1/16/2011
I saw him today' for the first time since I quit the stage. I do not think my voice will ever be as strong again. It is funny. I once had the power to bring a whole audience to tears, now I hardly have the heart for it. I wish it would stop hurting, I really do, but unfortunately, that is not usually, how these things work. He said that to me.
-1-
September, 2009
The opera house Camera Della Canzone stood quietly in the crisp summer's night. The lights rising from the fountains forced radiance through the rippling pools, water cascading through them in small falls and shooting funnels. The magnified decadence of the exterior came as spotlights warmed columns of white marble and limestone. Their Corinthian structure stood in grandeur, the entasis containing reliefs of gods and goddesses long past. Archs tied, forming barrel vaulted ceilings, the golden inlay glittering down over massive steel doors riddled with rosettes and symbols of the goddess Nike.
Upon entrance through the intricate steel doors, chandeliers and torches light the exposed foyer drawing attention to the vaulted ceilings above. Works worthy of a chapel blossomed there. Cherubs, centaurs, satyrs, gods, and goddess all gazed down upon the elaborate hall fondly. Warm colors hued the walls, furniture, and fabrics dawning tables and windows allowing one to feel at ease during a break, or an exquisite dinner. Then there were the stairs, placed directly in the middle of the hall, they rose upwards and formed a stream like course to the theater behind four wooden doors just as detailed as the steel doors at the hall's entrance.
The theater was as grand as the foyer, if not, more breath taking. The ceilings, vaulted as well, were golden, with crimson rosettes lining it. To either side were booths, red drapes pulled to the side so not to hinder the gathered nobility who watched and listened to the voice below. The audience in the main chamber sat on crimson seats, guided to by an equally red carpet. Men and woman wore fine clothes, worthy of the Victorian era, some gowns low cut, others closed around the lady's neck, and the men in black tuxedos and top hats. Like the audience above them, these observers gazed at the stage in wonder and admired the single figure there.
The stage was magnificent, several stories high to allow appropriate view of the entertainment. Tonight was no exception.
Red curtains opened slowly to reveal a young, beautiful woman standing before them. She was a slender, lanky figure that stood gracefully like an angel before the quiet crowd. The brown, red, and gold gown she wore, its bodice, skirt, warmed her pale figure and accented her figure, bringing out the simple curves and lines of her practically flawless figure. Long pulled back auburn hair twisted into a half bun so that lofty curls would drape behind her and falling to the middle of her back. Though it was hard to tell from a distance, soft olive hued eyes gazed fondly before the admiring crowd, equally enamored at them as they were of her and her majestic voice. This was where she belonged, like Cinderella once she had received her glass slipper. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye." Her chest rose against the confining fabrics against her chest. "Remember me once in a while - please promise me you'll try." She didn't think she would ever stand before such a monstrous crowd. All of them, each person watching her with fondness in their eyes, had come to see her. It was intimidating. For a little over a year, she had been singing professionally, everywhere. Anywhere her manager could find her to sing, she was doing it. " When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me ..." And here she was singing in such a powerful opera. It was awkward to watch women dabbing their eyes and uncomfortable men sit there, pause, and betray their tense forms with awe that appeared on her faces. She never understood it.
"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea ?" Her voice broke softly so that she could breathe against the corset she wore. " but if you can still remember, stop and think of me ..." Somewhere in this audience was her inspiration. He was a tall man, with dark hair and bright eyes. His beard was neatly shaven, clean, proud, just like him. He always encouraged her, even if she was his mistress. For so long, his mistress, but he loved her.
" Think of all the things we've shared and seen - don't think about the things which might have been ..." Another woman in the audience was breathless, dabbing her eyes and sniffling against her handkerchief. She found herself in awe of how moved the audience was with just the sound of her voice. "Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned."
"Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do ?" she drew in another breath, catching a glimpse of his face and fighting back an obvious smile. She was with him. Voluptuous, blonde, and frail, noble just like everyone expected them to be. "There will never be a day, when I won't think of you ..."
The whole night had been something out of a dream for her. Something she was sure she'd never forget. The performance was a success one many would marvel for several months or years afterwards.
As she stood before the applauding crowd later that evening, she felt on top of the world. She always had when they stood like that. Roses flew past her, several from adoring women, but most from men; yet none held her attention the way he did. Yet, no rose ever fell at her feet.
