OPERAREALM
Chapter II
The following day, Roza found herself in quite the daze. She wondered if she had not dreamed the whole ordeal of last night up and she found herself second guessing herself all day long. She had a harder time than usual concentrating during her classes and rehearsals at the conservatory. However, at least today was Friday and she could have the whole weekend to practice and enjoy her opera. She need not worry about social gatherings and friends, as she never really had many. Just a string of acquaintances masquerading as colleagues who pretended to be as serious about the art as Roza was. But they never were. They saw singing and opera as a job and could never seem to muster up any passion for it. This irritated Roza to the highest extreme, for she saw being the gift of a great voice and the treasure chest that was the repertoire as the greatest miracle that could bless a person's life. She could not comprehend why others did not share her view and her great enthusiasm. Roza preferred her own company rather than being in the presence of those who only depressed her.
In the evening, Roza made her way back to the serene haven of her room not without slight apprehension. Could someone or something be waiting for her in some sort of malevolent enchantment? Roza was extraordinarily superstitious and rather morbid in nature. She momentarily fancied herself as the unsuspecting victim in a horror film and a great shiver went down her spine.
"Nonsense," she scolded herself aloud, to ease her uneasiness by hearing the sound of her own voice. "Although you want so badly to believe it, opera is nothing but make-believe and the characters of the drama are only brought to life by the singer that sings the role. "
Roza turned the doorknob and entered her room. All seemed in order and quite normal, so she heaved a great sigh of relief. She crossed the room with her armful of scores and placed them one by one in their rightful spots. She put all the scores back on the shelf--all except one. With its soft leather binding of sapphire and its glorious, melancholy and heartbreaking music, it was her favorite of all. She clasped it lovingly and closed her eyes, allowing her heat and mind to cherish her most beloved romantic dream. If only it were more than that...Suddenly Roza gave a start. A breeze caressed her long dark curls from behind and she was at once certain that she was not alone. She turned to the mirror and was so startled that she could not cry out! For it was not her own image that she saw...but that of a strange man in old-fashioned clothes! Roza, dumb with awe, stood there transfixed in both fear and wonder.
The image was as clear as if it were some sort of picture screen, though in black and white. The man was very tall and handsome with thick wavy dark hair, virile features and soulful eyes. Roza judged his attire of a dark waste coat with an elaborate high starched collar to be of the 1820's. The man seemed to be in a state of great passion and despair for he spoke desperate words that Roza could not hear and clasped his arms pleadingly. The person to whom he spoke at last walked into Roza's view. It was a beautiful highborn beauty who wore an elegant gown that trailed behind her. The woman seemed as equally upset as the man. Roza could see that she was quite young, probably about the same age as herself, but her features seemed worn and weary as if from years of suffering. She shook her head at the man, her face so infinitely sad that Roza ached with pity for her. But the woman's face was quite resolved and Roza's pity at once shifted to the man. She watched spellbound and helpless as the man fell at the woman's feet and clasped her hands desperately, as if he clearly feared to let her go. The two struggled for a moment before, the woman at last tore herself away from the man and ran from the picture. The man cried out, his arms reaching out for the fleeing woman and then he collapsed, overcome with his despair.
Oh, how Roza ached for him with her entire heart! She had been weeping along with the unspeakable tragedy that had just unfolded before her eyes. Involuntarily she reached out for the image of the tortured handsome man, but all at once the image faded. "No, No! This can't happen! It can't end like this! It can't! It's too terrible! Too terrible!" she sobbed, feeling with all her heart and soul the anguish that these two people had just experienced as strongly as if it were her own. Roza was overcome with the strong desire to extinguish this unbearable agony any way that she could. She was ready for anything. Numb to her earlier anxieties she was only conscious of the Queen's words that resounded in her ear, "You may begin your journey into our world whenever you wish as this door will always be open to you and only you," Roza approached the mirror, and without hesitation or complication she waded into its mysterious silvery depths.
