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.