THEIR MAJESTIES
Queen Victoria did me the honor to receive me twice at Windsor Castle,
and Queen Alexandra paid me the same honor at Buckingham Palace in
London. The first time I saw Queen Victoria I was presented to her by
the Baroness de Caters. She was the daughter of Lablache and had one of
the most beautiful voices and the greatest talent that I have ever
known. This charming woman had been left a widow and so she became an
artist, appearing in concerts and giving singing lessons. At the time of
which I speak she was teaching Princess Beatrice, now the mother-in-law
of the King of Spain. In all the glory of the freshness of youth, the
Princess was endowed with a charming voice which the Baroness guided
perfectly. The Princess received Madame de Caters and myself with a
gracefulness which was increased by her unusual bashfulness. Her
Majesty, in the meantime, was finishing her luncheon. I was somewhat
apprehensive through having heard of the coldness which the Queen
affected at this sort of audience, so I was more than surprised when she
came in with both hands extended to take mine and when she addressed me
with real cordiality. She was very fond of Baroness de Caters and that
was the secret of the reception which put me at my ease at once.
Her Majesty wanted to hear me play the organ (there is an excellent one
in the chapel at Windsor), and then the piano. Finally, I had the honor
of accompanying the Princess as she sang the aria from _Etienne Marcel_.
Her Royal Highness sang with great clearness and distinctness, but it
was the first time she had sung before her august mother and she was
frightened almost to death. The Queen was so delighted that some days
later, without my being told of it, she summoned to Windsor, Madame Gye,
wife of the manager of Covent Garden,--the famous singer Albani--to ask
to have _Etienne Marcel_ staged at her own theatre. The Queen's wish was
not granted.
I returned to Windsor seventeen years later, in company with Johann
Wolf, who was for many years Queen Victoria's chosen violinist. We dined
at the palace, and, if we did not enjoy the distinction of sitting at
the royal table, we were nevertheless in good company with the young
princesses, daughters of the Duke of Connaught. We were lodged at a
hotel for the honor of sleeping at the Castle was reserved for very
important personages--an honor which need not be envied, for the
sleeping apartments are really servants' rooms. But etiquette decrees
it.
Dinner was over, and princes in full uniform and princesses in elaborate
evening dress stood about, waiting for her Majesty's appearance. I was
heartbroken when I saw her enter, for she was almost carried by her
Indian servant and obviously could not walk alone. But once seated at a
small table, she was just as she had been before, with her wonderful
charm, her simple manner and her musical voice. Only her white hair bore
witness to the years that had passed. She asked me about _Henri VIII_,
which was being given for the second time at Covent Garden, and I
explained to her that in my desire to give the piece the local color of
its times I had been ferreting about in the royal library at Buckingham
Palace, to which my friend, the librarian, had given me access. And I
also told how I had found in a great collection of manuscripts of the
Sixteenth Century an exquisitely fine theme arranged for the
harpsichord, which served as the framework for the opera--I used it
later for the march I wrote for the coronation of King Edward. The Queen
was much interested in music in general and she appeared to be
especially pleased in this discussion. His Highness the Duke of
Connaught wrote me that she had spoken of it several times.
The musical library at Buckingham Palace is most remarkable and it is a
pity that access to it is not easier. Among other things, there are the
manuscripts of Handel's oratorios, written for the most part with
disconcerting rapidity. His _Messiah_ was composed in fifteen days! The
rudimentary instrumentation of the time made such speed possible, yet
who is there to-day who could write all those fugue choruses with such
speed? The fugue manner, which seems laborious to us, was current at
the time and they were practised in it. The library also contains works
of Handel's contemporaries, which are executed with the same mastery. We
cannot say whether they were written with the same rapidity as Handel's,
but it is easy to see that there was a general ability to do so, just as
now it is a matter of common attainment to produce complicated
orchestral effects, the possibility of which the old masters had no
conception. What made Handel superior to his rivals was the romantic and
picturesque side of his works; probably also, his prodigious and
unvarying fertility.
The last word has been said about Queen Victoria, yet the peculiar charm
which radiated from her personality cannot be too highly praised. She
seemed the personification of England. When she passed on, it seemed as
though a great void were left. All King Edward's splendid qualities were
necessary to take her place, combined with the effect of the world's
surprise at discovering a great king where they had expected to see
only a brilliant prince who had been a constant lover of pomp and
pleasure.