As Roza passed through the mirror, her body began to tingle from head to toe and she became extremely light-headed. Glittery stars manifested in the air and she lost her balance, then her consciousness. When Roza, awoke a few moments later she found herself in a small, red room that seemed to be a dressing room. A small mahogany vanity full of ribbons, perfumes, powers, and other delicacies sat in one corner, a white wicker divider sat in another, a small closet jammed full of elaborate costumes made up one wall, while the mirror stood conspicuously on the other. When Roza glanced up at it, it sparkled, as if winking at her.
Suddenly Roza was aware of voices, footsteps, movement outside of the tiny room, most likely in a corridor on the other side. The voices spoke fast and excitedly and in a language that Roza recognized as Italian. A commanding and rich female voice rose above the rest who seemed to be tagging along at her heels. Roza heard the voice stop at the dressing room door and she heard the doorknob turn.
"Una momento, " the woman said opening the door, her back to Roza. She waved a handkerchief at someone outside and entered the room. She was a tall, statuesque woman with sleek black hair worn on top of her head, flashing black eyes, a smooth tan complexion and she wore a flashing red silk early 19th century gown. When she saw Roza, her dark eyes went wild with sheer surprise and then her expression change abruptly into one of apparent anger.
"Tu...qui? Chi se tu? " she demanded spinning off several angry phrases in Italian that were too fast for Roza to comprehend. But she did catch some of it, a name, Cavaradossi. Then this was Floria Tosca, the famous Puccini heroine who was a great diva and the beloved of Mario Cavaradossi! It was really her! But oh my, by the dark jealous tones in her voice, did she think for a moment that Roza was hiding here to meet her lover?
"Signorina Tosca..." Roza began in awe, trying to begin to explain what she was doing in the diva's dressing room. "Per pieta. Io son Roza," her Italian failed her. "And I mean you nor your great romance no harm at all. In fact, I am a great champion of both of you. I come from a place very far away...in another world. I am a young opera singer and am here to observe opera as it really is. I don't know how I ended up in your dressing room and am very sorry if I have offended you." Roza stopped, feeling quite awkward and realizing that Tosca, an Italian woman, probably did not understand a word that she was saying.
But she was wrong. "Oh, so you are Roza!" Tosca proclaimed, her frown melting into a great smile of obvious approval. "We have been waiting for you!"
Relieved, Roza regarded the famous diva in wonder. "Oh my, I didn't know you spoke English!"
Tosca laughed. "I'm really not supposed to. I'm Italian to the core. But you see, we all do here...as our operas do have English translations. It may seem strange, but it is true. In addition, we not only speak the original language that our operas were written in, but the native language of the character as well. For example, Mimi, Rodolfo, Musetta, Marcello, Magda and Ruggero (who will be all be along shortly) all speak French as well as well as Italian and English--for although they may be of Italian opera, they are really from gay Paris. "
There was a knock on the door.
"Entrare," Tosca sang in her great dramatic voice. And so entered the three sets of Puccinian couples on cue. They were all exactly as Roza imagined them. She saw Rodolfo first. He was of modest tenorly height with curly golden brown hair and dark soulful eyes. Leaning against him lovingly was Mimi. She was slight and graceful with dark brown hair worn up and an ivory complexion. She reminded Roza of a porcelain doll. She was clad simply, but beautifully in a long, cotton navy dress with a crocheted shawl that draped over her shoulders. When she caught Roza's eye she nodded and smiled at her warmly. She must know I have studied her part well, Roza thought, returning her shy smile. Musetta and Marcello were not far behind. Musetta entered first, confidently and coyly dragging Marcello behind her. She was voluptuous and extravagantly elegant in a brilliant pink silk dress that admirably set off her shiny flaxen hair and flashing dark eyes. Marcello was tall with light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. Like Rodolfo, he dressed simply in a dark period suit, the uniform of the Parisian bohemian. After the Boheme couples, came Magda and Ruggero of La Rondine. Magda was also gorgeous. Her brown hair was thick and glossy and her dark eyes full of life and love. She was dressed simply in what Roza recognized as her grisette disguise of her era of Second Empire Paris. She wore a flowing pale yellow skirt with ruffles and a silken blouse with puffed sleeves. Ruggero, with his dark puppy dog eyes and wavy brown hair, wore a simple student's gray suit and carried a top hat. What a beautiful site these operatic couples were to behold!
