Antonia

Vibrato. The end.

My throat aches, a dull, dry sensation in the back of my mouth. I can
feel the sides of my throat and my vocal chords as entities separate
from my own being as I swallow.

The last moment of the aria is always the hardest, but this time too,
I went all the way. I feel I owe her that, or at least her memory.
She would have been proud, and by God, I will make her proud.

***

After the lesson today, I went home alone, as usual. The house is so
empty now without her. I went into her room and stood before her
portrait with my chamber mirror. There must be something that I have,
that is a part of her. And there are - the artist has been very
thorough, and the portrait is very like her as she was in life. Those
almond-shaped brown eyes are the same as mine. That straight little
nose. Those strawberry-coloured lips - I bite myself gently to echo
the portrait's lips. Mother's hair is drawn back into a tight bun at
the back of her head, while mine is collected in a thick braid,
although with the same chestnut shade of brown. But I will never be
as good as her. I try to capture her eyes, and although she is
staring right at me, she does not see me. I weep silently.

***

I dressed in black today for the concert, as usual. The audience
stood up in their chairs and shouted for more. I could not wait until
I was able to leave the concert hall, and flee home to silence. I
spoke with her again. I swore that I would practice even more, to
extend my register, to reach tones not yet available to me. She did
not answer.

***

Mother, why did you leave me? Was I not obedient enough? What about
my voice, my treasure, my only chance to answer your wishes? You
always kept silent, never a smile, even though I sang myself to
coughing fits... This cough is becoming worse. I bled this morning -
it is the spot at the top of this sheet of paper, not an ink stain.
But Mother, I will keep on, for your sake.

***
Today, I met a man. I have not told Mother about him.

***

I have not written here for three weeks. Between singing lessons and
singing at the concert hall, H and I have met in the park, or at tea,
or after my concerts. Just strolling side by side at first, strangers
to each other. H has made me discover a new part of my body, a warm,
soothing presence just beneath my ribs, a sphere of moving happiness.
It is at the same time a bubbly, fluttery feeling and yet it makes me
calm. I wonder - is this what they call love?

Mother would not be pleased. I went to see her yesterday. I brought
only a candle to avoid looking fully at her. She screamed at me;
shame, dirty, shame, forbidden, shame! I cowered under her stare, and
the lovely beehive of feelings in my torso shrank and shrivelled.

***

The première of the new show was today. I am represented on four
numbers in the programme, but I could only perform the first three.
After the third, my coughing fits made me gasp for air, and they
offered to call for a doctor. I declined. It is nothing. I am still
not strong enough to stand through an entire programme! Mother was
disappointed, I could tell. Like she did when I was a little girl,
she was silent, and her dark eyes bore into my soul.

***

I met H again today. He asked me to marry him. I had to refuse. How
could I ever accept? How can I make him understand? I wept while he
watched me with hanging arms and a devastated expression in his
wonderful, beautiful eyes. Finally he left me.

I have been practising scales for Mother for two hours. At the end, I
finally felt I came close to a breakthrough. Mother looked
approvingly at me when I left.

I cannot sleep. All I see is the face of H, and how heartbroken he
looked when he left...

***

I cancelled the lessons today. My throat felt swollen, and my
forehead was both hot and cold. At his return, the messenger boy told
me that I was not welcome at the theatre if I keep cancelling
practise.

H came to see me. He brought hot soup, and sat at my day bed for
hours, holding my hand, whispering words of worship and love. My
heart, that treacherous heart, kept missing a beat when he looked
into my eyes and again, proposed. This time I left my answer open,
and I could sense hope in his countenance, by the very way he moved,
as he left me for the night.

Oh God, how could this happen to me! How could I both say yes to love
and refuse it?

***

In the night, I rose from my bed and went to see Mother. In the
streak of light from the moon, her face seemed more stern and judging
than ever. I chose one of my previous successes, and sang until
daybreak.

As the first rays of sun started fingering Mother's portrait, I saw
for the first time the corners of her mouth wrinkle in approval. The
cold lump of fear and hope in my stomach started to untangle and
disappear, and I felt free for the first time in years. By then, my
head was swimming, and I could only with difficulty move back to my
bed.

***

As I woke this morning, my pillow was stiff and dark from dried
blood. It must be a reaction from all the tension, that is now
released. Outside my window, I hear the blackbird for the first time
this year. He is early, but oh, so welcome.

I have sent a messenger for H. I think I will accept his proposal
today.

***

Obituary:

Miss Antonia Gray passed away on Thursday, April 21, 1901. Born
February 26, 1880 in London, she was the only child of Sir John and
the late prima donna Dame Emma Gray. Born with perfect pitch, she was
a musical prodigy by the age of 4. Her parents lovingly nurtured her
evolving talent as a singer. As a young girl, she was awarded
scholarships for four consecutive summers to study at the Silverwood
Academy, where she studied with the great Edward Jones. Her talents
enabled her to win each local and national performance competition
she entered.

Over the years, Miss Gray performed in numerous acts and shows at
different theatres in the West End. She was at the time of her demise
the star of Branch's Theatre Company, which recently opened for the
season.

Miss Gray lived alone for the past five years, and leaves behind no
family. She was very close to her mother, Dame Emma, who always stood
by her daughter to offer her the same chances she had at the prime of
her career. The fortune of the family goes to the Trust of Orphan
Girls of Westminster.

The memorial will be held at the Chapel of St. Mary-in-the-Woods,
Monday, April 25.