I was later admitted to Buckingham Palace to play with Josef Hollman,
the violinist, before Queen Alexandra. We both were eager for this
opportunity which we were told was impossible. The Queen was very busy,
and, in addition, she was in mourning for the successive deaths of her
father and mother, the King and Queen of Denmark. Suddenly, however, we
learned that she would receive us. She was pale and appeared to be
feeble, but she received us with the utmost cordiality. She spoke to me
about her mother, whom I had seen at Copenhagen with her sisters the
Empress Dowager of Russia, and the Princess of Hanover whom politics
deprived of a crown which was hers by right. I have a very pleasant
recollection of this visit. I do not know how it happened but I remained
speechless at this lead from the Queen. She brought the subject up a
second time and my timidity still prevented my responding. I ought to
have had many things to say to one so obviously eager to listen. This
Queen of Denmark, with her eighty years, was the most delightful old
lady imaginable. Erect, slight, alert of mind and unfaltering of speech,
she reminded me vividly of my maternal great-aunt, that extraordinary
woman, who gave me my first notions of things and directed my hand on
the keys so well.
A singer whom I had never seen or heard of, but of whom I had heard poor
reports, had written Queen Louise that I wanted to accompany her to
court. The Queen asked me if I knew her and if what she had written was
true. My surprise was so great that I could not repress a start, which I
followed by an exclamation of denial, which appeared to amuse her
greatly. "I did not doubt it," she said, "but I'm not sorry to be sure."
Queen Alexandra was accompanied by Lady Gray, her great friend, and the
hereditary princess of Greece. After M. Hollman and I had played a duet,
she expressed a desire to hear me play alone. As I attempted to lift the
lid of the piano, she stepped forward to help me raise it before the
maids of honor could intervene. After this slight concert she delivered
to each of us, in her own name and in that of the absent king, a gold
medal commemorative of artistic merit, and she offered us a cup of tea
which she poured with her royal and imperial hands.
Other queens have also received me--Queen Christine of Spain and Queen
Amelie of Portugal. After Queen Christine had heard me play on the
piano, she expressed a desire to hear me play the organ, and they chose
for this an excellent instrument made by Cavaillé-Coll in a church whose
name I have forgotten. The day was fixed for this ceremony, which would
naturally have been of a private character, when some great ladies
lectured the indiscreet queen for daring to resort to a sacred place for
any purpose besides taking part in divine services. The queen was
displeased by this remonstrance and she responded by coming to the
church not only not incognito, but in great state, with the king (he was
very young), the ministers and the court, while horsemen stationed at
intervals blew their trumpets. I had written a religious march
especially for this event, and the Queen kindly accepted its dedication
to her. I was a little flustered when she asked me to play the too
familiar melody from _Samson et Dalila_ which begins _Mon coeur s'ouvre
à ta voix_. I had to improvise a transposition suited for the organ,
something I had never dreamt of doing. During the performance the Queen
leaned her elbow on the keyboard of the organ, her chin resting on one
hand and her eyes upturned. She seemed rapt in exstasy which, as may be
imagined, was not precisely displeasing to the author.
The press of the day printed delightful articles about the scene, but
with no pretense to accuracy. I had nothing to do with that in any way.
Her Majesty Queen Amelie of Portugal once honored me in a distinctive
manner. She received me alone without any of her ladies of honor, which
allowed her to dispense with all etiquette and to have me sit in a chair
near her. In this intimate way she entertained me for three-quarters of
an hour asking questions on all sorts of subjects. I had the chance to
tell her how the oriental theme of the ballet in _Samson_ had been given
to me years before by General Yusuf, and to give her many details of
that interesting personage of whom she had heard her uncles speak.
"I am going to leave you," she said at last, "but not because I want to.
If one conscientiously practices the _metier_ of being a queen, one
doesn't always find it amusing."
What would that unhappy woman have said, could she have foreseen the
calamities that were to befall her!
In Rome I had the honor to be invited to a musicale at Queen
Margharita's. The great drawing-rooms were filled with great ladies
laden down with family jewels of fabulous value. All the music was
terribly serious. Now this kind of music does not make for personal
acquaintance, especially as all these great people were victims of a
boredom they did their best to conceal. Afterwards the two queens wanted
to talk to me. Queen Hélène, who is a violinist, told me that her
children were learning the violin and the cello, an arrangement I
praised highly, for the exclusive devotion to the piano in these later
days has been the death of chamber music and almost of music itself.
In my gallery of sovereigns I cannot forget the gracious Queen of
Belgium. I have always seen her, however, in company with her august
husband, and this story would become interminable if I were to include
"Their Majesties" of the sterner sex--the Emperor of Germany, the Kings
of Sweden, Denmark, Spain, Portugal....
As I have had more to do with princes than with sovereigns, my tongue
sometimes slips in talking to the latter. As I excused myself one day
for addressing the Queen of Belgium as "Highness," she replied, with a
smile, "Don't apologize; that recalls good times."
She told me of the time when she and the king, then only heirs apparent,
used to go up and down the Mediterranean coast in a little two-seated
car. It was during this period that I had the honor of meeting them at
the palace of his Serene Highness the Prince of Monaco, and of having
charming and interesting personal conversation with them, for the king
is a savant and the queen an artist.