Everyone greeted Tosca and praised her for a concert that she had given earlier that afternoon. Tosca was gracious and proud but she turned her attention to Roza. "This, my friends is Roza, the singer from Reality," she said waving her arm wide, in grand introduction. "She has come in quest of inspiration." Within a moment, the focus had turned to Roza, and she was surrounded by her beloved Puccinians. Magda and Mimi were especially pleased to meet her as it was apparent that they undoubtedly trusted and accepted her as one of their own and as one who could transcend their persona and story very well.
But then something suddenly occurred to Roza. The handsome desperate man and sad woman she had seen in the mirror from her room were not among them. Her strange, inexplicable urgency to find them (particularly the man) suddenly filled her once again.
"I beg your pardon," said Roza abruptly to the Puccinians. "But I was wondering... when I gazed into your world from my world just now, I saw a desperate man pleading with a woman to go somewhere with him."
"Ah, opera is full of that sort of thing, Roza," said Tosca with a smile. "You of all people, definitely know that well."
"It could have been anyone," said Rodolfo.
"Don Jose and Carmen perhaps?" Mimi suggested in her eager, soft-spoken way.
Roza shook her head. "No, it wasn't them. They were not gypsies, but aristocrats." She thought hard. "I know not why that mirror showed me that image, but I feel compelled to find these people."
"Then you must!" said Magda dreamily. "It might be some sort of sign! Or even fate!"
Roza was perplexed. "I'm just still trying to understand how all of this works. I don't know why I saw that particular vision, but I do know that I am here only to observe and nothing more." Then it hit her suddenly, like a whirlwind. She knew exactly who those people she saw in her mirror were and she knew she had to see them first before she resumed her further study of the characters of Operaland. "I must ask you something..."
"What is it?" asked Tosca.
"I have just realized where I need to start my observation work here. I wish to start with my roots. Being of Slavic decent, I want to meet some Slavic characters. I...um...need to see the Tchaikovskians. Where might I find them?"
"Why in Russia of course!" proclaimed Marcello jovially.
"Oui," said Musetta. "Where else could they be found?" she said matter-of-factly and elbowing Marcello playfully in the stomach.
Roza was still confused. Yes, without a doubt it made sense that the Tchaikovskians would be in Russia, St. Petersburg most likely, but how on earth would she get there? She voiced her question aloud, "Is Operarealm's Russia as far from Rome as it is in reality?"
"Si," said Tosca and everybody else nodded. "It is a very long journey by train. But if you must go, you may go with us. It is dreadful to travel alone. You see, we are all heading over there for this season's grand ball, which will be held in St. Petersburg this year and hosted by the Gremins"
Roza's jaw dropped. "The Gremins? You mean Tatyana...she is already married by this point?" She was somewhat disappointed, as it was always the character of the young Tatyana that she was most like, and it was the young Tatyana that she was most eager to meet.
"My yes," said Tosca. "You see, all of our stories repeat themselves seasonally. But it just so happens that you have happened to visit us at the time when Tatyana is the Princess Gremina, and when happily both Mimi and myself have not yet perished...our stories will not even be active for several months your time. We are on a sort of break...and thank our dear Lord for that." she made the sign of the cross and Roza remembered how religious the character was.
