The Angel's Muse

Memories: Ivory Lace

§~March 1, 1879~ §                     

'A G minor would go great... no wait A flat perhaps. Should there be a triplet there? Or was that supposed to be a chromatic?'

Gah! Mon Dieù

        Some pages of music fell from the piano. The deadline for this opera score was coming up fast! The current composer, Miss Julia Sinha, had written this aria, and Madame Giry hopes I can perfect it to her satisfaction. She has potential, but she lacks certain things that need to be redone. Much needs to be redone. I suppose that was harsh, as she was a rookie in the music industry fresh from the university. My managers had thought it would be helpful for her to be taken under my wing (in secret of course, she doesn't know of me yet). Her aria was a herculean feat for the gods.

I must've been very loud for my little girl came running, Madame Giry not far behind, holding a pin cushion and a needle with lace trim dangling from the end.

"Rossigna Destler, you come back here!" I heard her scold. Despite my frustration I laughed as I picked up the nine-year-old cloud of ice blue cotour in my lap. 

"Well, well! It's coming along very nicely! How does my songbird like it?"

"It's very poofy!" she giggled.  Her eyes noticed the sheet music, and her brows quirked quizzically. 

"Just some of Papa's work darling. Nothing to worry."

"Who is Julia Papa?" she asked. Under my guidance, she had learnt both reading and writing within months and was reciting books like no tomorrow.  I chose my words best as I could to explain.

"My apprentice, which is what you'll be when the time comes."

At that her eyes lit up, which then Madame took the opportunity to take her off my lap. I watched as my girl stood on a stool, looking grumpy as Madame began pinning lace on the cuffs on her sleeves. There was something interesting about the lace that caught my eye.  I stood up and walked over to where she was sewing on the cuffs. I asked the lace to be from Belgium from a company named Aarle & Dam (I knew both makers on one occasion), and the lace be made with as much creativity as possible.  They certainly took it seriously. The threads wove to form music notes of a melody I myself composed years ago for a small quartet playing at the annual masquerade.  So intricate and delicate, like my Rossigna. She too looked at the lace curiously. Once Madame finished stitching on the cuff, she let her off the stool where at she ran to my piano. 

At first I was going to tell her to get down, but then I hear the notes, and then her voice

"Think of me, think of me when we have said goodbye,

Remember me, once in a while

please promise me you'll try..."

I didn't realize tears came to my eyes. It was truly the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. Madame Giry placed a hand on my shoulder and said "I think your songbird is ready to take her first flight."

I couldn't agree more.