'I am twenty-two,' she said by way of answer.

'I made my début when I was twenty,' answered the prima donna. 'But

then,' she added, as if in explanation, 'I was married before I was

seventeen.' 'Indeed!' Margaret exclaimed politely.

'Yes. He died. Let us sing! I always want to sing when I come out of my

bath. Do you know the duo at the beginning of the fourth act? Yes?

Good. I will sing Romeo. Oh yes, I can sing the tenor part--it is very

high for a man. Sit down. Imagine that you admire me and that the lark

is trying to imitate the nightingale so that we need not part. We have

not heard it yet. The man is beginning to turn up the dawn outside the

window behind us, but we do not see it. We are perfectly happy. Now,

begin!' The chords sounded softly, the two voices blended, rose and fell and

died away. The elder woman's rich lower tones imitated a tenor voice

well enough to give Margaret the little illusion she needed, and her

overflowing happiness did the rest. She sang as she had not sung

before.

'I wish to embrace you!' cried Madame Bonanni, when they had finished.

And forthwith Margaret felt herself enveloped in the Turkish bath-gown,

and entangled in the towzled hair and held by a pair of tremendously

strong white arms; and being thus helpless, she experienced a kindly

but portentous kiss on each cheek; after which she was set at liberty.

'You are a real musician, too!' Madame Bonanni said with genuine

admiration. 'You can play anything, as well as sing. I hope you will

never hear me play. It is awful. I could empty any theatre instantly,

if there were a fire, merely by playing a little!' She laughed heartily at her little joke, for like many great singers

she was half a child and half a genius, and endowed with the huge

vitality that alone makes an opera singer's life possible.

'I would give my playing to have your voice,' Margaret said.

'You would be cheated in your bargain,' observed Madame Bonanni. 'Let

me look at you. Have you a big chest and a thick throat? What are your

arms like? If you have a voice and talent, strength is every thing!

Young girls come and sing to me so prettily, so sweetly! They want to

be singers! Singers, my dear, with chests like paper dolls and throats

like plucked spring chickens! Bah! They are good for nothing, they

catch cold, they give a little croak and they die. Strength is

everything. Let me see your throat! No! You will never croak! You will

never die. And your arms? Look at mine. Yes, yours will be like mine,

some day.' Margaret hoped not, for Madame Bonanni seemed to be a very big woman,

though she still managed to look human as Juliet. Perhaps that was

because the tenors were all fat.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024