The after party was beautiful, champagne, actors, admirers, all showing their support behind the crimson curtain. Several actresses and actors gathered in closely knit groupings, all of them laughing or speaking among themselves about the performance. All of them seemed pleased, content with the reviews that had already came to their attention. It was a celebration sure to leave many in a stupor at early morning's light.
Then he arrived, her on his arm. The tension grew as he moved for her, but for the sake of those around them, and her, she retained a sense of grace and poise. The blue and white lace around her did nothing for her figure. Her hair was blonde; her skin was pale enough to suggest that she had never stepped out into the sun. The height of the woman was enough to make her look robust, a heavy chest and thick hips had made her admirable among the noble court. This was a woman many agreed would bear sons, of course, that was if his lordship would stop dabbling in the affairs of opera and settle down.
She had been through two noble women with this man, assured that her fame through music would give her near enough status for him to leave the blonde woman at his arm. Still he insisted it wasn't time. One more opera, and one more, and another, just like he always insisted. She had her curiosities, but for the sake of her love for him, she could not bring herself to question him or them. All she could do was wait and watch from the sidelines as she always did and hope that tomorrow would bring change. How little she thought of today.
"My dear, that was beautifully done." He took her hand, kissed it, and then released it. His smile seemed pressing, knowing. "You remember Miss Belafone."
The woman bowed as she did her own curtsey," Of course. Greetings Miss Belafone" she said warmly. Even then, she wondered if Miss Belafone would ever know. "You look beautiful M'lady."
She looked more than beautiful, the woman looked out right glowing and overly pleased with herself. "Thank you." There was a rather smug giggle from her and her left hand rose, fanning herself contently.
At the sight of what Miss Belafone wore upon her left hand, glittering obnoxiously, her heart stopped. She knew what that meant, she had seen young suitors speak proudly of their engagement with such a woman as her, yet he was quiet. As if he had chose not to discuss it for fear of ruining her moment in the lime light.
Miss Belafone however, exclaimed, "Oh darling don't look so shocked! He proposed before the show, surely you knew!"
He paled, hoping he'd have some better way to break it to her. That forced her a step back. Though she had sung beautifully, the voice, the desire to stay so near to the two of them, vanished. The dress she still wore ruffled when she turned and heels clattered on the floor. Several men turned with concern in their eyes while other women giggled behind their fans, pleased reality had come crashing down on the star that stole their place as lead. Acting was a vicious business. Once alone within her dressing room she was free to weep, letting tears cascade and bring her makeup to shambles. She ignored the red roses, the changing curtain, and fled to the chair before her powder table. There were whites and reds littering the room from fabric to furniture, and accented by red and white roses that he always sent before a performance. She didn't admire the details of the room for once, her whole world of love and success had turned into one where she had been used. Instantly she felt like a noblemen's play thing. While her face fell into her hands, the door behind her opened. The same proud and refined man entered and shut the door behind him.
"Are you mad?" He was angry' "She almost found out about us!"
"What us"!" It seemed to be a fitting question considering the circumstances. The first of the flower filled vases hit the floor before his shocked frame. "There is no us, there never was."
"You don't mean that." He lifted his hands as she took another vase in her hands. "I love you." Even as he spoke those three words she could tell he was lying. The entire time he had merely been thinking of himself. When he dodged the vase his anger returned, face contorted into something less proud. "Careful woman, the last thing I need is this suit ruined. It will raise questions!"
"Why' Why"!" Even murmuring her voice was soothing, the agony on her voice made it unsettling.
"Why.." These are the way things work." He inspected an idle bit of dust before he glanced to her with a wary eye. He kept at the ready in case she tossed another vase. "Did you honestly think that we would go somewhere" I'm an influential lord. A man of power. Gods, woman, you know that nobility such as myself are required to wed within their class." This man had professed his love to her, over again. Of course she did.
"Oh please!" She scoffed. The nobility had been free to wed whomever they pleased for generations now. "She's wealthy. She's attractive because of it. And we're done." Everything was over. A few smooth strides and she opened the door to her dressing room. It was easy to get him removed from the room and even easier to walk away that night and never look back.
Then she ran, going anywhere she could despite how many knew her name. They'd forget her eventually, everyone knew that. A year later and she had become a memory, a passerby in the way of life. His new bride on his arm as they walked down the street and holding each other's hand as if she never knew what he had done while she was asleep.
