OPERAREALM
Chapter VI
Roza did not remember the details of their cunning nightly flight from St. Petersburg nor did she remember that long mournful journey to Czechoslovakia much at all--she was oblivious to anything but the terrible turmoil inside of her. The train pushed on for hundreds and hundreds of miles through the darkness which seemed infinite. She barely slept at all during that first endless night and seemed immune to the comfort that her sympathetic companions offered. The journey was a stormy and dreary one. Freezing rain, hail and sleet from a storm off the Baltic coast pounded on the windows and the wind was so fierce that it seemed to aspire to de-rail the train.
They reached their destination, Frýdlant, a small city in northern Czechoslovakia late one windy, moonless night about three days after the ball. From there, they traveled by coach to the dark, looming castle that was not too far beyond the small town. They passed not a soul, it seemed to Roza that they were they were the only ones in the world. The carriage passed through a dark forest with tall, frozen, sinister trees that seemed to glower and claw downward at them. The forbidding surroundings only served to worsen Roza's excruciating sense of desolation.
None of the travelers seemed to feel that they would ever reach the castle. Despite its gothic, grim and even frightening appearance in the inky darkness, it was still an extremely welcoming site after traveling for such a long time. Roza had been the only one of the six ladies that was not asleep when they arrived at last. In fact, she had not slept a wink during the entire duration of the journey. She passionately envied her companions' ability to do so and she felt even more depressed and alone when she was deprived of their conscious company. Without their small talk, their intrigues, their constant attempts to cheer her up, Roza fell prey to dismal silence and her own obsessive devastating thoughts. How momentarily peaceful she was when the carriage stopped in front of the castle and she became occupied with the task of waking the ladies up and helping the at first confused, but essentially exhausted and grateful coachman with their things! However, after the initial reactions of the ladies to their accommodations, they fell silent once again. The ladies were merely awake enough to pursue a more proper place to sleep. When the doorman began to lead them by candlelight up the windy staircase and into the gloom beyond, Roza too, at last began to feel the heavy pull of exhaustion. Three days of extreme turmoil with neither sleep nor repose had ultimately taken the toll on her body. Her room on the third floor of the castle was dark, drafty and eerie, but she took no notice of it. She was an invalid and utterly oblivious to anything but her overwhelming longing for physical and emotional rest. Roza collapsed fully-clothed on the great canopy bed and promptly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Elle a fui, la tourterelle!...She has fled--the turtledove!
Ah! souvenir trop doux! ...Ah, memory too sweet!
Image trop cruelle!...Imagine too cruel!
Helas! a mes genoux...Alas, at my knees
je l'entends, je le vois!...I hear him, I see him!
Elle a fui, la tourterelle...She has fled--the turtledove.
Elle a fui loin de toi; ...She has fled far from you;
mais elle est toujours fidele...But she is forever faithful
et te garde sa foi...and keeps her promise to you.
Mon bien-aime, ma voix t'appelle...My beloved, my voice calls to you.
Oui, tout mon coeur est a toi...Yes, all my heart is yours.
Chere fleur qui viens d'eclore,...Precious flower which has just bloomed,
par pitie, reponds-moi!...for pity's sake answer me,
toi qui sais s'il m'aime encore...you who knows if he still loves me,
s'il me garde sa foi!...if he still keeps his promise to me!
Mon bien-aime, ma voix t'implore...My beloved, my voice implores you.
Ah! que ton coeur vienne a moi...Ah, may your heart come to me.
Never had the lyrics to Offenbach's plaintive aria had ever held as much meaning in Roza's heart as they did now. She had sought solace in the castle music room for almost two hours now singing every heart wrenching operatic aria that she knew, exploring her soul in attempt to ease her great pain. It was this last piece that really got to her, that had lyrics that really told her story more than any other. Yes, like the turtle dove she had fled, though very reluctantly and was now haunted by a seductive image. The words in the recitative, "Ah souvenir trop doux, image trop cruelle...Helas! a mes genoux, je l'entends, je le voix! (Ah memory too sweet--image too cruel. Alas! at my knees, I see him, I hear him!) really struck a chord with her. For though she tried with conviction, she could not get the night of the ball and Yevgeny out of her mind. She truly felt that she was living an opera. Is this what Operarealm was all about? You were brought here where your most cherished and secret dreams were realized but cruelly forbidden? Was it the profound whirlwind of emotions that transpired from the impact of this insidious enchantment what was to serve as fruit for inspiration for the duration of one's artistic life? Is one forever destined to achieve great art, but live a life that is empty and alone? Roza sat pondering all of this, in a state of complete masochism.
