we often discussed different interpretations of roles and a holistic ecstasy of music and performing for audience, that living vibrating energy.
Nathalie and Romaine, had embraced Nina open arms as her light, witty sometimes mercury-like arch humour was blending well with the rest of the party of the 20 Rue Jacob. One evening there, amid laughter and music, Romaine had taken by inspiration and had outlined several pictures of Nina, with the intention of making them a triptych.
Now Nina stretched like a cat, sighing, "It's been so wonderful to notice that you're also an evening person, and you keep late hours. So I have been able to visit here when I have time, as we have been both busy, at the Opera."
I nodded, at her, and silently thought about the past weeks. It is always difficult to root in a new palce, but for me Paris had been home before, but getting used to Palais Garnier's internal politics, that took a lot of energy, in the light of my experience of recent years, as still half my heart was in Petrograd. And I slowly, bit by, bit, I went through the experiences of my last years in Russia. It was still mind-boggling in places, to be here, and no longer suffer from scarcity. I had been attached to Mozart a lot lately, as I prepaired to sing the Countess Almaviva in autum in Nozze le Figaro.
Yesterday Nina had performed as stunningly gorgeous Rusalka to the full house. Her silent act had been the most impressive I had seen in years, so it was no wonder that her international career had started with that opera. Apart from that waternymf of Dvoraks she had worked over Puccini, despite that she almost never sung that composer, or so I had observed, from the notes lying here and there, in my guestroom, as there Nina sometimes practised, I had often heard her singing, some snatches of this and that.
Now I smiled at her and held out a teapot, and filled Renees Russian tea glass, for Nina. A dark, strong-smelling tea perfumed the room of Passy's house, with its faint scent.
Around me, Renee's books and manuscripts were in clear order, leather-backed, red, and green, mixed with mine, all in harmony. On a low shelf was the musical heritage of Virginie. I took a deep breath and walked to the shelf, with caressingly gentle hands, I took a one note from the folder, put it on the piano and started playing. The music of Virginies glowed, pale reddish, golden, and strongly concentrated, enchanting like a dazziling sudden starshine. When I had finished Nina's eyes were soft with emotion, and she whispered," Elizabeth, that is the most wonderful music I've heard in a long time, who is the composer and can I copy the notes."
I sighed and wrapped my arms around my knees and told Nina about Virginie and I, in a few words, my voice trembled and broke and I dried my eyes with a lacy handkerchief. At the same time, I noticed that the stinging pain of her loss still existed, as always, but its burning tip was finally breaking. Virginie had been in my mind, during these weeks in Paris, how it could have been otherwise, for here we met, in this multifaceted city.
Silently, I handed Nina, the entire folder, all the notes and outlines, and I smelled a light scent of verbana, as Nina embraced me lightly, and carefully began to delve into the notes. Hours flew past, and the clock struck twelve.
Suddenly Nina stood up and softly began to act and sing, that lovely, hauntingly wistful monologue of Marchalins Da geth er hin from Der Rosenkavalier. The vibrating light in the room created shadows on Nina's face, as she walked on the carpet restlessly, pondering of past, the passing of time and loss. In the blink of an eye, Nina had pulled on Marshallins 's cloak, dignity, and honesty, unpon herself. Strauss's recitations glowed, and Nina's lively, golden voice, and sensitive face, and form seemed in that endless moment to be pure enbodyment of Strauss's music. There was an expression in her eyes that was indescribable.
Nina stopped singing a little out of breath, her cheeks were flushed, lightly, and she said sincerely, "I've been rehearsing that scene for months, and something has always gone awry, but now I felt like I had to try, maybe reading Virginies music helped me somehow, I want to at least believe so."
I said ponderingly, "Nina you can copy all of Virginies notes if you want, because I know she would ask it herself if she were still here. You've also given me a great gift, and I think you'll become one of the most famous performers in that role over time. You know, as well as I do that there are certain roles that are better suited than others, and where performing is as effortless as breathing, even though you are constantly aware of the music, and the demands of the role. In which, as it were, one's own soul is reflected for a few moments through different prisms, and this for you is I think one of them, as Violetta is for me."
Few days after that evening with Virginies music and haunting Strauss. I met Nina at
breakfast at a cafe, as it was very close to the Palais Garnier. Nina seemed excited as she cut her croissant open, after a small pause, she said softly."I have been going over Virginies music and it truly is really exellent, she was wonderfully talented."
I looked at her for a long time, in her blue dress she resembled a slender blue iris or scilla, and I smiled little sadly in response. Ninas slender small hand covered mine in a wordless gesture of symphaty. In the Opera everyone was harried as the Autum was swiftly coming and with it the premier of new season, and Nina and I too, were swamped with work.