I saw him today' for the first time since I quit the stage. I do not think my voice will ever be as strong again. It is funny. I once had the power to bring a whole audience to tears, now I hardly have the heart for it. I wish it would stop hurting, I really do, but unfortunately, that is not usually, how these things work. He said that to me.
-1-
September, 2009
The opera house Camera Della Canzone stood quietly in the crisp summer's night. The lights rising from the fountains forced radiance through the rippling pools, water cascading through them in small falls and shooting funnels. The magnified decadence of the exterior came as spotlights warmed columns of white marble and limestone. Their Corinthian structure stood in grandeur, the entasis containing reliefs of gods and goddesses long past. Archs tied, forming barrel vaulted ceilings, the golden inlay glittering down over massive steel doors riddled with rosettes and symbols of the goddess Nike.
Upon entrance through the intricate steel doors, chandeliers and torches light the exposed foyer drawing attention to the vaulted ceilings above. Works worthy of a chapel blossomed there. Cherubs, centaurs, satyrs, gods, and goddess all gazed down upon the elaborate hall fondly. Warm colors hued the walls, furniture, and fabrics dawning tables and windows allowing one to feel at ease during a break, or an exquisite dinner. Then there were the stairs, placed directly in the middle of the hall, they rose upwards and formed a stream like course to the theater behind four wooden doors just as detailed as the steel doors at the hall's entrance.
The theater was as grand as the foyer, if not, more breath taking. The ceilings, vaulted as well, were golden, with crimson rosettes lining it. To either side were booths, red drapes pulled to the side so not to hinder the gathered nobility who watched and listened to the voice below. The audience in the main chamber sat on crimson seats, guided to by an equally red carpet. Men and woman wore fine clothes, worthy of the Victorian era, some gowns low cut, others closed around the lady's neck, and the men in black tuxedos and top hats. Like the audience above them, these observers gazed at the stage in wonder and admired the single figure there.
The stage was magnificent, several stories high to allow appropriate view of the entertainment. Tonight was no exception.
Red curtains opened slowly to reveal a young, beautiful woman standing before them. She was a slender, lanky figure that stood gracefully like an angel before the quiet crowd. The brown, red, and gold gown she wore, its bodice, skirt, warmed her pale figure and accented her figure, bringing out the simple curves and lines of her practically flawless figure. Long pulled back auburn hair twisted into a half bun so that lofty curls would drape behind her and falling to the middle of her back. Though it was hard to tell from a distance, soft olive hued eyes gazed fondly before the admiring crowd, equally enamored at them as they were of her and her majestic voice. This was where she belonged, like Cinderella once she had received her glass slipper. "Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye." Her chest rose against the confining fabrics against her chest. "Remember me once in a while - please promise me you'll try." She didn't think she would ever stand before such a monstrous crowd. All of them, each person watching her with fondness in their eyes, had come to see her. It was intimidating. For a little over a year, she had been singing professionally, everywhere. Anywhere her manager could find her to sing, she was doing it. " When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart back and be free - if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me ..." And here she was singing in such a powerful opera. It was awkward to watch women dabbing their eyes and uncomfortable men sit there, pause, and betray their tense forms with awe that appeared on her faces. She never understood it.
"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea ?" Her voice broke softly so that she could breathe against the corset she wore. " but if you can still remember, stop and think of me ..." Somewhere in this audience was her inspiration. He was a tall man, with dark hair and bright eyes. His beard was neatly shaven, clean, proud, just like him. He always encouraged her, even if she was his mistress. For so long, his mistress, but he loved her.
" Think of all the things we've shared and seen - don't think about the things which might have been ..." Another woman in the audience was breathless, dabbing her eyes and sniffling against her handkerchief. She found herself in awe of how moved the audience was with just the sound of her voice. "Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned."
"Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do ?" she drew in another breath, catching a glimpse of his face and fighting back an obvious smile. She was with him. Voluptuous, blonde, and frail, noble just like everyone expected them to be. "There will never be a day, when I won't think of you ..."
The whole night had been something out of a dream for her. Something she was sure she'd never forget. The performance was a success one many would marvel for several months or years afterwards.
As she stood before the applauding crowd later that evening, she felt on top of the world. She always had when they stood like that. Roses flew past her, several from adoring women, but most from men; yet none held her attention the way he did. Yet, no rose ever fell at her feet.