Roza had scarcely glimpsed the Rome of Operarealm before it was time for her to leave it on the train bound for St. Petersburg. It was an immense city of great majesty and wonder, with its mysterious ancient statues and architecture and she barely saw any of it before Magda and Ruggero hastened her onto a great scarlet train bound Northeast. The journey was a long one, but one which passed quickly as Roza gawked at the vividly scenic terrain of hills, cottages, castles and mountains outside her window while enjoying the pleasant company of the Puccinians. As it turned out, this train was not going directly to St. Petersburg, but rather Vilnius, Lithuania where they were to meet up with some Russians (who were on holiday there) and travel with them by coach to St. Petersburg where the ball was to be held.
"Which Russians?" Roza asked eagerly, intrigued to the core.
Musetta laughed a musical sound. "You really want to see them don't you?" and Roza nodded, grinning.
"We're meeting Liza and her friend, Palina," Magda told her as she cuddled closer to Ruggero.
In the evening, the train at last began to slow as it became apparent that they had reached Vilnius. Roza was absolutely ecstatic! She had always wanted to meet the people of Tchaikovsky's Pikovaya Dama! And where they were, surely the people from Tchaikovsky's other operas couldn't be far off! It seemed that in Operarealm, characters by the same composer, country or period had a tendency to stick together.
The group of four sets of Puccinian couples and Roza left the train and got into horse-drawn carriages that were to take them into the heart of town. Vilnius, one of the cities of Roza's ancestors was an extremely quaint, yet elegant city with gorgeous gothic Baltic architecture, red roofs, cobblestone streets, and quaint cottages which glowed in the apricot evening light. The ride was a brief and pleasant one as Roza absorbed the city's ethnic beauty and breathed the cold autumn air. It was certainly refreshing after such a long train ride.
It seemed as if they had just gotten into the carriages, when they stopped in front of a rustic, but elegant crimson brick Inn. Standing on the steps were half a dozen people who waved vigorously upon the carriage's approach.
"Oh look!" said Magda to Roza. "It's Liza, Palina, Max, Agathe and Ännchen!"
"Quite the welcome party!" commented Roza, smiling as she excitedly recognized the people from Tchaikovsky's Pikovaya Dama and von Weber's Der Freischütz.
"I didn't expect to see you here!" Tosca said upon greeting Agathe.
"Nor did I," said Agathe with a small smile. "I've never been to Lithuania, let alone Russia, until tomorrow."
"It's been loads of fun!" chirped Ännchen happily. She was small and spritely with light hair and laughing hazel eyes, in contrast to Agathe who was tall, dark and solemn, although very graceful and beautiful. "Last season the ball was in boring Berlin. This will be a great adventure! It has been already, making such a journey, hasn't it, Agathe?"
Agathe shrugged. "If it hadn't been for Max here, it would have been truly dreadful."
Max a tall, light-haired young man with gentle eyes, smiled down at her and took her hand.
Ännchen made a face. "Oh, you two...always so lovely -dovey!" She regarded Roza as if for the first time. "I'm sorry, I don't think I've ever met you before!" she said loudly.
Liza, the beautiful sad girl with the black hair and eyes and the white skin spoke for the first time, in a rich but soft voice. "You are the girl, aren't you?"
"The girl?" inquired Palina, the girl with strawberry blonde hair and china blue eyes who stood beside her. "Which girl?"
"The lady from reality who is allowed to visit us, " Liza said matter-of-factly. She approached Roza slowly and took her hand in greeting. "I've wanted to meet you for a long time, Roza. They say you're of Russian decent?"
"Yes," replied Roza. "And Lithuanian as well. I can't tell you how much it means to finally meet you and be here. And attending a grand ball in St. Petersburg! I've always dreamed of such things. Always!"
Liza gave her a small, pleased smile. "I hope you will be our guest of honor for this occasion."
"We'd love to be in your company," Palina put in.
Roza was thrilled. "I'd be honored!" Guests of honor at a ball in her favorite city with some of her favorite characters. What more could she ask for? Her heart knew and guarded that answer well.
