Fair Margaret
Page 28'No. It is an absurd name for the stage, my dear. All the people would
make jokes about it. Of course you must be either Italian, or French,
or German, or Hungarian, or Spanish. There is no great Italian soprano
just now. I advise you to be an Italian. You are Signorina--Signorina
what? Logotheti, do make haste! You know Italian.' 'May I ask where you were born, Miss Donne?' inquired Logotheti.
'In Oxford. But what has that to do with it?' 'Translate into Italian: ox, "bove," ford, "guado." No, that won't do' 'Certainly not!' cried Madame Bonanni. 'Guado--guano! Fancy! Try again.
Think of a pretty Italian name. It must be very easy! Take an
historical name, the name of a great family. Those people never
Spanish, after all. Margarita da Cordova. That sounds rather well.' 'Yes. Do you like it, my dear?' asked Madame Bonanni.
'But I don't know a word of Spanish----' 'What in the world has that to do with it? It is a good name. You may
have your Chartreuse, Logotheti. Margarita da Cordova, the great
Spanish soprano! Your health! You were born in the little town of
Boveguado in Andalusia.' 'Your father was the famous contrabandier Ramon da Cordova, who sang
like an angel and played the guitar better than any one in Spain.' 'Was there ever such a man?' 'No, of course not! And besides, he was stabbed in a love affair when
you were a baby, so that it does not matter. You ought to be able to
know? Heavens, how romantic!' Margaret had a vague idea that she was dreaming, that Madame Bonanni
and Logotheti were not real people, and that she was going to waken in
a few minutes. The heavy, middle-aged woman with the good-natured face
and the painted cheeks could not possibly be the tragic Juliet, the
terrible Tosca, the poor, mad, fluttering Lucia, whose marvellous voice
had so often thrilled the young girl to the heart, in Paris and in
London. It was either a dream or a cruel deception. Her own words
'I am sure I cannot sing in public in less than a year,' she said. 'You
are very kind, but you are exaggerating my talent. I could never get
through the whole opera well enough.' Madame Bonanni looked at her curiously for a moment, not at all certain
that she was in earnest; but she saw that Margaret meant what she said.
There was no mistaking the troubled look in the girl's eyes.