The after party was beautiful, champagne, actors, admirers, all showing their support behind the crimson curtain. Several actresses and actors gathered in closely knit groupings, all of them laughing or speaking among themselves about the performance. All of them seemed pleased, content with the reviews that had already came to their attention. It was a celebration sure to leave many in a stupor at early morning's light.
Then he arrived, her on his arm. The tension grew as he moved for her, but for the sake of those around them, and her, she retained a sense of grace and poise. The blue and white lace around her did nothing for her figure. Her hair was blonde; her skin was pale enough to suggest that she had never stepped out into the sun. The height of the woman was enough to make her look robust, a heavy chest and thick hips had made her admirable among the noble court. This was a woman many agreed would bear sons, of course, that was if his lordship would stop dabbling in the affairs of opera and settle down.
She had been through two noble women with this man, assured that her fame through music would give her near enough status for him to leave the blonde woman at his arm. Still he insisted it wasn't time. One more opera, and one more, and another, just like he always insisted. She had her curiosities, but for the sake of her love for him, she could not bring herself to question him or them. All she could do was wait and watch from the sidelines as she always did and hope that tomorrow would bring change. How little she thought of today.
"My dear, that was beautifully done." He took her hand, kissed it, and then released it. His smile seemed pressing, knowing. "You remember Miss Belafone."
The woman bowed as she did her own curtsey," Of course. Greetings Miss Belafone" she said warmly. Even then, she wondered if Miss Belafone would ever know. "You look beautiful M'lady."
She looked more than beautiful, the woman looked out right glowing and overly pleased with herself. "Thank you." There was a rather smug giggle from her and her left hand rose, fanning herself contently.
At the sight of what Miss Belafone wore upon her left hand, glittering obnoxiously, her heart stopped. She knew what that meant, she had seen young suitors speak proudly of their engagement with such a woman as her, yet he was quiet. As if he had chose not to discuss it for fear of ruining her moment in the lime light.
Miss Belafone however, exclaimed, "Oh darling don't look so shocked! He proposed before the show, surely you knew!"
He paled, hoping he'd have some better way to break it to her. That forced her a step back. Though she had sung beautifully, the voice, the desire to stay so near to the two of them, vanished. The dress she still wore ruffled when she turned and heels clattered on the floor. Several men turned with concern in their eyes while other women giggled behind their fans, pleased reality had come crashing down on the star that stole their place as lead. Acting was a vicious business. Once alone within her dressing room she was free to weep, letting tears cascade and bring her makeup to shambles. She ignored the red roses, the changing curtain, and fled to the chair before her powder table. There were whites and reds littering the room from fabric to furniture, and accented by red and white roses that he always sent before a performance. She didn't admire the details of the room for once, her whole world of love and success had turned into one where she had been used. Instantly she felt like a noblemen's play thing. While her face fell into her hands, the door behind her opened. The same proud and refined man entered and shut the door behind him.
"Are you mad?" He was angry' "She almost found out about us!"
"What us"!" It seemed to be a fitting question considering the circumstances. The first of the flower filled vases hit the floor before his shocked frame. "There is no us, there never was."
"You don't mean that." He lifted his hands as she took another vase in her hands. "I love you." Even as he spoke those three words she could tell he was lying. The entire time he had merely been thinking of himself. When he dodged the vase his anger returned, face contorted into something less proud. "Careful woman, the last thing I need is this suit ruined. It will raise questions!"
"Why' Why"!" Even murmuring her voice was soothing, the agony on her voice made it unsettling.
"Why.." These are the way things work." He inspected an idle bit of dust before he glanced to her with a wary eye. He kept at the ready in case she tossed another vase. "Did you honestly think that we would go somewhere" I'm an influential lord. A man of power. Gods, woman, you know that nobility such as myself are required to wed within their class." This man had professed his love to her, over again. Of course she did.
"Oh please!" She scoffed. The nobility had been free to wed whomever they pleased for generations now. "She's wealthy. She's attractive because of it. And we're done." Everything was over. A few smooth strides and she opened the door to her dressing room. It was easy to get him removed from the room and even easier to walk away that night and never look back.
Then she ran, going anywhere she could despite how many knew her name. They'd forget her eventually, everyone knew that. A year later and she had become a memory, a passerby in the way of life. His new bride on his arm as they walked down the street and holding each other's hand as if she never knew what he had done while she was asleep.