The last days of Nina's stay at Paris seemed to fly forward like a gentle dream. One evening we, Nina and I walked in the moonlight, and the facade of Notre Dame was a breathtakingly beautiful sight.
And I finally took Nina, to Zinaida Nikolaevnas place as she had been in Italy and returned only few weeks ago. Curiously, I looked at her Paris apartment. It was almost identical in content to that in Dom Muruzi. They just opened their doors with their own keys and stepped in and everything was in place, clothes, linens and books. She still smelled of rose water and light powder, and again had a light little emerald on her forehead.
Zlobin whispered to me, nodding gracefully to Nina and pouring tea for all of us,"that their time in Paris had started hard, mainly because D.M. had angered French literary circles by strongly criticizing the Bolsheviks, but slowly they had begun to gather around like-minded emigrants, or other curious souls. I am so glad that you are now here Elizabeth as your presence will lift Zinaidas mood, as she has been even more irritable than usual."Then there was talk of a revolution, because DM's whole life was now focused on the strong opposition to the October Revolution and the bolsheviks.
DM emphatically asked Zinaida Nikolaeva:
" Zina, which is dearer to you: Russia without freedom, or freedom without Russia.? " The silence fell, it was only broken by the gentle sound of the tea glasses against plates. Finally, Zinaida Nikolaevna said: "Freedom, without Russia, and that's why I'm here, and I'm not there."
Then Zinaida Nikolaevna looked at Nina and me and she smiled, she smiled so rarely, and declaired. "When you both stand there in front of me, graceful, lithe and blonde, you almost look like a pair of twins, but there is something missing."
She soon returned to the room carrying a pleated package tied with ribbons, they were pink, of course. Nina opened it. It was a scarf, silken one. Done with different shades of blue and violet flowers and deep green vines in delicate with embroidery. With a smile and graceful nod Nina thanked her, and said,
"If I understand correctly, when Elizabeth came to your apartment in Petrograd, years ago she sang to you, and to your salon guests, as there is also a small salon here now. I would love to perform for you all." Zinaida Nikolaevna nodded, and signaled Zlobin to go to the piano, Nina took the sheet music from her bag and handed it to Zlobin. I leaned on the empire couch and focused on enjoying the performance. Gentle shimmering Puccini flowed endlessly on as Nina rendered Laurettas aria, in delicate lovely tones full rounded, and clear. The applause was furious, and Nina's lap was soon full of different flowers, roses, camelias, daffodils, lilacs, as grateful salon guests rushed out of the apartment to buy them.
Zinaida Nikolaevna, sat next to me and said, "enjoyable evening, isn't it, music and wonderful company. I'm so glad you're in Paris now, and you're not there anymore."
I nodded to her in silence, for my heart was so full that I could not say anything.
La Gare du Nord glittered in sudden sunshine and I stood outside of the train, as we made our farewells. Nina had surprised me by giving a package wrapped in thick paper, and just saying, in a soft warm and a little teasingly arch tone, "I think this will be good for you in the future, too."
The silence at my Passy apartement was now dreadful, and it occurred to me a not for a first time, that maybe I could get a new cat, so coming home wouldn't be so lonely.
Only then did I properly notice how much Nina's presence had cheered me up, the apartment had echoed from the music and peaceful togetherness, of two likeminded musical souls. With a soft and mournful little sigh I put on my red kimono. I opened the package Nina had left me. It was heavy.
I cut the strips open.
It was a libretto, she had given me Rosenkavalier,
it was accompanied by letter.
30.8.1922, Paris.
Betty!
You have been a delightful guide, as well as a friend in these last few weeks of my Parisian sojourn. As for the music, I can't describe in words what gift you and Virginie have given me when I got to copy her music.
That Strauss libretto is a duplicate of mine, I think you'll benefit from it in the future, as both soprano roles in the opera are excellent. I belive you have the artistic drive and experience to perform both roles, at different times if the opportunity arises. I recommend, when you can, go to Salzburg.
I was there myself before coming to Paris, even though this summers festival was just being prepared at the time, the couple of days I spent there helped my own development immensely. I also met Strauss and he was very pleased with my interpretation of the marshal's wife, although Lotte Lehmann is the golden standard in that role, or so I have heard.
With love, Nina."
I hummed softly, and I played on a light scale then I slowly begun to play the Rosenkavalier's overture.
There was a gentle breeze from the open window. The flames of the candle fluttered, and shone in the two framed photographs on the table, and for a small moment it seemed as if Virginie was smiling to me with pride.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Alinyaalehtia, and her wonderful musical Nina.