Her thoughts of doom and gloom were interrupted only by a knock on the door. It was Despina who asked her to come down to dinner. Roza obliged. All of that brooding had left her in a state of intense hunger. She had slept through breakfast and lunch and had not eaten since the evening of the ball. Perhaps some food on her stomach would provide some much needed comfort.
When she reached the dining room, Marenka, Rusalka, Fioridilgi and Dorabella rose to meet her with sympathetic eyes.
"How are you?" Markena asked gently.
"As well as can be expected," Roza told her glumly.
Fioridiligi embraced her. "You poor thing," she said with a prominent sigh. "I know what it is suffer like that! I too, am most aggrieved. I can't bear to be without my Giuglielmo! I've been pining all day. I regret having taken this vacation. I will be without my love for a week ! Can you imagine that? A week--seven days. It was Despina's and Dorabella's idea to take this all-girl vacation before our wedding ceremony and I am not enjoying myself one bit."
"I too, am feeling rather lonesome," Dorabella agreed. "But the men are in Prague and that is only an hour or so by train from here. Still, it is rather lonely here. This castle gives me the creeps."
"Oh you silly girls!" Despina exclaimed with an exasperated sigh. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you are being. Men aren't worth all that bother! You should enjoy your freedom while you have it! If men please you so much, then why don't you go to the village tavern and find some new ones to amuse yourselves?"
Fioridiligi scoffed, absolutely furious "How dare you suggest such a thing? How dare question our fidelity!" She stomped her foot to emphasize her words.
Dorabella grinned at her. "Do you want to go there after dinner?"
Fioridiligi gasped. "Dorabella--I'm surprised at you! Do you mean to suggest that you'd actually take up Despina's vile plan?"
Dorabella grinned mischievously. "I might. But the weather is not so nice outside, isn't it supposed to snow Despina?"
Despina had finished setting the last place awhile ago and had been tapping her foot on the floor impatiently. She indicated for the ladies to sit. "Yes, it's going to snow, but not until tomorrow. Some gypsy folk I met on the grounds this morning told me so. I'll bet it's going to be a big one--you can feel it in the air."
"Oh merciful heavens!" cried Fioridiligi. "What of our men?"
Despina rolled her eyes. "They'll be fine at their Inn in Prague," she said impatiently. She brought everyone their porridge, chicken, and biscuits and Marenka, Rusalka and Roza ate to the squabbling of the three ladies from Cosi fan tutte.
Later that evening, they were sitting in one of the castle sitting rooms when there was a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" Marenka asked the sad Rusalka who was sitting on the window seat and wistfully looking out into the night.
"A gypsy," Rusalka said in a voice that was shimmering and melancholic. It was the first two words she had said all day. Roza had been wondering if she even spoke at all, for in the opera, human beings could not hear her voice.
"It must be one of those gypsies I met this morning." Despina headed out into the hall to the door. A few moments later she returned, followed by an old gypsy woman who wore an ethnic Czech costume. She introduced her to the girls and announced that she would be spending the night.
And so now there were seven. The gypsy woman, Madame Damira, was very lively and grateful. In exchange for their kindness, she offered to tell everyone their fortunes.
The two Cosi sisters went first and then Marenka and Rusalka. The gypsy woman's hint of the operatic ladies' fates came as no surprise to Roza, for she knew their stories well, but she found herself shocked by the gypsy's remarkable accuracy. Unless Madame Damira knew their operas well, how could they have known all of that? By the time it was Roza's turn, she was very anxious.
Roza took her seat before the old gypsy. Madame Damira winked at her. For the first time she realized that the woman reminded her a lot of the gypsy woman that had sold her the mirror back in Reality. Madame Damira studied Roza carefully for several moments and then took her hands and studied her palms carefully, making "hmmmm" noises. It seemed like an eternity to Roza. The wind outside had begun to pick up substantially and the grandfather clock ticked in the hall.
"Very interesting," the gypsy said at last.
Roza implored her. "What do you see?"
The gypsy woman dropped Roza's hands back into her own lap. "I see that you are a very ambitious, talented and determined young lady--a young lady determined to overturn her own fate. But know this...know that the force of fate cannot be reckoned with and that very soon you will be consumed by it."
Roza was becoming more and more unnerved. "What are you saying?" she asked.
"A storm comes," said Madame Damira with chilling intensity.
"I heard," Roza replied. "The snow--"
The gypsy woman cut her off. "Not only that kind of storm. I'm speaking of another storm that comes with it--a storm of manic passion from the East. A storm in the form of a desperate, melancholic soul that seeks solace in joining with yours and will succeed in doing so. There is no escaping him.
